Worst. Date. Ever.

And so, as you can imagine what happens when you select your friends for alcoholism, my friends are a pretty sorry bunch. But they make the guys I date seem like real catches.

I went out with this one guy, I actually knew him through a friends, so he wasn’t a stranger. He took me to dinner, at Nobu, no less. We had a perfectly lovely time, and he walked me home after dinner, and I invited him up for a drink, stating very clearly that nothing untoward was going to occur.

I dozed off in my chair while watching Letterman, and the next thing I knew, I woke up to the sound of him crying hysterically. Now while I knew this guy in a roundabout way, I certainly didn’t care about him very much, especially now that I had realized he was really loony tunes. But, because it seemed like the humane thing to do, I made a feeble attempt to try to comfort him without ever prying about what had made him so sad, because quite frankly, I just wanted him to leave and go to bed in peace, without having to administer psychotherapy to my dinner date. He wouldn’t stop crying, and I started feeling sorry for him. Again, I knew this guy, so he wasn’t a stranger. I told him he could stay on my sofa, and I went in my bedroom and went to sleep.

I woke up at 6 am to a funny sound in my living room. Sure enough, he was still there, all the lights were on in my living room, and he had singlehandedly consumed two bottles of wine, ordered up two pay-per-view porn movies, and was sitting on my sofa jerking himself off. Again, I reiterate, I am not making this stuff up. I say to him, listen, I’ve had a nice time and all, and you seem like a really nice guy, but I have to work tomorrow, so would you mind cleaning yourself off when you’re finished and seeing yourself out. And I tell you, he did not miss a beat. I went into my bedroom, locked the bedroom door, and never heard from him again. And again, this is somebody I knew.