Worst. Date. Ever.

Once upon a time (December 2010), I found myself excitedly traveling to Utah for New Year's Eve.

I was living in San Diego at the time (I grew up there! sigh. I miss you, California!) (enter crying emoji), but a veeeeeery cute boy had been texting me for a few months and had invited me to come watch him sing at a big NYE event. (You've seen this boy on a televised singing competition called 'The Voice'. He's freaking dreamy as all get out.) (Note to the boy I'm currently dating: I am absolutely crazy about you. Don't freak out.) (Anyways.) I had packed a cute outfit, had a double date planned with my sister and her husband for earlier in the evening, and then was planning on partying the night away with this handsome fellow (I shall henceforth call him 'Dreamy Guy') - and, let's be real...I was excited for the possibility of our first kiss happening at midnight. Sigh. The idyllic, romantic stars were aligned perfectly to launch this text-flirtation into full-blown dating-exclusivity-bliss. I was PUMPED.

The afternoon/evening started off well enough. Dreamy Guy came to dinner and was handsome and swoon-worthy. Check and check. My sister and I ordered the same dish - smoked turkey leg - from the menu (a delicious-sounding option from one of Provo's high-end, trendy establishments).  I remember thinking,"The texture of this meat is a little weird. Kind of...chewy? It turkey supposed to be this chewy??" As I went to ask Nikki (my sister) if her turkey was chewy, too, her phone buzzed and her face went pale as she read the text...

My Mom had been battling a resurgence of her colon cancer and it had been difficult enough to leave CA even for a weekend, so it was terrifying to hear that the text was from our family back home - letting us know that Mom had been rushed to the hospital and was in critical condition. Suddenly the chewy turkey didn't matter at all. We quickly got up and left. (Dine and dash is ok under those circumstances, right?) (JK we paid.) (When I say "we" I mean the men at the dinner table. Duh.)

By the time we got to the party I had cried all of my make up off and was a mess. We looked for flights home, we talked about leaving right then and driving all night to get there. After debating what the best move was, we decided that sleeping for a few hours first would be best - instead of taking off right then and driving our emotionally-drained selves through the wilderness all night.

Nikki and I spent most of the evening in the truck, instead of inside the party, watching Dumb and Dumber (or was it White Chicks, Nikki? In any case, it was something REAL dumb.) I think we might have napped. By the time 11pm rolled around, we went in to watch Dreamy Guy sing some songs. YOU GUYS...watching a man pour his soul out through music when his voice is as deep and rich as raw honey - whhhhheeewwww hand me my fan, Josephine! (I don't know what I'm saying right now. I'm imagining myself as some old lady in Alabama complaining of the sweltering summer heat. Am I the weirdest or what?)

This is a pic of me and Nikki that night. Post-crying, post-redoing make-up, post-terrible-bangs-and-bleached hair decisions.
What am I doing with my arms..?? Am I a genie? Smell-checking? I honestly don't know.
My family has a running joke that I always take really awkward pictures. #proof

Midnight came and went. No kisses. Boo. My emotional-wreck-status was transitioning into numbness and exhaustion.

"Want to come back to my place and watch a movie?" Dreamy Guy asked.

My brain quickly translated his request into what he really meant: "Want to come to my place and cuddle on the couch and maybe kiss me while a movie is playing?"

NOTE TO ALL TEENAGE GIRLS: THE ANSWER TO THIS QUESTION SHOULD HAVE BEEN "NO". "NO, SIR DREAMY GUY. WE SHALL NOT SNUGGLE ON THE COUCH LATE INTO THE NIGHT AS IT IS NOT AN APPROPRIATE ACTIVITY FOR OUR (TECHNICALLY) FIRST DATE." (Also, kissing on the first date is not cool. We'd just been texting for so long! And, you know, I like kissing. I digress.)

So, you know, I said yes.

Off we went.

The drive to Dreamy Guy's house took about 15 minutes. Approximately 5 minutes into the drive - you know, while I've got my flirt-game going STRONG - my stomach suddenly threatened to send its contents directly onto the dash of his car.

I asked him to pull into the Del Taco so I could use the bathroom real quick.

I ran a little faster than was attractive, I think, into the bathroom and waited. "What is happening??" I thought, "Is this karma for planning to kiss Dreamy Guy?! ...am I going to puke right now..??"

After a few minutes, the sensation passed. I chalked it up to having an incredibly emotional and draining experience earlier in the evening that I was still processing/dealing with, and got back into Dreamy Guy's car.

NOTE TO SELF: If, at any point on a date, your body warns you that puking may be in your immediate future... END. THE. DATE. Right that second. END IT!!!!!!

I did not end it.

I went to Dreamy Guy's house.

...and then it happened...

(No, not the cuddling and kissing. That was fated to never, e.v.e.r. happen...)

As we sat on the couch mulling over movie choices, he looked up and asked, "Hey - are you ok?"

I realized that no, in fact...I did not feel ok. I was sweating. Like, DRIPPING SWEAT. Hahaha I'm actually giggling so uncomfortably as I write this because I remember wanting to die in that moment. WHO just starts sweating profusely for no reason?! ON A FIRST DATE?! COME ON, BODY, GET YOURSELF TOGETHER.

Then the rumbling. The sound of what a breaking dam sounds like, I think, only happening on the inside. Then cramping. Like bolts of lightning tearing through my abdomen.

"Where's your bathroom..??"

Curse you, Provo. Curse you for your tiny, adorable townhouses. Curse you for your 200 sq ft living rooms with tiny bathrooms attached RIGHT there. Curse you for your awful construction, for the huge gaps at the bottom of the bathroom doors...which allow sounds and smells to escape that should NEVER escape. Curse you for forever.

I'll spare you the details (although, I REALLY don't want to haha)...I'll just tell you that I had to yell for a bigger trash can. I think I shouted it, actually. Screamed it.

Yes, Dreamy Guy brought me a trash can. Into the bathroom of death, so I could empty myself of all contents from every possible bodily outlet with total confidence that absolutely NOTHING remained.

It was...horrific.

The sounds, you guys. Oh my gosh. And I can only imagine what he must have smelled. WHY, DATING GODS? WHYYYYYYYYYY?! Hahaha I seriously have tears rolling down my face...I did that night, too, but they were out of fear because I honestly thought I might need to go to the hospital haha. ACK HE WAS SO DREAMY!!!! THE UNIVERSE HATES ME!

Unfortunately, this episode was only the first of many.

MANY.

Hours.

All night.

Just when I thought I couldn't possibly have anything else inside of me, my body proved me wrong. It was violent. I texted Nikki desperately all night long,"WHERE ARE YOU FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY ON EARTH COME AND SAVE ME FROM THIS NIGHTMARE I AM LIVING."

She was sleeping.

I couldn't bring myself to get into Dreamy Guy's car to let him take me home, because I couldn't go longer than a few minutes without getting horrendously sick. Getting horrendously sick all over the leather interior of his nice car?! UMM NO THANKS.

At one point I came out of that stupid tiny bathroom that was literally 5 feet away from the couch Dreamy Guy was sitting on, to find candles lit on the floor outside the bathroom hahahahaha AAARRGHHHHH noooooooo

Poor Dreamy Guy. He's probably scarred for life. I know I was.

Fast forward to about 6am. Nikki shows up. "Are you ok?! Oh my gosh what happened?!"

I cried as I told her. I'm sure I looked like a nightmare.

"Wait...where's your bathroom??" she suddenly asked mid-story.

Remember how we BOTH had the smoked turkey leg..? YEP.

My sister and I tag-teamed that tiny bathroom for the next several hours. Too sick to get in a car and go home.

You guys...there aren't even words.

Can I tell you something incredible, though? That Dreamy Guy...he lived up to the nickname I've given him in this blog post. I was too sick and wobbly inside to get on the flight I had scheduled for later that morning. You know what that dreamboat did..? He offered to drive me. And he did. He drove me in his nice car all the way from Utah to San Diego. Even when he knew he'd have to immediately turn around and drive right back to make it to work the next day.

Want to know what happened on that drive?

There was a freak snow storm in the high desert we were driving
through - and a drive that normally takes about 10 hours took 17. SEVENTEEN HOURS. Also, he leaned over to kiss me on the cheek as we sat in stop and go traffic for the fifth straight hour, and he rear-ended the lady in front of us (so many alternating laughing and crying emojis in a row). I honestly couldn't even make this stuff up.

We never did kiss on the lips. (I'm sure you're all shocked hahaha.)

I see Dreamy Guy on social media now. He's still dreamy. Still single, from what I can tell. I blame myself, you guys. I really do. I hope he can recover someday from the trauma.

Anyways. I hope your Valentine's Day is less painful, awkward and embarrassing than that one time I got food poisoning on that first date. That is my wish for you. Because I love you. You're welcome.

xo.