Dates from hell such as taking my porn date to meet my mother

You might think I’m the kind of girl who hates Valentine’s Day but in reality it’s the opposite. I love the little trinkets that stores put out every February, I love the pink and red explosion of colors, and I really like the candy.

However, this does not mean that I don’t respect those of you who loathe this holiday with the fire of a thousand suns. Therefore, I have decided to dedicate my V-Day blog to you with a rundown of the top three worst dates I’ve ever had.

Worst Date No. 3

One of my brother’s bandmates, a dark and stormy Chris Carrabba lookalike who I’m sure had a chain on his wallet, once asked me out to the movies. It was when we were watching a preview for some upcoming Tom Hanks movie that I mentioned that he was one of my favorite actors.

To which Chain Wallet swiveled around, rolled his eyes so far back I thought they were going to disappear into his eye sockets and spat out, “TOM HANKS. IS. A COMMUNIST. DO YOU LIKE COMMUNISM?”

Now, this was back when I was still naïve (I was 19) so I just kind of looked at him. What I should have said was “Why yes. I’m glad you brought it up because after the movie I have some pamphlets I wanted to see if you were interested in” or possibly “Dude what the eff are you talking about” or even just laughed in his face.

Instead, what squeaked out of my mouth was, “Well, I mean, I really liked ‘Big’…so…I don’t really know?”

Suffice it to say that date ended about as quickly as Chain Wallet’s career as a musician (which is to say it never really began).

Worst Date No. 2:

It always amazes me when men hit on me when I look like absolute dog shit. One night in early 2009, my friends and I decided to grab beers at the Phoenix in Ellicott City. I was wearing black framed glasses, I hadn’t washed my hair so it was in a messy ponytail, and I was sporting a Les Miserables shirt.

*See aside for actual picture of what I looked like that night.

We were about three beers in when the bartender comes over with a fresh beer, hands it to me and says it’s “from that guy over there with the leather jacket.” I took it, held it up in thanks to Leather Jacket, and drank it, impressed with his originality. We talked for a bit and he asked me out.

Our date started out OK. The guy was cute – a scruffy, sandy-haired guy who rode motorcycles (a plus) and did mechanical work (another plus). As the night wore on, however, I quickly realized how many times this guy said “I” in our conversation (10,000) and how many times he asked me about myself (ZERO).

Not wanting to ruin a potential good time, I chalked it up to first date jitters. We decided to get food from another bar where some of my friends were hanging out.

In the car on the way, Leather Jacket turns to me and says, “So do you like to…get down?” Being the innocent young female I am, I replied, “Um, you mean, like, dancing?” He laughed and said, “No, like, get down.” I stared at him blankly until he said, “You know, like, smoke weed?”

I’m pretty sure that’s a third date kind of question unless your goal in life is to live like Harold and Kumar. So I answered, “Er I mean, I have before, but not really anymore.” He nodded his head. After a pause, I asked him why. He replied, “Oh, just wanted to know if you wanted to hit this”, drops a nugget into a one-hitter and proceeds to light it up WHILE DRIVING with all of the windows up on a back road with no streetlights.

Stunned into silence, I didn’t say a word the rest of the way. When we got there, I immediately pulled my friend into the bathroom to explain what happened, and we spent the rest of the date taking a drink every time Leather Jacket said “I”, a game to which he was oblivious because he was balls to the walls high.

Worst Date No. 1:

I should have known the date was going to be a shit show because of several factors: I met the guy at Bamboo Bernies; his hair was spiked and gelled; he hit on me even after I told him I was meeting someone (another date) there; and he was wearing jewelry. Not like Mafia-style jewelry, but for me even a gold chain around the neck is just too much. He also texted/called me every day before our date which he decided to plan on Valentine’s Day. In other words, not my type at all. But I figured I would give him a chance.

He took me to a nice restaurant and surprised me by telling me that he actually likes to read (you would be too). But he was also wearing one of those tight, Ed Hardy style t-shirts and of course, my old nemesis, the gold chain. I hadn’t written him off completely but I wasn’t hearing any wedding bells either when he decided to drop the bomb.

Gold Chain started out by very cleverly painting me into a corner that I wouldn’t be able to talk my way out of. “I hate it when people are like, super judgemental,” he said over salmon.

I agreed. He kept going on about judgemental people while I ate. It was when he said the words “The past doesn’t have to have anything to do with your present” that my interest peaked.

I think it was at this moment that I realized I was in trouble, but I didn’t exactly know what was going to be said, so I just started paying more attention. I asked, “You mean like, past relationships?”

“Yeah, or like, jobs you had in the past and stuff.”

Now I was really curious, so I just stared him down until he blurted out, “I mean, I used to do porn, but it was a long time ago, and it wasn’t a big deal.”

I’m pretty sure my fork was paused in mid-air and I was completely still for at least 30 seconds. He must have sensed my shock because he quickly started explaining. I’m not totally sure what was said but I heard the phrases “needed the money” and “lived in California” and “my porn name was [insert some gross reference to penises here]”.

Let’s back the porn train up for a second and go over this logically. In my novice opinion, the only way males are making money in the pornography industry is for two reasons:

• A – your penis is the size of a small rocketship
• B – you are making gay porn

Without getting too detailed, the answer to the age old question “Does size matter?” is absolutely, 100 percent  yes. You can have a teeny weenie that women want nothing to do with. However, you can also have a colossally large weenie that women also want nothing to do with. And as far as the whole possibility that he was making gay porn…well that just makes me think he is gay, and I am not a man, so I feel pretty confident in assuming it wouldn’t work out.

And hey, if you want to do porn, then go for it, I am not going to sit here and judge. But if you want to date me, that is just something I cannot get over. Call me judgmental but everyone has their limits. Having sex on camera for money just happens to be one of mine.

As if that wasn’t enough to deter me from ever seeing this guy again, on the way home he asked if he could meet my mother (I asked him to drive me there instead of giving out my apartment address. That’s my way to end a bad date.)  I said yes out of sheer surprise, and when he met her, he called her “sweetie.”

To add insult to injury, he continued to call and text me every single day for four weeks. I didn’t answer him once.

So there you have it. There are so many more horrid stories I could share, but this post is already too long so I’ll just wish you good luck in your Valentine’s Day plans for 2013.

And just in case you were wondering, my plans this year include grabbing burgers and Natty Bohs for dinner with the new boyfriend whom I’ve decided to name Captain Awesome (nod to all you Chuck fans out there) and then seeing the zombie movie “Warm Bodies.” That sounds pretty much perfect to me.