Friday, September 03, 2004

I Was the Bomb in Phantoms

[Preface: This actually happened to me. Sure, I exaggerated a few things for the sake of comedy, but the overall event actually happened when I was living in Bloomington in the latter part of 1999. My only regret about this post is that I didn't directly quote the girl when she called me a "carnivore" in much the derogatory manner that one might call another human being a "war criminal."]

Dates From Hell - The Animal Rights Activist Episode
- 3:51am October 19, 2002
Posted by Ben Affleck [Archives]

Hey, folks, I figured I might as well follow up today's posts with a man's point of view on things. Yes, in Justin's absence, I've been brought in to bring a dash of testosterone to the page. So, in this posting, I'm going to impart upon the readers of the page a few lessons I learned on a date a while back, back when I was a struggling actor playing bit parts in movies like Dazed & Confused.

First impressions are terribly important. I can't even begin to tell you how important. For example, when a girl introduces herself and mentions how her name is spelled, all in the same sentence, just run away. Quickly. What would normally sound like, "Hi, I'm Christine," turns into that very phrase followed up with, "spelled with a K... and an H... a Y, a double-E and a silent Q." So, of course, while she's babbling on about god-knows-what, you're trying to figure out how her name is actually spelled.

Khryqsteen? What the fuck, was she named after a region of Persia?

Well, Khryqsteen was a pretty girl who I met at a party being held at the apartment complex I was living at. Unfortunately, I didn't know to run after she explained how her name was spelled (that's experience for ya), so I asked her out for the trusty ol' Dinner & A Movie, which is the easiest type of date because you can always bump the movie if the dinner conversation is particularly enlightening.

Okay, the budget for the date was sixty bucks for both the dinner and the movie. Struggling actors don't make much, you know. She orders a salad. Not like a Mondo Chicken Caesar Parmegiana Salad or anything like that. She orders a house salad with oil and vinegar. So, what's a guy to do in a circumstance like this? I was living on ramen noodles at the time, so I ordered an eighteen-ounce filet-mignon, medium rare with sour cream and bacon bits on the potato.

She launches into this five-minute monologue about how "I killed a defenseless cow, meat is murder, the cows don't deserve to die, you could eat soy, blah, blah, blah..." She goes so far as to accuse me of misrepresenting myself when we met by not informing her that I occasionally eat animals. I mean, she's done everything but accuse me of being the Chupacabra of Latin-American myth. I light up a cigarette, knowing full-well that it's the non-smoking section, but I just don't care anymore. I say to her:

"You're wearing leather pants. The same cow that's going to be on my plate in five minutes is wrapped around your thighs right now... Hey, before you go, just one more question: Are you a hypocrite or just plain stupid? Because I really want to know." The waiter brings the dinner in a bag and I went to see two movies that night.

What's the lesson to be learned from this? Disclosure. When you first meet someone, just spend the next twenty minutes telling each other everything about your respective lives, because eventually you'll find something you wouldn't be able to live with, and that'll save you a whole lot of money, time and grief in the long run. Of course, J-Lo still doesn't know about the trips me and Damon make to Thailand every year.

AIM: therbmcc71