6.15.2010

Why Chris' Balls Hurt

Meg and I had initially discussed having the launch contest for the store be “Worst Date,” but then someone decided it had been a year since she’d told the fish tranquilizer allergic reaction story and made an Executive Decision to ask our readers about their worst sexual encounters instead. I’d already typed up my Worst Date Ever story, though, so out it comes from the vault. I make absolutely no defense of my actions; I was dumb to go through with this date.

The hardest part of telling this story is admitting this happened on an internet date. Everyone goes on them now and it’s apparently not shameful anymore, but I still feel like I should pretend to have met this guy at a party, as if that were somehow more legit. So, I met this guy at a party at my friend Web’s house. We call it the Web site. We were occasionally chatting, as you do, and then one day I had an absolute pigshit of a day and he invited me over.

This kid lived about an hour’s drive away. Ordinarily I’d consider this too much trouble, but at the time I lived in a town called Liberty Hill, home of three liquor stores, “Star Burger,” and a cowboy church called “Cowboy Church” that advertised on a billboard by the main intersection. So I was used to having to drive if I wanted to be anything other than drunk or Saved (although what else could you ever want?)

I drive down and get lost in this kid’s neighborhood. Strike one. I get to his house and he’s playing some elaborate Pokemon video game. Strike two. Electric gummy bears might do it for some guys, but not me. (Not on a first date, at least.) One of his friends was there, strike three, and the friend was a Large Effeminate Gay with “Attitude” (snaps) strike four. Large Effeminate Gays with “Attitude” (snaps) are my Kryptonite. We have completely different understandings of what gay is and it just turns into a big cultural misunderstanding. They’re in it for the drama. I’m in it for the boys. Also, they have a tendency to call me “girl,” which I hate.

So, we’re at strike four and I’m still in the entryway. Two things kept me from saying, “sorry, wrong number” and escaping into the night: there was a bottle of whiskey on the table and a Boston Terrier puppy on the sofa. Let me tell you about when I’m famous: that’s what I’ma tell Oprah’s people I want in my dressing room. A bottle of whiskey and a puppy.

So, in the interest of being a good sport and maybe getting some tail from the guy I thought I was on a date with, I stayed. And drank. So, another friend shows up, who was so, so white trash I got a prison tattoo just from looking at him. He proceeds to go upstairs, try to get laid on craigslist, jack off in Date Kid’s bedroom (How do I know? He told me), and come down and announce that we’re all going to come with him to get a tattoo. It is midnight on a Wednesday in San Marcos, Texas. I think this is the worst idea I’ve heard since earlier that evening when I was invited over, but Date Kid and Large Effeminate Gay with “Attitude” (snaps) just pick up the puppy and the whiskey like this happens all the time and go out to the car. I am too drunk to drive away, but sober enough to be aware of my surroundings. Remember those news stories about people who wake up during surgery? Yo.

So we drive alllllllll around San Marcos and – what a surprise – there’s not an open tattoo parlor in town. I was afraid we were going to drive out into the sticks to find a guy named “Pooter” who would tattoo you for beer, but instead we drove way out in the sticks to go tip over a port-a-potty. Some people get flowers, some people get champagne; I get taken to the edge of a construction site to vandalize a modernized outhouse. Dignity is for chumps.

I used up all my luck not having feces splash on me from the falling port-a-potty, because we then went deeper into the sticks to White Trash Kid’s dwelling. I say “dwelling” because for the life of me I don’t know what this place is. It’s sort of a triangular, two-story… thing. He lives in the top corner. We go in, and the main decorations are two flags: South Korean and Confederate. The Confederate flag had an ad for something on it (I really want to say liquor but I’m not sure) right at the nexus of the bars, in place of the central star.

So they put on a DVD of Entourage, which is literally my least favorite television show. I don’t want to argue about this; I am merely stating the fact that I, Tulane Chris, hate Entourage so hard it makes my balls hurt. I would rather watch a whole day of Dukes of Hazzard badly dubbed into Chinese and write a report on it than watch five minutes of Entourage. Hands down. They watched five episodes of it – roughly four hours – while I slumped in an armchair trying to stay awake because I was afraid that if I passed out, as I so desperately wanted to do, they would leave me out there in the woods, and I’d be forced to choose between honorable suicide, starving to death, or the white trash kid’s hospitality. (And if you have ANY doubt that I would have made a noose out of the Stars and Bars and taken my chance in the next world, we need to talk more.)

The sun went dark, the moon turned to blood, the judgment trumpet sounded and the dead rose from their graves, and we finally went back to Date Kid’s house, where he made a point of not wanting to sleep with me. This pissed me off for two reasons: after that hellish night, I damn well deserved to get some, but I wasn’t interested in him anymore. So he was inconsiderate and presumptuous, and it’s hard to “reject someone back” and sound credible. I crashed on the couch until I was sober enough to drive, and then went to brunch, shuddering and murmuring “Never again…” over and over until the shakes went away enough for me to get some eggs down.

This is why I started bringing a gun on dates. Your date might not give you an excuse to shoot him, but you can always hold up a gas station if things go south.

18 comments:

Abbie said...

Jesus. Christ.

Just listening to that made me feel so violated and dirty I need a shower and good cry. You poor man. My soul now hurts.

tarynwanderer said...

I <3 you, Tulane Chris.

The things we do when there's a chance of getting some!

Which reminds me...when are we going to get to read more of the hook-up contest stories?? Fab as he is, a girl cannot subsist on Kevin Yang alone.

Anonymous said...

Stars and bars = First National Flag of the Confederacy. Not the Confederate Battle Flag.

Just throwing that out there.

Anonymous said...

Tulane Chris, you are awesome. Enough said.

Also, I agree with tarynwanderer. More contest stories!

That Kind of Girl said...

Frig. I always assumed that the reason people tell you to stay sober on first dates is so you don't make an ass of yourself. It never occurred to me that it's in case you might need to make a quick escape from a white trash chateau. (fwiw, Entourage also makes my non-existent balls ache. From the intensity of gazing upon Adrian Grenier's pretty, pretty face.)

Celina said...

As soon as you said cowboy church I knew you were in the San Marcos area. That place cracks me up every time I drive by it!

Meg said...

You had me at Cowboy Church! And, well, the entire rest of this post. I'm sorry this had to actually happen to you, but grateful that you're hilarious and talented enough to tell us about it.

Abby said...

What happened to the puppy?!?

Lizz Aubrey said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Lizz Aubrey said...

Texas fist-bump! I'm from Austin and have driven by said 'Cowboy Church' many a time. Though I would only trust the people in that town as far as I could throw them...

Anonymous said...

!!!

that was great.

i am from Austin and have on occasion ventured into the depths of small town Texas (seguin, new braunfels, etc.), only to encounter the same sick fear you described. (double b/c i am asian!!) never could quite put it into words... from now i'm going to direct people to this post.

nova said...

Yeah I'm the same way with big attitude snappy gays. I'm not into drama but then I'm afraid they're gonna see my reaction and be all "you're a homophobe" and I'll be like stop snapping your fingers in my face.

pook555 said...

Tulane Chris, you had me laughing hysterically at this, especially "Cowboy Church." I guess I can only say that port-a-potty tipping was better than cow tipping (though I have no idea of that)??

Hilarious!

Anonymous said...

I just love the tags for this post, personally.

Anonymous said...

Too bad the prize wasn't for the worst date story, cuz you would have won. I don't know how anyone could top that short of being raped.

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