That Time I Almost Had Sex With a Nazi

That Time I Almost Had Sex With a Nazi

                Okay, so she wasn’t a Nazi, technically.  Or at all, I hope, because I did kiss her, after all.  I met her on OkCupid and she said she was really into philosophy so I thought we’d hit it off, and we did.  She showed me a picture of one of her textbooks from college (yeah, she graduated, good for her), and it was just full of annotations.  There were probably two post-its for every page in the book.  I mean, this chick was hard core into philosophy.  Hot, right?  Intelligence is sexy.  I’m not one of those “sapio-sexuals” but  I can appreciate a woman who’s in to reading and shit like that.

                We went to the bar for a drink and I was struggling to keep up with her.  She ordered some salad or something to throw me off from her weight problem but she was really chugging her beer.  After forty-five minutes she was getting antsy.

                “You should finish your beer,” she said.  “Or I’m going to order another one.”

                I looked at my glass.  I had drunk maybe a quarter of it or so.

                “So what are you in to, besides philosophy and beer?” I jabbed.  I tried not to let on that I was going to finish my beer as fast as possible.

                She laughed and said, “I like watching videos of cats on the internet.”

                “Oh,” I said and closed my mouth, tilting my head to one side.  I thought that was pretty fucking lame but you can’t win them all.

                “Yeah,” she continued.  “I like animals more than I like people.”

                Red flag.  That’s a big fucking red flag right there.  If a woman ever says that to you, any person really, turn around and run in the opposite direction as fast you can.  I’m serious, anybody who tells you they like animals more than people is a dangerous nihilist and once they tell you, you should run for your fucking life.

                “You sound like a nihilist,” I told her, point blank.  It came off as a joke though, and she laughed.

                “I am,” she said, matter-of-fact.

                Second red flag.

                “Oh, so you’re into Nietzsche,” I said, stumbling over his name.  I tried to pronounce the “z” and the “s” even though you’re not supposed to do that.  She was laughing anyway.  Might as well expand upon the joke.

                So she laughed again and pronouncing the German philosopher’s name correctly said, “It’s Nietzsche.”

                “Right,” I said, and then thought to myself:  this girl thinks I’m dumb.

                “Well,” she began, “I like Nietzsche, but he’s a bit confusing.”

                She was right about that.  Nietzsche contradicts himself almost every other page, and I presume that’s because he was a scared little pussy, yet I digress.

                She continued: “My favorite philosopher is Heidegger.”

                “Wait,” I stopped her.  “Isn’t he a . . . isn’t he . . .”

                I couldn’t say it, but she did it for me.

                “A Nazi?”

                “Yeah.”

                “Well, yes.  He was a registered member of the Nazi party.”

                Third red flag.

                “You like . . .” I stammered.  “You – your favorite philosopher was a Nazi.”

                “Well that’s not something I like about him!” she waved her arm at me laughing, acting like I was stupid again.

                Well, shit, I thought.  Maybe I am stupid.  Maybe you can agree with a Nazi’s philosophy but disagree with his politics.

                I finished my beer and we left the bar.  Eventually, as we came up to her car she asked me, “So, what are we doing?”

                That’s a famous “Are we hooking up tonight” line.

                “Uh, I guess we can go back to my place,” I said.  She had told me earlier she lived with her folks.

                We stopped along the way because she wanted a bottle of wine.  I thought that was sort of lame but it’s not a red flag.  I had only seen three so far, and just a couple things I thought were lame.  There was no hurt in having her come over and chill, or so I thought at the time.

                We talked for hours in the garage about philosophy and I debated her on ethics.  At first she told me she just wasn’t in to ethics but later she tried to posit that they don’t exist.

                “Well, math doesn’t exist,” I said.  “Numbers don’t exist in reality but math is the most strict and real discipline there is.  Ya know, besides ethics.”

                “We’re not having sex tonight,” she said.

                I kicked my feet up on the table and said, “Okay.”

                I always pull that move.  Obviously, if a chick’s telling you she doesn’t want to have sex that night, there are two possible reasons.  She’s either shit testing you, or she just doesn’t want to put out on the first date, or whatever.  The answer is to always kick your feet up, put your hands behind your head like you’re relaxing and tell them you don’t care.

                She got disappointed immediately.

                “You know, this whole no ethics thing,” I began.  “Even if I can’t convince you through rationality, I mean, from a practical standpoint.  You’re just telling people how to hurt you.”

                She started crying, chugged the rest of her wine and ran out of the garage, out the front door.  She got in her car and drove away and I never saw her again.

                Fucking sore loser, I thought and smiled.  Then I grabbed my bong and took a moke snap and went to bed.