I’m embarrassed to even say I went out with Resident Evil: Afterlife 3D. It was a favor to a friend who needed someone to tag along on a double date. I wasn’t expecting much and I feel like I received even less. I was bored with her and she obviously didn’t give a crap about being engaging in any way except occasionally flicking some food at my face in a kind of faux playfulness. She was only interested in a free meal and nothing more. I’m just glad my friend picked up the bill.

Atonement was a women recommended to me by everyone. “Oh, you’ll love her! She’s gorgeous!” they insisted. Finally meeting, I notice she has a nervous tick that could be considered cute by some but annoys me. It’s distracting and a bit irritating. She stops mid conversation and checks on her makeup every few minutes, obsessing with her aesthetic to the point of drawing attention to it. Yes, it looks good and it’s masterfully applied but being reminded of it makes her seem unnatural.  Just when I think she’s relaxed she does it again. It threw off the pace of the entire date and didn’t let us get to anything really personal. Finally, at the end of the evening, readying our goodbyes, she hits me with a bombshell. She admits that the last few things she said about herself were a lie because she wanted me to like her more. I’m not sure how to feel. Flattered? Offended? I settle on awkward and find myself relieved as I walk away. I’m shocked to learn later she was nominated in a beauty pageant.

Clash of the Titans was like getting smashed at a costume party. Judgement and reason are ejected along with your last few drinks into the toilet. You forget where you are, who you are, and most importantly, who everyone else is. You start associating the costumes adorned as the personae they intend to represent. You high five Batman, throw your arm around the Dude, and glare at Franken-Cheney. Your unbalanced vision continues to settle on the low-cut, short skirt, police woman in the corner. Drunken courage at it’s peak, you approach her. The conversation is one-sided as most of your concentration is focused on properly timed nods through blurred vision and the spinning room. You manage some witty, sexually-charged comments through it all. She laughs responsively and moments later you’re heading out the door. Your friend and ride grab your arm and ask if you’re sure you’re alright. Of coarse you are! You never never felt better! And why the hell should you listen to The Situation? You vomited one more time, before or after the car ride. You stumble into her apartment and to the bed. She waves the novelty handcuffs around before slapping them around you wrist, shackling you to the headboard. Her kiss is more teeth than tenderness. So jarring is this mastication on your face that you start sobering up. You begin to realize your mistake. Judgement clouded by booze and your affinity for a lady in uniform, you now find yourself trapped in this bedlam with the Kraken.

Alice in Wonderland seemed like such a good idea. She was like a student at a college with a bad reputation but studying something so interesting, she must be entertaining. Girls from there had burned me before; they play the pretentious artsy type while possessing little substance. Immediately into the date, I felt lied to about her background. She was studying an artist I was familiar with and was expecting a classy throw back. Instead, she rehashed a modern approach to him to be more relevant and utterly failing. She also decided to throw on the latest fashion despite it not suiting her at all. This was a shame considering that she was genuinely pretty.

Inception is the gorgeous girl you see walking down the street from afar. Everything you see about her is stunning. Her gait of confidence and attire imply more than superficial beauty, but intelligence as well. The way you admire her, hoping your daily routes through the city will lead to a random casual conversation, is a little creepy in level of infatuation. Another look dispels such misgivings. She is worth the stalker-ish pursuit. Finally you manage your courage into sentences, and low and behold she accepts a date! The intervening days feels like years. You prep yourself hours before. You ask yourself, can she be the one? Is this finally it? After years of waiting for a good Science Fiction movi…er… woman, is the long wait over? You check your watch while sitting at a table at the agreed restaurant . Okay, she’s a little late, but I guess that’s fashionable. Thirty minutes roll by before she shows up. She doesn’t ask for an apology, no, she doesn’t even mention that she’s late. As the date progresses, you realize this was only a precursor. She babbles on about topics, which seem intelligent at first, but the conversation goes nowhere. There is a veneer of intellectualism but it’s easily scrapped away. Halfway through the date, you desperately search for any positive qualities to shine through. They’re there but your still distracted by random declarations that seem like they may go somewhere but are altogether fruitless. Then there’s the action. I won’t lie: it’s fantastic. But the emotional connection just isn’t there. All the mounting anticipation at this point is totally deflated. You walk away with a betrayed sense of anticipation. Hopes rendered worn and swearing never to want something so badly again. Yet, you can’t help looking at Dark Knight Rises walking toward you. You cross your fingers.

Transformers 2 was a porn star. She seems like a great idea as an adolescent, but as we all mature (I hope) our tastes change and becomes a bit more refined. It was obvious a lot of money and work went into her: enormous silicone breasts, a nose job, a tummy tuck, etc. Van Gogh needed less paint for a face. She had the depth of a kiddy pool in Nevada. Everything that came out of her mouth was stupid. I was surprised to find myself bored at the climax, which just kept going and going to the point where I would have been overcome with sleep if she hadn’t been screaming in my ear. Ultimately, I felt dumber for having shared a night with her. It was an accomplishment only frat guys would brag about while exchanging high fives and smashing beer cans against their heads.