There was a time in my life when I actually dated. And not just guys who were in my circle of friends, or ones that I went to high school or college with. Real, honest to goodness STRANGERS. Men that weren’t from Pacific Palisades or West L.A., men that weren’t even from California. It was a heady time and I went boldly into that unknown with the best of intentions. But there’s something different about courting men who have grown up in a completely foreign environment. At the time I couldn’t put my finger on what that was, but it wouldn’t be long until I found out.

It was about this time that I started dating “The Viking.”His name was Erik. I assume his name is STILL Erik, but that’s beside the point. He was 24, at the time, and I was “the older woman” at the ripe old age of 32. He was blonde. Tall. Good looking. He had a PhD and he was a member of MENSA. He had a place in Manhattan Beach with a breath-taking view of the ocean. Not only did he have a car, he had TWO. He was sweet and funny, albeit a little bit shy. But, the best part about Erik was he was totally into me. What can I say? The boy had good taste.

When I found out that he loved roller coasters as much as I did, I suggested we go to Magic Mountain. Being from the East Coast, Erik kinda looked at me funny, as if to say, “Kim, you know I don’t do drugs.” But once I explained that Magic Mountain was in reality Wally World, he smiled. His birthday was coming up, and I was on hiatus, so we made plans to go on a weekday. That way we could get in the most amount of roller coaster fun, with the least amount of Magic Mountain crowds. Immediately, I went online and found a map of the park so that I could plot the best plan of attack. Knowing which coasters to ride and when is an integral part of any Magic Mountain visit. I was no novice. I had done this before.

Erik insisted on driving, which meant an hour drive to Valencia in his teeny tiny Miata with the top down. Did I mention it was January? BRISK is the word that leaps to mind. No matter. I secured my cap onto my head, donned my driving goggles (okay, they were only Ray Bans), and we were off. He popped in a tape of his friend’s punk garage band, and the mood was set. Zooming along at 70 miles per hour in a car I was sure would go unnoticed by plethora of 18 wheelers, and accompanied by indistinguishable noise blaring out of his small, shitty speakers…well, it wasn’t the best start to the day. But, who cares? We were going to one of my favorite places on earth and nothing could ruin that. Ha. Ha. Ha.

He had suggested that before we enter the park, we should grab a bite to eat. That sounded fine by me – I was starving. But something in the way he phrased it caught my attention. That once we were inside the park everything would cost us an arm and a leg. Of course, that’s true. Anyone who has ever been to any amusement park knows that they are going to gauge you for every single dollar you have left in your wallet after paying for admission. It’s an unwritten rule, an understanding between you and the park. Erik dared to question this rule, and I should have recognized it as Red Flag #1.

As luck would have it, there was a Denny’s right off the exit to Magic Mountain Parkway. My mind was occupied trying to decide between ordering bacon and eggs, or pancakes when Erik looks at me and says, “I have some bad news.” Bad news? How could he have ANY news? We couldn’t have carried on a conversation in the car even if we had wanted to, and that goes doubly for talking on the cell phone. So, logically, Erik must have known about this “bad news” when he picked me up. Why didn’t he mention anything earlier (Red Flag #2)? No matter. Nothing was going to detract from our day of high-speed, death-defying fun, so lay it on me. It is at this point that Erik reveals that he has “a lot of work to do,” and that we might not be able to stay until the park closes. I won’t lie and say I wasn’t a little disappointed. I thought I’d found my match in Erik when it came to thrill rides. The man races cars for a hobby, for cryin’ out loud. Not to mention that he was the one whining about having to pay $45 for only 8 hours of fun (Red Flag #3). Whatever, we would go when he needed to go. No big deal.

We order and while we are waiting for our delicious food to arrive he busts out with, “more bad news.” What? Why could he have just told me all of this earlier, like when he picked me up? You know, BEFORE we drove all the way to Valencia. Now, I am starting to get a little miffed. Especially when he follows that dose of bad news with the final blow of bad news…he “may not be able to pay for everything today.” Um, okay. Did I ask you to? No. I fully assumed that I’d pay my own way into the park. But, to soften the blow to his wallet, I offered to pay for breakfast ($20) and parking ($8). Not surprisingly, he did not protest (Red Flag #4). Well, he did drive, after all.

With hopefully all the bad news and Denny’s behind us, we arrive at our destination. We park in the shadow of Colossus as swarms of butterflies ricochet off the walls of my stomach. If I am not on a roller coaster within the next fifteen minutes, heads will roll. We walk up to the ticket booth where I take out some cash and my AAA card (Me? Pay full price? Never.), when all of a sudden, Erik offers to put it all on his credit card. Wow. Color me impressed…for about 1.25 milliseconds. Erik hadn’t finished his sentence and he added, “then you can just give me your cash (Red Flag #5).” Smooth, Erik. Real CLASSY. What do I look like, a freakin’ ATM?!? I smiled, teeth clenched together to keep me from saying something I would regret, and handed him my AAA card. The good news is my card got us each a $15 discount, bringing the price of entry to a mere $30 a piece. Quite the bargain, don’t you think? Nonetheless, Erik still didn’t offer to pay my way. A quick calculation in my head and I realize I am out almost $60 and he’s spent only $30. Nice.

This whole miserly side of Erik started to cast a dark shadow upon any feelings of attraction I may have had for him. Suddenly the “Viking” was looking more like a troll. Those negative feelings were reflected in how little contact we shared for the rest of the day. Sure, there were plenty of opportunities to smooch and cuddle, but somehow paying my own way and more, turned this outing in to a platonic experience.

Let’s move on to the coasters. Goliath was first. And it would eventually be our last, but that was on the second go-round. Ah, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

We walk the long walk to the loading platform, the kind of walk only possible to the lucky few who attend the park in the off season. As we do, we pass the numerous safety signs, which before had always been cause for humor and joking around. Well, when I rib Erik about his heart condition and that maybe he is not fit enough to ride, he says, “didn’t I tell you about the HOLE IN MY HEART?” Excuse me? The HOLE in your HEART?!? Um, no. I think I would’ve remembered something like that, and perhaps suggested that Magic Mountain may not be the best destination. How is it possible that we are four people away from boarding this self-proclaimed heart-pounding ride, and you didn’t have the forethought to mention you have a defective heart (ABORT. ABORT MISSION.)? My mind was reeling. Should we get out of line? If we didn’t get out of line and threw caution the wind and actually rode the roller coaster…would Erik die? As much as he had irritated me today, I didn’t want him dead! But before I even had time to consider the other consequences Goliath might inflict on Erik’s weak ticker, I notice he’s still talking.

Erik goes on to tell me that, in fact, he was born with three birth defects. The aforementioned hole in his heart, a deformed pinky finger that allows him to bend it sideways, and an undescended testicle that was corrected with surgery when he was younger. WHAT?!? How could I have been seeing this guy for almost four months and he is just informing me about this now? These are important details, don’t you think? You know, that you are not particularly healthy at all and you could possibly DIE if we go on this ride??? Still reeling from the shock, Erik and I get on the ride. We ride. We get off. All seems well, although he does stumble a bit on the ramp on our way out, but Erik is still alive.

We decide to tempt fate, and we go on both Batman and the Riddler’s Revenge. After that, I need some water and Erik makes some comment about being “old” and suggests that we sit for a while. Sit? Isn’t that what the roller coasters are for? But, I decide to keep my snarky comments to myself, and I oblige his wishes. We sit and share a lemon cooler (yes, share…and who do you think paid for that? Hmmm?). Shit. Three rides and this guy’s beat. This is not at all what I expected (and obviously blatantly ignored all those red flags). Worst of all, I was disappointed to find out that Erik was, well, weak. There I was, a full eight years older and rarin’ to go. And Erik…well, he needed a rest. The day was not going as planned.

On the plus side, I manage to convince Erik to go on two more rides, on one of which (simply named “X”) that, for a moment, I actually thought I was going die. It was FANTASTIC. But then, Erik needed to “rest” again. I was beginning to think bringing my grandma along, instead of Erik, would have been a wiser decision. I suggest that perhaps we get a little snack thinking that maybe a little food in his stomach might put the wind back in his sails. So we spot a pretzel vendor, and Erik actually reaches for his wallet. I can’t help but smile when he asks if I would like some, and when I say yes, he insists that we share. Yep, share.

So, even after a nice long relaxing sit down, where we made the most of one lousy pretzel, Erik complains once again about being tired. At this point I realize I am fighting an uphill battle and offer Erik a compromise: one more ride, and then we could go home. It wasn’t even 3:00 yet, but I wasn’t about to force Erik to stay any longer. Things were awkward enough as it was. I felt like I had spent the whole day doing mandatory community service, taking my “special” friend out for the day. However, I had not yet realized how special this day was about to become.

Goliath loomed in front of us. The first roller coaster ride of the day was also to be our last. In retrospect, we should have just gone home. Instead, we got on. We rode. We stopped about 100 feet outside the platform, and I turned to Erik to say, “Hey, that was better than the first time.” And just then he looked at me and said, “I don’t feel so good,” and that’s exactly when PUKEFEST ’03 began. He tried to cover his mouth but the vomit shot out between his fingers like a high-pressure hose. We were still locked securely into the ride, unable to get off, as we rolled to a stop in front of the potential boarders. Erik held the urge to purge as best as he could until we stepped off the ride, but then it was total, no holds barred, puke-o-rama. And just when I thought he couldn’t possibly barf anymore, he proved me wrong. Huge heaves of water and pretzel bits mixed with pieces of egg and partially digested French toast. It just kept coming, spewing all over him and more than a little on me. It was surreal. No one dared come close to us. For all intents and purposes, the bystanders and the employees acted like Erik had the Bubonic plague. I couldn’t hear over the loud roar of the crowd, but I could see their faces. Oh, the HORROR…the horror.

After what seemed like an eternity, I finally managed to steer Erik towards the restrooms so we could both clean-up and regain what little composure we had left. I was mortified, but more so, I felt bad for Erik. To say he was embarrassed would have been the understatement of the century. I told him it was no big deal, but I don’t think even I believed that. There was a giant elephant on the room, and he was sitting directly in between us. To make matters worse, neither of us knew how to deal with it.

We waited until he felt good enough to drive, and then we headed home. We drove mostly in silence, but we really couldn’t carry on a conversation in his car anyway, so maybe that was a good thing. An hour later, he pulled up in front of my house. I gave him a hug and asked him to call me later, to let me know if he was feeling better. He never called.

I never heard from Erik again. After that day at Magic Mountain, he simply disappeared. No phone calls. No emails. No apology or explanation. I can’t say I was really very disappointed, because once you see someone violently expel every last drop of food and drink their body can hold…you can’t go back. Plus, I learned a valuable lesson that day, if you invite a total stranger into your life don’t be too surprised when he reveals he has a hole in his heart, a jacked up pinky finger, or an undescended testicle because you never know…you just never know…until it’s too late.