Back in July, when I mentioned to a close friend that I was going to blog for this site and wasn’t sure what topics to tackle, she suggested I write about my long history of pathetic dating experiences. “That should provide you with many years worth of material,” she added.

I think she was kidding. But sadly I have to admit to some colorful (I personally wouldn’t use the word “pathetic”) dating stories and I’ll share one of them here. Let’s call the woman who was the object of my affection “Jane.” She was an attractive Korean American woman who initially seemed like a normal person. Little did I know she was really a…Nazi.

By Nazi, I don’t mean she was overtly anal or mean or anything metaphorical like that. By Nazi, I mean she was a fucking “Heil Hitler” Nazi.

I met Jane twelve years ago when I was a young playwright; working on one of my first plays. We had just mounted the production in Seoul, South Korea at an international theater conference to much acclaim and upon our return to the U.S., we decided to run the show for a couple of weeks in L.A. It was during one of these performances when I first saw Jane.

She came up to me after the show to say how much she enjoyed it. One of the greatest things for any young playwright is when a pretty woman tells you how much she likes your writing. So when Jane raved about my work, it felt really nice. If I meet someone now and they tell me they want to be an actor, immediate red flags go up. But back then, when Jane also added that she wanted to be an actor, I actually thought it was really cool. Oh, I was so young.

I ended up ditching my other friends who had come to the show that evening (including my fellow Offender Roger—sorry, dude) and went to a 24-hour Korean restaurant with Jane. We hit it off and ended up talking all night. As the sun came up over the fading neon of Koreatown and we said our good-byes, I thought I had met a woman who was different from most of the women I had met. Boy, was I ever right.

We made plans to go out the following weekend. I was invited to a party at the home of a former Saturday Night Live producer and thought it’d be nice to take Jane as my date since she wanted to pursue a career in the biz and, hell, it couldn’t hurt to impress her with my seemingly vast industry contacts.

Since the party was close to where I lived, Jane came over to my place so we could go together. As we were driving to the location, I got my first hint that something might not be completely right. I was cruising very slowly down the street where this producer lived so we could read the addresses. When we passed this one house, we could see a young couple enjoying dinner through the window. “I bet they’re Jewish,” she said out of the blue.

I thought that was a strange statement to make, but didn’t think more of it. Let’s just say that back then, I forgave a lot of “flaws” in the women I spent time with if they were hot. Again, I was young.

The party was fun and afterwards, we stopped at a diner for late night dessert. Things were going extremely well and I was hoping a slice of pie here would lead to a slice of…well, something else when we got back to my place. And that’s when it suddenly all came out. I’m not sure how it happened or what prompted it, but I clearly recall the first thing she said that made my jaw drop to the floor: “I think Jews are evil and should be put to death.”

This had to be a joke, right? Wrong! And once this door was open, there was no closing it. She went off on an extended monologue about not only the evil Jews and the myth of the Holocaust, but the inferior Blacks and Latinos and…how Hitler was her hero. It was clear that this was all stuff she needed to get off her chest and tell someone, but why me?!  Did she think I would agree with her? Did she think that whatever connection we had would make me sympathetic? She asked me not to tell anyone else she had these opinions. I was happy to oblige.

I had never heard someone, especially a seemingly normal and intelligent person, say such things. Especially someone so…hot. It was surreal and I responded with numbness and silence. Needless to say, nothing further happened that night. That’s when I should have just cut things off, but did I mention she was so…hot?

More Asian Nazis

So the next week, we went to dinner together. I was determined to get to the root of why she was the way she was. Maybe I had some vague notion that I would show her the error of her thinking and she would reward me with undying thanks and sexual favors. Did I mention I was not only young, but stupid?

I probed her history and background to see if there was something there that might have made her turn out this way. I could find nothing. I tried to explain to her why I felt her views were wrong. I told her how Hitler thought Koreans were an inferior race; that the only Asians he considered “honorary Aryans” were the Japanese—his allies. “Really?” She said. “Well, he was wrong about that.” Ah, was I making headway? “Even great men sometimes make mistakes, but one mistake doesn’t mean he’s not great,” she added. Wow! I even explained to her that if she was planning to work in Hollywood, how a lot of the people in positions of power were Jewish. She was shocked to hear this. “I guess the Jews really do control everything,” she said. “Well, I can always pretend to like them if it helps me with my career. I am an actress after all.”

The sad thing is I was still considering seeing her again after this debacle. But luckily, something she said as we were driving home knocked some sense into me. “I think a guy I know lives around here,” she blurted out. “Maybe I should look him up, go over to his place, and cut his balls off.” OK, thank you and good-bye, you psycho Nazi bitch!

Unfortunately, the story doesn’t end there. The Asian American arts community is a pretty small one (well, at least it was back then) and, although I stopped calling Jane, she started showing up at more and more events on her own. I didn’t want to piss her off because, frankly, I really like my balls, but I wished she wouldn’t try to hang with me at these functions. Since she was being so chummy, people were even asking if she was my girlfriend. Oh God, just strike me dead!

You may be thinking—OK, but it can’t get worse, right? Yes, it can and it did. At the time, we were doing weekly theater workshops that were open to anyone and sure enough, Jane showed up one night to participate. I just could not get away from this woman.

Then, the inevitable happened. After one workshop, everyone was hanging out and talking. I was taking care of something else and wasn’t paying much attention until I noticed a commotion developing.

It turns out Jane had dropped the bomb. For some reason, she had spilled her Nazi opinions to the dozen or so folks gathered. Again, I don’t know why she did this (especially after she asked me not to share her views with anyone else), but now it was all out. As expected, the reaction was stunned silence.

After the others had left, I sat with Jane and tried to explain to her why everyone reacted negatively to her opinions. The whole time I was talking to her, she was focused on her reflection in her compact and the assorted shades of lipstick she was testing on her lips because, as she said, “I’m an actress, I have to try out different looks.” She admitted that she had just been cast in some Korean TV show and her career was going to take off. It was clear nothing I said was getting through to her. I said good night, wished her luck with the TV show and off she went.

Jane stopped coming around after that and though I would see her at the occasional event, she wasn’t as friendly as she used to be. Soon I stopped seeing her altogether. I think it’s been over ten years since I last ran into her. But I hope wherever she is now, she’s found peace and maybe even a little bit of enlightenment. To this day, I have no idea why a nice Korean American girl with a seemingly normal upbringing would grow up to embrace a Nazi philosophy, but, hell, I was an idiot too for hanging around as long as I did.

Finally, I guess there’s always the possibility that Jane may be reading this. If so, I hope you’re well and happy, Jane. I just ask one thing: I really, really like my balls. Please keep that in mind if anything I’ve written here has upset you.