It's almost Valentine's Day. There's no way around it. Even if you seclude yourself in that homemade bomb shelter out back - again, stocked with cans of Olympia beer from 1981, your Journey collection, and that sorry-ass stack of Victoria's Secret catalogs you've been hauling around for the last seven years (is that really what it's come to, dude?) - Feb. 14 is still going to rear its ugly head.

Don't get me wrong. Love is great. It's really, really great. It makes you happy. It makes you goofy. You do silly shit you wouldn't normally do. And your loins spend a lot of time engorged with blood. Who doesn't want that?

But love can also get pretty fucking gross. And so can dating. Especially for those unlucky, loveless denizens out there making a go of it in this cold, cold world all alone. You know who you are.

As we near another Valentine's Day, the Weekly Volcano staff offers their tales of true dating horror. Because we're just about as sick of this lovey-dovey shit as you.

Happy VD. - Matt Driscoll

Take Ya Some

Back in college, I dated a woman who tutored grade school children, so she always kept candy in a clean ashtray in her apartment.  She didn't own a proper candy dish, so for Valentine's Day I bought her a sealable glass jar at a hobby store, filled it with sweets, and used craft paint to draw happy clowns and woodland creatures on the sides.  I meant to inscribe "Take Some" on the jar, but I got the spacing wrong. Instead it read, "Take Ya Some," a slogan that inadvertently sounded vaguely creepy - and amuses my friends to this day. 

I gave her this heartfelt objet d'art in the student union as a visiting high school band traipsed through.  She accepted the gift (and flowers!) with an anxious look on her face - and then broke up with me on the spot.  The nearest band kid, upon whose noggin my memory insists there was a Q-tip-like majorette's hat, exclaimed, "Dude.  Harsh." 

Then my erstwhile beloved slept with most of my friends. - Christian Carvajal

Military guy in white T-shirt night

After a two-year engagement, being single again was daunting. Trying out Internet dating, all the rage at the time, yielded some very laughable evenings. A favorite is Military Guy in White T-Shirt night. After chatting online for a few weeks, Military Guy (name withheld to protect the insecure) and I met for dinner at 21 Commerce in downtown Tacoma. We were both to wear a white T-shirt and jeans, so we'd be able to pick each other out easily.

I show up and find nine guys sporting buzz cuts, white T-shirts and jeans loudly watching a football game at the bar. Mildly amused, and a bit bemused, I slid into a booth. It was like watching an unusual species in its natural habitat. I sipped a martini and checked out the guys in identical outfits.

Twenty minutes went by and  all eyes were still glued to the game. Eventually, I managed to find my Military Guy. He proudly announced he'd brought his whole squad, rattled off all their nicknames - each guy nodding - and went on to say they were having dinner with us (uh, yay me?).

But not until after the game.

Shockingly, this isn't every woman's dream, and I didn't stay for dinner. - Jennifer Johnson

McKinney's first drink

I was 16 the first time I asked a girl out. I was 16 when I first started drinking. This is no coincidence.

I approached her at our workplace and blurted, "Would you like to go out sometime?" To which she responded, "You mean, like, on a date?"

She told me she had a boyfriend, which, in hindsight, should have been my first question. I laughed and shrugged it off, quickly making my getaway. I walked a few blocks to stop at a payphone and called to scold the friend who had encouraged me to make the leap.

Eyeing the bar across the street, I said, "fuck it" and walked right in. I ordered a beer, and then I ordered four more.

After that occasion, I always found it a lot harder to drink in a bar while underage. Something about being at your lowest, though, makes people want to pass you a cold one. - Rev. Adam McKinney

Know when to fold 'em

I was young and socially awkward. I was also alone, somewhat drunk, and at Hell's Kitchen - for a show I can't particularly recall. Earlier in the evening I'd realized an ex-girlfriend of mine (who was having an especially difficult time coming to terms with the "ex" part of the new equation) was also in the house.

This, naturally, was awkward.

I was standing there watching the band, minding my own business, when suddenly an amazingly tall, fairly stunning African American woman walked over to me - accompanied by a much less tall and much less stunning friend. Instantly, I got a crazy vibe.

I have no idea how it happened, because I'm sure it was nothing I managed to say to her, but before long this 6-foot female center of attention was sticking her tongue down my throat. Her friend just watched. It caught me off guard, as you might imagine, but I allowed it because I didn't know what else to do. Plus, I was sure if I did anything else my friends would question my sexuality. I was between a rock and a hot place, so I went for it.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my ex-girlfriend - total bewilderment and defeat on her face. This alone, I thought, was enough to make it worth it. I had started to hate her.

Later, the mysterious woman gave me her number. I let a few days go by before I called her. When I did, she spoke in a hushed voice like she was literally hiding in a closet. She said her husband had a habit of smacking her around and his temper was nothing to fuck with. She went on to recall a previous "friend" she'd had, who her husband had thrown out a window. It sounded a bit like Pulp Fiction, but in the moment I believed her.

Then she asked if I'd like to get together sometime. I suggested instead we get off the phone and never speak again.

To make matters worse, a few days later my ex-girlfriend called and said she still wanted a relationship.

I suggested instead we get off the phone and never speak again. - MD

Amazing catch

My worst dating experience ever was just a night this guy asked me to go to the bars with him and his friends. We had been flirting for weeks, and I was pretty sure this was going somewhere good.

I met up with him and his friends, and the flirting commenced. He was so amazing. He completely ignored everyone but me, and I was confident that in no time he would officially be my boyfriend! Unfortunately, I had to take my friend who'd had a bit too much to drink home. But things were going well.

After I dropped off my drunken friend, I decided I couldn't let such a good catch get away. I went back to the bar and walked to the back of the dimly lit room.

There he was. So hot. So perfect. And, sucking face with another girl. - Joanne Varnell

Kill the DJ

I'm reaching into a deep dark place for this one. Went to a Seattle club on Occidental Square, near the Catwalk. At the time it was Area 51, and it was a hole. But we knew the DJ, and it was open until 4 a.m. My dear friend, who I'll call Peter for his sake, had invited two girls we had met at Burning Man the year before (before it turned into a hipster douchefest that you could buy tickets for).

I don't even remember the girl's name. She and her friend showed up really high on mushrooms. My half of the duo kept calling me "Merlin" and "Greg" and giggled when she did - as if she knew she was calling me by the wrong name. It was the most annoying thing in the universe.

Then she started talking about how she was an assassin during one of her past lives and that she wanted to kill the DJ because he reminded her of someone. It was whack, but she was serious.

She approached the DJ booth and grabbed one of the turntables, apparently trying to bludgeon him with it. She fell backwards down the stairs instead. She went off in an ambulance.

I kept dancing. - Paul Schrag

Night at the cineplex

Dating for me in the late '90s was something just a little short of a clusterfuck.  I had no car, worked at Target, lived in Federal Way, and had resorted to calling those toll-free party chat lines late at night. My daily activities were humbling, and nothing was beneath me when it came to doing what I had to do to get by. 

Or find a date, obviously.

I recall one chat line guy in particular taking me to see Will Farrell's early movie debut Night at the Roxbury.  After a complaint filled, 90-minute dose of play-by-play from this dude, the movie finally ended.

I began to pick up my popcorn bucket and soda, but as I did so, I noticed my date had started to walk away from his trash.  Did he forget?  My initial thought was to be nice and clean it up for him. 

"Hey, you want me to pick up your stuff for you?" I asked. 

"No, don't!  Just leave it there.  Let the employees pick it up. It's THEIR JOB," he shot back.

A man who thinks he's above everyone else is no man of mine.  Never saw that snobby a**hole again. - Steph DeRosa

Smashing dessert

Without a car and a major at the University of Washington in the early '80s, I did have a date with a sorority calendar girl. After pledging my firstborn, I borrowed my friend's 1976 Plymouth Duster and picked up Miss Beautiful under the evil eye of a housemother. Off to the Sheraton Hotel in downtown Seattle for its famous dessert buffet, and if all went well, more dessert later.

A packed parking garage keyed her in to my stress issues. "You passed a spot back there," she daintily squeaked.

Eager to show my reverse skills, I jumped on the gas, watching her instead of the enormous cement support pillar that folded my friend's trunk like a chocolate fortune cookie.

Of course, in retrospect, the proper move would have been to buckle her in back at her house. Instead, her pretty, pretty head smashed into the windshield - simultaneously smashing my dreams of romance.

In fact, the only dessert I had that night was a spit spritzer from my friend chewing me out next to his crunched car.

What happened to my date later in life? Oh, not much. She recovered and just went on to co-produce The Oprah Show.

Stupid parking garage. - Ron Swarner