Counterpoint: A Girl’s Guide to First Dates
So I know I’m still the new kid around here but I hope it’s become clear through my musings on this site as well as my Twitter (because obvs you follow me on Twitter) that I am not good at dating. I talk about ghosts and how orca whales work together to kill seals on first dates. I have forgotten to eat and blacked out by 9:30. More than once I just left - excused myself to the bathroom and just didn’t go back to the bar. And I can justify all of those things in my mind. I’m the worst combination of being an over thinker who also just genuinely doesn’t give a shit – wanna wife me yet?
Here’s the thing: I know what I do wrong on dates. This is not a secret to me. I know that by getting too drunk and being too open about writing for the internet machine people make a first impression of me that’s pretty unshakeable. I am fully aware that I am a dysfunctional woman-child wrapped up in winged eyeliner and chipped black nail polish; I’m just okay with it. And even though I admit to being bad at them – I go on a lot of first dates. Despite the guys being 90% “yeah…nooo…” afterwards they have to admit almost always that I’m kind of a blast.
A ways back Scaries wrote a guide to replicate how he crushes first dates and reading it, I’d have to agree. He’s got it down to a science. I try to follow my “rules”, but usually end up with an embarrassing story and a lot of “Are you okay?” texts the next morning. You gotta laugh at yourself – and that’s something I am GREAT at. So here you go: my hot mess rules for dating. Think Carrie Bradshaw – but in far less expensive footwear.
Rule Number One: Pregame.
This can mean whatever it needs to mean. Usually it means responsibly enjoying half a glass of Cab Sav while curling your hair two hours prior to dinner. For me pre-gaming involves drinking beer in bed and waiting until the last possible minute to turn off Netflix and start getting ready. It also means that no “perfect date outfit” has been picked – I’m just throwing on my tightest jeans and a bra that hoists everything up and hoping for the best.
And by “hoping for the best” I mean I hope that he doesn’t touch my hair because he’ll come away with a whole lot of Not Your Mother’s dry shampoo and confusion on his fingers and that no aura of Pale Ale is coming out of my pores.
If I think about it I’ll grab a slice of bread while I’m running out the door to my Uber and I will cross my fingers that the slice of whole wheat will be enough to soak up the alcohol I’m about to ingest.
Rule Number Two: Do a shot together right away.
I used to think this came across as “look how fun I am” now I realize it looks like “look how easy I’m about to become.” Except jokes on you, bro! I’m just going to get really passionate about animals, farm-to-table and really bossy/opinionated about what songs are being played in the bar. Shots don’t make me easy. Intelligence, compliments, and emulating Dave Franco makes me easy – not Fireball.
But either way rules are rules and I’m sticking to it.
Dating sucks. Whether you’re like me and it’s a necessary evil or you’re like Scaries over there shaking his head because he knows I would probably spiral and start talking about famous serial killers while he’s fucking rocking it over candlelight; nobody likes it at first. So get liquored up. Make those questionable decisions. Maybe you’re just giggly or maybe you end up eat quesadillas on a curb together after last call.
Alcohol makes awkward situations better: that’s just science, ya’ll.
Rule Number Three: Drinks only until you know you’re okay with their tongue being in your mouth.
I am not saying that dinner “obligates” anyone to get busy – calm down everyone. But to me drinks are casual and easier to walk away from without hurt feelings or hours lost. Dinner means that you actually expect something, you have to talk a bunch, there’s just way more pressure. Plus if someone is buying me food I feel like I should make out at least a little. I coincidentally also feel this way about movies. No one just “watches a movie” past the age of twelve. This is 2015 if is a movie is involved someone is looking to take your top off.
Rule Number Four: If he doesn’t tip, no finishing the date.
There’s a “just the tip” or “finishing” joke in there somewhere but I’m pretending to be too classy to make it. Seriously though if you don’t tip the bartender you’re an asshole and I’m going to “go to the bathroom” and you’ll never see me again. I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again. I would much rather drink alone with my thoughts and Trivia Crack that drink with someone who can’t cough up an extra dollar for his whiskey ginger. Don’t be a stingy bastard – you’re making people talk about you behind your back.
Rule Number Five: Don’t let them follow you on Twitter.
How can I shamelessly subtweet you if you’re going to see everything? How can I make fun of you for not knowing about the VMAs or who Joe Biden is if you’re reading it? I fully acknowledge and accept my crazy but that doesn’t mean he needs to have a full access pass to it right away. Twitter is for relationships only. It’s like eating full meals/pizzas in front of guys: not until he loves you and there’s no turning back.