The Stupidest Non-Date Idea Ever, by “Bill,” Part 1

Before I delve further into my own dating horrors, my friend “Bill” (name changed to protect the creator of the Dumbest Notion of All Time) asked me to blog about this specific topic, which apparently he feels strongly about: the group date. AKA, the cop-out date. FYI, Bill thinks the group date is the best thing since 24-hour CVS (where else is he going to buy Plan B for all those lucky ladies he’s tricked into a group date?!). I think the group date is just another example of how pathetic guys my age are.

By the way, other things that make guys my age pathetic???

  • Guys with professional jobs wearing backpacks to work.
  • Guys who think buying girls drinks is annoying because “girls just use guys to get drinks” (yeah, I’m talking to YOU…you know who you are!!!)
  • Guys wearing gloves to lift at the gym (calm down, please. This isn’t the Olympic finals of the clean and jerk.)
ANYWAY, I digress.

Now, before I give a balanced argument (ummm…) of why I think Bill’s idea is ABYSMAL, I must say how I met Bill.

It all happened one blustery winter night two years ago. The new hot spot in town was Howl at the Moon and all of Boston, me included, just had to be on the cutting edge of nightlife. I mean, a dualing piano bar??? With neon fish bowls?! Boston hadn’t seen anything this innovative since Nantucket Reds. And in Boston, that’s about where innovation started and stopped.

I’ll eat my hat if these tools aren’t standing SOMEWHERE in New England.

Back to Howl at the Moon.

There were no cute guys anywhere that night. I was shocked, considering this was supposed to be “the” spot. And I’m not one of those girls who drinks to make ugly people look hotter, either. If things are really looking bleak, I’ll cut my losses and ask the cab driver to take me to the McDonald’s drive-thru, where I most definitely will order three large fries and then scarf them down while watching a documentary about brainwashed North Korean child gymnasts on Netflix. That to me is almost better than going out!

Side note: I do admit to adhering to the Sliding Scale of Bar Hotness. You know the one…come on girls (and guys). It’s not “Is this person the hottest person in the world?”…it’s “Is this person the hottest person IN THIS BAR OF 150 PEOPLE?” Survival skills, people. The human race would be over if we didn’t all make these sorts of small sacrifices.

Anyway, at Howl that night, to my left and about four Vineyard Vines button-downs away, I spotted a ray of shining hope. The guy was CUTE. I could tell even from a distance his eyes were beautiful–a light blue I would compare to the vibrant hue of the Skype logo.

He was drinking a beer–aka, he passed my first test. I hate when guys drink anything other than beer or a “man drink”–ie, not something that comes in a swirly, girly glass with ten flowers, four Blow Pops, and a live flamingo stuck to the rim. Oh, or anything that deliberately looks like the guy is trying not to “drink” his calories. Please, if you’re worried about what a drink will do to your physique, move away from me and onto a man, because news flash, you do not like girls.

Second positive sign–his eyes were fixated on the basketball game. Such a good sign of a  normal, red-blooded American male! Not much more to say about this–if the guy is watching the game, he’s probably someone you can trust not to kill you in your sleep, or worse, sign up for an anime convention. (Yeah, I went on that date.)

Third positive sign–with friends not dressed like metrosexuals. I like when guys are dressed a level above absolutely clueless–like, they have on a nice-fitting pair of jeans, but it’s clear they are wearing the t-shirt that was on the top of the pile. And when they are with friends dressed pretty much the same, I take it as a sign that these are down-to-earth, normal guys who will not want to discuss Oscar de la Renta’s resort collection with me.

I looked around–no other viable options–and decided to move in for the kill.

My friends sometimes ask me how I approach guys without looking like a desperate loser (it’s all just a cover-up for my true self, after all!) I tell them it’s all in assessing the situation and making yourself a part of his landscape. AKA, do not walk up to a guy, break his attention from whatever he’s focused on, and present yourself as a friendless, single, walking advertisement of SAD. Instead, weasel your way into his “world” in a casual, non-commital way that will allow for an easy exit strategy if the guy turns out to have zero concept of timeless beauty, extreme intelligence, and unparalleled wit: YOU!

In this case, I knew I’d have to pretend to know something about sports. Luckily, I am a good actress, and waited until the score of the game disappeared from the screen to sidle up to Mr. Group Date.

“Do you know the score?” I asked, vaguely pointing to the screen and sipping my drink flirtatiously. God, guys love this…I cannot stress this point enough: when a girl who looks like she knows NOTHING about sports actually seems to care. It makes you look like the Renaissance Woman of 12-3 am. I mean, wearing stilettos…and asking the score! It’s a   killer combo! It works EVERY time!

“Oh yeah, its blahblahblahblahblah…” I obviously did not care about the score. But I’d already tricked him into thinking I was the best kind of girl there is, and therefore had his attention: looks girly and is into boy things. Little did he know I am actually the worst kind of girl there is: looks girly, doesn’t know anything about boy things, and will only admit this fact once we are actually friends and/or dating.

Side note: if you’re a girl reading this and consider yourself feminine and genuinely into sports (I mean ACTUALLY…so…every one of my friends except Kait, you can stop getting excited) can you please give me a call so we can become friends? I have an opening in my Rolodex for a hot girl who can teach me how to play a game of touch football while looking cute. THX! 1-800-CLUELESS. In exchange for this info, I will offer a “thank-you” package, including:

  • Lifetime membership to the Help Molly Foundation. Noteworthy members include: my mom, all my gchat buddies, and Google founders Sergey Brin and Larry Page, without whom I would not be able to self-diagnose my various neurosis.
  • A voucher to the bar in my house, redeemable for a Skinnygirl Margarita in a plastic Delta Gamma cup with a chaser of Saltines.
  • Invitation to my seminar “Elliptical Your Way to Happiness!”

SO, Bill…Bill and I ended up chatting the entire night. The Bulls happened to be playing, so I got lucky–I could actually divert this conversation to a conversation about Chicago, which I can talk about intelligently. I also learned Bill was quite outdoorsy and and all-around athletic guy. SWOOON. Look, it’s no secret: despite being the most uncoordinated, un-athletic girl on the planet, I just cannot resist a man who accessorizes with fishing poles/sneakers/power tools/axes. I think it must be some modern-day example of the cave man mentality. You know, since there’s no longer a need for a man to go out and spear a wooly mammoth for his lady, he has to impress her by being able to chop down a tree and then build a house out of it. Unless you’re Ryan Reynolds…then you can just sit there while I look at you.

Come on…REALLY??!!

As the night came to a close, I gave Bill my digits and went on my way. We began texting a lot–just back and forth-ness, and he friended me on Facebook. Still, Bill failed to ask me to hang out again, which I thought was weird. But okay. Whatever! Maybe he was busy…or…something?

Months pass. Texting dies off. One day I am going through my Facebook friends deciding who the unlucky ones are that no longer make the cut. AKA, it’s Official Unfriending Day.

“Hmm…yeah, girl who asked me to comment on her school newspaper article about the dining hall extending it’s hours…you’re out. Guy from that group project who did nothing but sit there eating Panda Express…axed.”

I got to Bill. Bill, who I’d met once. Bill, who had never asked me to hang out again. Bill, who I MOST DEFINITELY DO NOT KNOW AT ALL.

He got the axe.

A couple days later, I get a text. I don’t remember it verbatim, but the gist of it was “WTF? Unfriended?! REALLY???!!!”

I explained to Bill my reasoning and he wasn’t having it. Thus began a beautiful re-relationship, in which I allowed Bill to re-friend me. We became gchat friends and actually got to know each other, and lo and behold, Bill was a cool guy! Because of the nature of our relationship though, we spent a lot of time chatting about that very subject: relationships. Sometimes Bill would tell me about a chick he was trying to seduce. I would offer advice. That’s when he dropped this bomb:

Bill does not believe in meeting a girl once and going on a solo date with her. Drinks, dinner, scuba diving lessons–he doesn’t believe in it!

Annnd this is where my head blew off. And where this blog post ends. Stay tuned for Bill’s reasoning and my objections.

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