There are no bad dates. Just assholes for setting us up with them.

After chortling over a received text message with the words: date FAIL!, I thought about what makes for a good date and likewise for the bad. Cleveland Magazine asked me a similarly worded query years (ack, five) ago, and I think it’s still on point. Activity-based dates are still on the top of my list; I still want to do more camping and rock climbing and kayaking… and *sigh* I cannot WAIT for Spring and Summer. But I am equally as excited for good food and a glass of wine because I’m, like, more sophisticated and more conscious of eating well, rather than eating right. And it is a sport watching me polish off all those buffalo wings. Woo!

Catching the drift, Y Chromosomes? ACTIVITIES. This may or may not include slamming beer cans into each others’ foreheads… because, well, there is truly a soul mate for everyone.

And forget about all that pre-date schwag too — teddy bears (oh, I shrieked from horror!), flowers, chocolates, twin brothers… I mean, unless it’s a bouquet of condoms and you expect three rounds of wall sex before we make the reservation. Oh, I have four walls? OK, four-wall sex is fine. We still have 20 minutes.

And seriously? Chocolate-covered strawberries? Surprising me at the bar on girls’ night. Now, that’s just weird.

Nobody likes the word that begins in “pre-” and honestly, the proof is in the finale. I mean, yes, I know you’ve already come… to pick me up, but there are those important things like conversation and laughter (at you, of course) and hopefully a short drive to the date location so I don’t get car sick and… OK, none of that is important.

OK, I lied it is important. I need to know if I need to pack some Dramamine.

We just want to have a good time, alright? Preferably doing something that you pretended not to read in one of those clueless women magazines. Or what your eternally-single 65-year-old Uncle from Poughkeepsie (is that spelled right?) suggested as a “stellar bush call.” Yes. He called it a “bush call.”  And not like the recently-ousted President. And probably couldn’t spell “stellar” on paper. All I know is that it sounds perverted and a little too hairy for my preference.

You know, something different. And for the record, strip clubs and threeways are not different.

I’m tempted to use the word “imagination” here, but I almost afraid to discover the results.

Familiar I-will-kick-you-in-the-baby-maker-I-swear Lists (ie: “bad” dates) consist of endings with: tears (real or fake and especially if it involves ex-thoughts), arguments (Bitch! Simmer Down!), drowning (Uh, help?), losing kidneys (And a nice Chianti), or dine-and-dashes. Just me then? Or a handshake. Seriously, I would rather you just punch me in my balls rather than, “Oh, Mel… sweet ass time. See you soon.” *handshake*

Blink. Blink. Look of confusion. Blink. Can I keep the chocolate? Blink.

By the way, I have a horrible dating experience where I canceled via phone  for that night while the guy was at the florist picking out flowers for me to present to me on said date. It would have been our second date.

You made that “oooooh” face, right?

Furthermore, I think a good date ends with the following:  a) full stomach b) warm, fuzzy butterflies (oh wait, that was the booze? Crap) c) muscle aches or bruises (remember “ac-tiv-i-ties”) d) sex (but definitely not on the first date or a blind date or a combination of the two and certainly no less than 3 or more than 10. Wait. Does that fall under letter c? Whatever, horndogs)  and 5) a phone call.

But at least not until I wake up at noon tomorrow.

So, question: what makes a date go well — or not well?

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