First Dates Suck

First dates suck.

You probably could have guessed that just from reading the title, but I’m going to repeat myself for emphasis.

You know what I like about blogging?

The repetition.

You know what I like about blogging?

The repetition.

You know what I like about blogging?

That atmosphere that blogs provide.

Now, I don’t mean to sound like a pessimist or anything, but first dates really do suck.  It’s just a couple hours of awkward conversation, and that’s if you’re lucky.  I also don’t mean to sound like some anti-Romance douche (but let’s face it—I totally am), but you and I both know I’m right here.  At least on the high school front.

Why yes I did just compare dating to war.  After going through junior high and high school with a few battle scars (get the minds out of the gutter, kiddies), I think it’s pretty accurate.

See, here in the world of “I wear Hollister cuz I’m a princess, dammit,”  it is apparently unheard of to say to someone:  “Hey, you’re cute.  Let’s grab some Joe commence with the small talking.”

Actually, that’s pretty unheard of everywhere.

Might explain my lack of dates tonight, actually.

But still, the hoops one must jump through are ridiculous.  One cannot date Tina because she’s friends with Alicia, whose cousin you kissed at a party, which pissed Tina off because she’s liked you all the while and she heard you were a total douchenozzle and didn’t call the cousin after the party, regardless of whether you actually had her phone number or not.

But don’t get so smug, guys.  We aren’t much better.

As a practically petrified partaker in this perpetual playground, it’s pretty pitiful to partake in.

(Mental note, Sprouls.  Alliteration is strictly forbidden if you want a date in the next eternity.)

So once you find someone whose group of friends you haven’t managed to irritate yet—

Or more accurately:

Catching a pattern yet?

Anyway, once you find this potential love interest, it’s time to suit up for your potential date, right?

Females have come to believe that unless you are a sparkling vampire or are a dead ringer for a Disney prince, you have to work your ass off just for the time of day, and because most guys are too busy beating each other up, calling each other sexuality preferences as insults, and eating Doritos while bathing in Axe body spray, dates set up solely on sexual attraction is a strict no-no.

So don’t even try.

Fortunately, this problem can be solved.

For those of the female variety, this problem is very easily solved.  Just remember that guys will usually obsess over one thing and fiercely and hilariously defend it to the death.  In other words, pretend to care about his love for Modern Warfare Whatever and buy him a Monster energy drink and you’ll have a devoted boyfriend for months at minimum.

I’m the same way.  Present a holographic Pokémon card to me and you can find yourself quickly in a romantic candle-lit dinner.  Hell, I’ll even throw in a foot massage if it’s a Charizard.

I’m not even kidding.

And I hate feet.

And guys, this problem is easily solved in four words: 

“A Whole New World.”

Memorize this song and suddenly you’ve got chicks falling for you left and right.

Funny how simple this complex dating world can be, huh?

Now don’t get me wrong.  Dating in high school is possible, despite these roadblocks.  I mean, that sucky first date can’t suck if it doesn’t happen, can it?

Wow.

Talk about optimism.

Anyway, my point still stands.  First dates suck.  Right from the start.

I think it boils down to this.  Because teenage minds aren’t yet fully developed, they think of two things and two things only.  Girls think of heart-to-hearts over text and romantic gestures that are too vomit-inducing than a Nick Sparks novel.  For guys, it’s a bit more Neanderthal.

Makeouts and the inquisite structure of the female body.

Uh…well, at least that’s what I hear…

MY POINT IS, due to the simple minds of teenagers, dates are rarely anything more than having Mom drop them off at the theater with a $20 bill.  And trust me on this one, while the movie dates work once, they lose their magic really quickly.

After the movie, it’s time for the awkward drive home.  If you drove there yourself, you might be able to diffuse the tension by just trying to focus extra-hard on the road.  If Mommy drove you, I certainly hope there’s something interesting on your phone to pretend to be invested in.

You’d think it’s over by now right?  Not at all, there’s still that one thing left.

The goodbye.

Forgot about that one, didn’t ya?  Yep, that’s still there, looming in the distance up until you pull up to your date’s driveway and your mother says that you have to walk her up there because “That’s what gentlemen do.”

Mothers, your kid is fourteen.  He probably still thinks that peach fuzz on his upper lip counts as a handlebar moustache.

Trust me on this one; I was living that delusion until I got my driver’s license.

So you walk up to the front stoop with your date and suddenly you realize that in every situation in all the movies, the two on the date…dare I say it…KISS.

And you’re standing there on the stoop, awkwardly staring at each other.  You curse yourself, because of all the times you’d seen that scene, you didn’t even analyze it in the slightest.  But you can’t facepalm.  Not here.  Not now.  Not in front of this cute girl who’s going through the exact same mentality you are.

Just remember boys.  You always have to be the one who goes for it.

I feel like the feminist movement would have been a lot more successful if women had gone for this right before any others.

How long do you kiss her?  What if she doesn’t want the kiss?  What if you miss and hit her ear?  Where does your nose go?  Why is she turning away?

Way to go, Casanova.

Sucks to suck, kid.

So you walk back to the door miserably.  You pry open the door.  You muster up the strength to smile at your mother.

She smiles.

She knows.  She KNOOOOOWWWWWWWSSSSSSSS.

And then you forget about it the next day because you stayed up super late to sneakily watch that episode of “South Park” without your parents knowing you did.

They said “Shit” and you almost peed yourself laughing.

You’re a regular Jimmy Dean, kiddo.