Boys, Get Off Your Ass And Actually Plan A Date

When I first moved to the city I would have considered myself an unseasoned dater. Now, six years later I guess you could say I’m overly seasoned, perhaps even a bit salty. Despite my inherent cynicism, I’m actually quite an easy date to please. Not because I’m low maintenance, but because my expectations are lower than the DOW Jones in 2008.

It seems that most of the men of my generation don’t know how to treat a woman. I have no idea what happened. Was there some afternoon special on Nickelodeon about how to make as little effort as possible? To the best of my knowledge Zach Morris was a pretty good boyfriend to Kelly Kapowski so, what happened?

On occasions that are too numerous to count, a guy will ask me for plans only to follow that up with something along the lines of you pick the place. Nothing kills a lady boner quite like laziness. Lack of initiative demonstrates a lack of interest, even if that’s not the intent. Sure, I understand the sentiment. You’re trying to be flexible and appear laid back, but what you’re actually telling me is that you would rather receive a prostate exam from Edward Scissorhands than take me out.

Don’t get me wrong, I am extremely independent, almost to a fault. I’ve assembled pieces of furniture in my apartment, I can pump my own gas, and I am more than capable of selecting a date venue. I do find it interesting though, that in an age where men seem to be so put off by female empowerment, they fail to make even the smallest effort in the art of courtship.

I am convinced that foreplay starts way before the date. You want to know why it takes women so long to climax? Because the fact that you couldn’t even pick a restaurant made us so damn dry, you now have make up for the lack of moisture.

A similar, and equally frustrating scenario is when it’s 3:00PM on the day of your scheduled date and you still haven’t heard from them. Any female who has been through this is all too familiar with the deluge of thoughts that come from our inherent ability to overanalyze. “Has he lost interest? Did he suddenly have to enter the witness protection program? Am I destined to watch Criminal Minds reruns with my cat until the end of my days?”

I’m a sucker for a good plan. I have a full-time job and I live so far west that my apartment is practically in the Hudson River. So knowing whether we’re meeting for after work drinks or something a bit later is key. Will I have time to go home and change? Or do I have to go to work looking date ready without being an HR violation? Since I rarely get a 24-hour notice, and because I’m mildly neurotic, I’ll always err on the side of caution. But if a guy texts me at 4PM, asking me to meet at 9 and I went into work looking like Olivia Pope on steroids, I’m going to be irked.

Despite my love of solid plans, I don’t require a detailed laminated itinerary, just a simple text the morning of our date saying where and when. You don’t even need to say “hi.” Your text could simply read “(insert location), (insert time),” kind of like we’re doing a drug deal.

It’s gotten to the point where this type of communication is my idea of sexting. If I receive a text like this I’m happy, I’m excited, and I’m buying a new bra. And you best believe that if the guy also makes a reservation, I’m buying the matching underwear. So please gentleman, if you insist on sending me a dick pic, make sure the location and time of our meeting is written on a post-it note that’s stuck to your penis.