To Blog or Not To Blog

Blogging is a mixed blessing.

We have found that the tone of our dates has been impacted depending on if the men know about this blog or not.

We are open and upfront that we are writing about this experience (if the men ask), and do not include real names or images without consent (besides Stu...he didn't know we put his picture up...sorry Stu!)

In some cities, we haven't even written about the experience, because it just didn't seem right.

We are writing because we want to remember. We are writing because it helps us process the experience. We are writing because we love to write. We are writing because we want to share this experience with the people who care about us. We are writing because some of this shit is just too damn funny to keep to ourselves.

We want to respect that, with each date, we are entering into the lives of others. We do not mean to expose anyone, or make anyone self-conscious because we are blogging about the dates. We appreciate every single person who has agreed to go on a date with us.

Sincerely,

Hillary and Danielle

Red Threads (Hillary's take on it)

I just read Danielle's post, and I agree that our date in Montreal brought up a lot for me. Yes, yes, it was hilarious, and we will write a new blog post later (as well as write about our New Haven, CT, date...which was equally, if not more ridiculous), but for now, I want to appropriate East Asian cultures (collectively?) and talk about the concept of the Red Thread.

According to Wikipedia (seriously, how did I get through high school without Wikipedia?):

The red string of fate, also referred to as the red thread of destiny, red thread of fate, and other variants, is an East Asian belief originating from Chinese legend and is also used in Japanese legend. According to this myth, the gods tie a red cord around the ankles of those that are to meet one another in a certain situation or help each other in a certain way. Often, in Japanese culture, it is thought to be tied around the little finger. According to Chinese legend, the deity in charge of "the red thread" is believed to be Yuè Xià Lǎo (月下老, often abbreviated to "Yuèlǎo" [月老]), the old lunar matchmaker god who is also in charge of marriages.

I love this idea, and have been appropriating it for many years now...but a tad incorrectly it seems, because I always thought that red threads could be numerous, and that they would not only connect me to potential romantic/life partners, but just important people that I was supposed to meet in life. 

This trip is a journey along red threads that have been attached for a long time now, as well as on new threads that are being tied with every date we go on. My grandfather used to say, "The more you love, the more you love," and I honestly believe that. As Danielle shared, some people have questioned our motives for this trip, but I never have. The more people I meet, the more joy that comes into my life. That's it. It's simple. 

After each date, Danielle and I come home (alone, oy) and discuss what occurred. While we normally laugh hysterically throughout these discussions, the bottom line that I often take away from our talks is that we have always been glad we said 'yes' to the date--no matter how tired or disillusioned we felt going in. We weren't even going to go on the Montreal date last night. The guys were very late to pick us up, and we were having a lot of trouble coordinating without cell phones, etc. We were about to throw in the towel, when they finally showed up to take us out at 9 PM. 5 hours later, when Danielle and I came back to the hotel room, we began to talk about each of the men, and I realized that I somehow cared deeply about each of their lives. Is this the therapist in me? Is this healthy? I don't know. All I do know is that these were strangers to me a few hours ago, and now here I was, sincerely hoping that each one of them finds someone or some thing to make them happy. 

I am consistently amazed at the amount of people in the world. I am sometimes overwhelmed at the thought that I could never know each of their stories. So, I guess this trip is about that, too. As one of our astute Charleston dates told us about himself, "I collect people." I've been carrying that concept with me since that date. Danielle and I have been collecting people left and right, east and west, north and south, US and now Canada. We've been listening to and sharing stories. Laughing, getting serious, toasting to new beginnings and new friends, perhaps to budding romances through one of these many connections. 

The friends, co-workers, and family members who have set us up on these dates and opened their homes to us on this incredible journey are carried with us as well. I am overwhelmed by the effort and love they have put into finding us men who will open our hearts again. I don't know where I would be without all of you. From near and far, you make me feel loved and appreciated every day. 

My ankles and pinkies and wrists and waist are tied to so many red threads now. They pull me in many directions, expanding my mind and my heart with every new city, every new date and day on this trip. I couldn't be more honored to be connected to each and every one of you. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 

Montréal: Mobile Sanatoriums & Bromance (Danielle's POV)

I don't want to write about this date. 

The date was fine, wonderful, actually something delightful with a sandy quality: I'm afraid to palm it to much for fear that it will slowly crumble away. I much prefer to keep it in its nascent state. Maybe Hillary will tell the story because god knows it was as hilarious as all of our other encounters. The similarities between dates and salads are striking. While I (again) didn't consume a salad with our gentlemen callers the date itself feels like one - a salad that is: there's the smooth cheesy but comforting happy spots, the occasional bitter lettuce or cucumber, an acidic bite that is sometimes pleasant and sometimes off-putting. So, you know, it was a normal date. 

But what was significantly more striking were two things - one a general trend in the men we've met, the other a very rare pearl these men possessed. 

The general trend: Men who agree to go out with us are awesome. Awesome is a shitty word sometimes, but I think it perfectly shores up these guys. They don't know much about us - if anything physically. They trust their friends or friends of friends. They are open to new experiences and are they can embrace the spontaneous surprise. They are always gentlemen (RR excepted). They go out of their way to make the effort to show us a good time and engage total strangers in honest conversation. 

This is precious. 

This is sexy. 

This is not something de rigueur in my life. 

More than feeling passionate or dispassionate or connected or invested in these men I feel grateful. 

So... thanks guys. It's easy for me to take people for granted (just ask my mother - oy the hell I've put her through!) so this cosmic lesson in stranger-love is valuable for me. 

The most hardened and troubled hearts on this trip have been very concerned with our end-game: what is the purpose of this? what happens if you meet someone you like? blah blah blah 'i'm closed off to the possibilities of life' etc. We've explained the purpose of our trip over and over (we have our own couple dynamic when telling it - it's tasty) and we explain how we're thirty, how we had relationships that we cherished with our whole hearts that exploded and demolished us, we explain how we want to expand our horizons and renew our hope/faith and get our grooves back. 

But really I think the rationale for this trip came down to a pervasive feeling of spiritual hollowness. We've meditated. We've exercised. We've cried. We've let our friends help us with various forms of healing and destruction. But at the end of the day, we are great thirty year old people seeking life partners and getting a little weary of striking out. So, before going up to bat again in my home field I needed a little recuperation. And the generosity of the men we've met around the nation (and outside of it!) has been like a mobile soviet sanatorium (as in 'house of rest' - see here or here - not as in the American version loosely translated as, 'crazy house').

And while all of the men we've met have been contributing teachers in that lesson our Montreal dates held a distinct great pleasure (although not of the kind we are greatly in need of #celibacy). 

The Montreal men: Phil, Michael, and Johnny  (yes - they surprised us with a third dude! I know, I know, the stuff of bucket-list fantasies right?) 

They all were real on-going, committed, life-partner friends. They knew each others families, they didn't put down each other ever, they clearly made space for each others' idiosyncrasies. In general, few people have such friendships. I consider myself to be a lucky-as-fuck woman because I have two such groups of friends - to say nothing of the insanely funny loving individuals I count myself connected to. But to have such deep friendships where you can call each other out on your behavior in 9th grade physics class, drive your friend home even though they live in the ridiculously wrong direction, and treat money as communal property is a never-in-a-lifetime experience for most people - and especially for men. I've never seen such man friends. They said that when they're out on weekends people sometimes think they're gay. I love this heirloom varietal friendship. Hell yes. 

As I sat there watching a totally unremarkable conversation between the three of them I was totally tickled because they were such... homies. I think I've had their exact conversation sitting in the heart and dagger patio with my girls. You could see the love. They could see the love. And the love was good. 

Thanks Montreal Men!

p.s. you're all hot and we like you... 

New York Date #2

Again, let it be known that we hate New York. Ok, ok. Not so much Danielle, but Hillary has found a true nemesis in the city. Her new motto is: "New York, where everything is harder than it has to be." No crude jokes, please.

Yet, for SOME reason, we were going to go on ANOTHER new york date. Actually we had TWO more dates (another back-to-back double-double-dating scenario) set up for our second night in NYC. WHAT ARE WE DOING TO OURSELVES? WE ARE TOO OLD FOR THIS. 

(a quick glimpse into our typical pre-date conversations)

Hillary: OK, I know we haven't slept or showered in days, and we hate New York, but we have to rally and go on a dinner date with this friend of Jenny B., and yes, I know we don't know who the fuck Jenny B. is, but we have to go anyway, because Jenny B.'s friend is my friend, and I would feel too guilty to ditch it. And then, we have to rally even more and go out for post-dinner drinks with two Wesleyan guys at yet another hipster bar, because again, I'm too guilty to cancel since we were set up again by hyper-competitive LawyerFace. And, here's the worst part: one of the guys is Australian.

Danielle: Ugh, Australians are sinister. And I am so, so tired.

Hillary: OMG, I just got a text message from Jenny B.'s (??) friend, and he has to cancel our dinner date due to a forgotten salsa lesson!!!!! YESSSSS!!!!!

Danielle stops rinsing her hair in the shower and salsas across the room: YESSS!!!!!! Date cancelled!!! YESSSSS!!!!!

This is seriously what it has come to, folks. 

So, we were able to nap for a hot second before applying limited make-up (i think?) and heading out to yet another Brooklyn bar to meet our post-dinner dates. 

STAGE 1: Are we at Wesleyan?

Oh God. Another hipster bar. Everyone has asymmetrical haircuts. We run into the bathroom to cry and try to flip our curls. It's impossible. Curly hair is SO not hipster. We have stalked the guys on Facebook pre-date, so we know what to look for, but we realize they have no idea who we are, so Hillary sends them a text: "Hi. I am wearing a white shirt. And Danielle is...brown."  After a few minutes, we locate them in another part of the bar, reading the text, and perhaps getting nervous? Aussie is stereotypical beautiful blonde frat brother - although Wesleyan sized, whereas Ortho-date (named as such because of his Jewish background, not anything tooth-related) looks like a smaller version of Hillary's brother. Aussie has a well-worn constellation tee shirt with cut-off shorts (v. casual hippie nyc bro chic). Ortho-date has on jeans and a blue button-down (just coming from work) with dress shoes. We take it all in, and wait for them to approach. 

STAGE 2: Initial Awkwardness

We all grab our own beers and sit down at a booth near the back of the bar near the indoor bocce ball court. [If my (Hillary) mom were allowed to read this blog, here is where I would type: "Mom, add this to your definition of hipster: indoor bocce ball."] We began to have awkward initial conversation, which Danielle and Hill COULD have mediated (because, hello, we are beyond practiced at this by now), but within 2 minutes of sitting down, the boys announced, "We should play bocce ball." Errrrr...Can we at least down a beer or two first?? Nope, apparently not. 

STAGE 3: Bocce Ball

In some secret-boy-language untold to us, the men decided how to split up the teams. Danielle was matched with Aussie, and Hillary became Ortho-date's partner. During the game, competitive juices ran high between the men. Tosses were questioned, points may or may not have been erased from the scoreboard, and Hillary's suggestion to lighten the tension by tossing the balls in creative ways (such as behind-the-back, etc.) were met were looks of incredible disdain. "That would really take away from the integrity of the sport" was the exact quote, we believe. At this point, Danielle and Hillary's moods diverged. Danielle appeared to be having a relatively good time (her team came out on top, and with a few G&T's, the sinister Australian accent took on a more Downton Abbey vibe, thank goodness), whereas Hillary was feeling pretty done with the whole bar-sports thing. Also, we must add that conversation was clipped and awkward due to the shuffling back and forth from one end of the court to the other, and also due to the unnecessary tension between the teams. We tried to ask them a few of our regular date questions to get the convo going, but even the ever-winning "Do you like Nicholas Cage?" couldn't save us, when the guys insisted that we play another game of bocce. Oy. 

At one point Danielle asked if the guys spent much time together (because their ribbing of each other indicated a higher degree of intimacy than one might've initially guessed at). Apparently, they hang out all the time. OK, so the shit talk made more sense. A pattern we've observed: we tend to have more fun on dates when the guys actually know each other and are friends. 

Wait, Danielle thinks this date sounds worse than it was, because she was, in fact, having fun: there was much high-fiving and team spirit (on Danielle's winning team), the boys offered to buy another round of beer, and although clearly not a love match by this point of the evening, it was a fine-ish college-spirited time.

Hillary disagrees, and was done the second they refused to play her new, highly creative way of bocce ball. Hillary does not enjoy condescending men. It's one of her things. 

STAGE 4: Losers 

Hillary and Ortho-date lost to Danielle and Aussie, and Aussie exclaimed that the losers had to buy drinks for the winners. Fine. Fair enough. What wasn't fair was when Hillary and Ortho-date went to the bar to buy a round, and Hillary ended up buying the drinks for both the Winners. Again, for Hillary, who cowers when it comes to paying-time-awkwardness, it's not about the money...it's about how the interaction goes down. When Hillary and Ortho-date got to the bar, Ortho-date said nothing, so in an attempt to pre-empt any paying tension, Hillary piped up, "Hey--I'll grab their drinks." At this point, she stupidly thought Ortho-date would say, "And I'll grab yours." Instead, he said nothing. Then, to get rid of THAT awkwardness, Hillary tried, "And I'll get yours too! What would you like?" Ortho-date replied with: "No, that's okay. I'll get my own." Hillary WAS DONE. (In other news, let if be known, that while waiting for the drinks, Ortho-date also denounced Hillary's creative way of playing Extreme Rock, Paper, Scissors--a game she had tried to teach him in order to overcome the awkwardness of the creative bocce ball convo.) At this point, Hillary confirmed that Ortho-date was born and raised in NYC. Yup. This was all making sense.) 

STAGE 5: Unfortunately Placed Couches. 

Hillary and Ortho-date returned to the back of the bar, where Danielle and Aussie were looking pretty cozy on one couch. How did this come about? Post-win, Danielle went to grab her purse and Aussie had already moseyed over to the couch area (perhaps the space least conducive to a 4 person conversation in the entire bar). Danielle liked him. He was nice. But this was a questionable decision. Trying to refrain from being too forward and to leave space in the event that Hillary actually wanted to talk to Aussie, Danielle sat down on the couch across from Aussie. She then initiated a conversation about who knows what - but it was immediately apparent that neither she nor Aussie could hear anything. After, like, five minutes of saying, "What?" over very loud indie music, Danielle moved. OK, score-ish - I mean, he was clearly a hottie, but there wasn't much chemistry. Both dates were prep school NYC dudes who had good jobs and witty repartee. So, you know, way too employed and high-brow for our usual taste. 

Due to the pre-ordained seating arrangement, Hillary begrudgingly handed the winners their drinks and proceeded to sit on the other couch with Ortho-date. Because we hadn't come up with hand signals to show how we were ACTUALLY  feeling about our dates, Hillary had NO idea how Danielle was feeling about Aussie, and she couldn't even eavesdrop on their convo, because the couches were so damn far apart (This must be why other chicks go to the bathroom together?). Hillary chose to try to drum up conversation with Orthodate by asking him her litmus test question: "Do you believe in ghosts?" Hillary has realized that this question determines if she will like a person or not. Hillary awaited the typical smartypants chuckle; however, it never came. Instead, Orthodate actually gave a very nuanced, heartfelt response. Shit. Hillary had to re-examine her hatred. From this point forward, Hillary and Orthodate had intense conversations about ghosts, belief in God, various sects of Judaism, how his parents had met, hopes for the future, etc. Hillary did a complete 180, and decided that maybe this guy didn't look SO much like her brother, and maybe she could definitely develop a crush on him. On the other side of the room (literally), Danielle and Aussie were discussing The Great Gatsby, Italian travel, and, by the end of the night, the reasons why both of them needed to go home RIGHT NOW. 

So, after explicitly discussing how to end the date together, Danielle and Aussie loudly exclaimed, "Shall we?" and then stood up... breaking up the deep ghost convo and budding chemistry. Dude, it's been a long night. 

Tabs were closed, picture were taken (at the boys' insistence), hugs were given, Aussie was dropped off at his building, and the two girls went home ("home") to discuss the merits of leaving New York before sunrise. A hopeful end to hipster dates? Stay tuned....

NYC Date #1

First off, let it be known that we HATE New York. 

OK, wait. HILLARY hates New York. Danielle finds it amusing in a "whiny child sort of way."

Either way, we were not excited to leave the Jersey Boys and head into the Big Rotten Apple. (In fact, we left the Jersey boyz around 11:30 PM and didn't get to Brooklyn until 2 AM due to bridge construction/detours...This is supposed to be a 45-minute drive for you non-Northeastern-ers...clearly things were not starting off well.)

Still, the night after arriving, we convinced ourselves to put on our angry New York faces (and even a little make-up) and  headed out to meet our first New York dates--a set-up from a beloved Wesleyan friend-- at a hipster bar in Brooklyn (their choice, obvi.) 

Sparkly Eyes came to meet us first. He was warm, welcoming, and very interested in our dating journey, which he quickly shared by stating, "Wait, am I going to be on the blog? I hope we win Best Date! I saw the points." Oy, this was going to be a long night. 

Still, he was very easy to talk to, and we were enjoying his company when, minutes later, Racist Roomie arrived. Now, granted, Racist Roomie denied the fact that he was racist, but did NOT deny the fact that he was definitely a Republican. As Danielle spent time having a lovely conversation with Sparkly Eyes about religion, meditation, what makes a healthy relationship, and country living, Hillary gulped down beer and listened as RR commented on the far-too-conventional thinking of his outsourced marketing team in India, and made fun of Hillary and Danielle for going to a liberal arts college that would allow absurd majors such as "Women's Studies" and "Latin American Studies." 

While Hillary scrambled to think of non-divisive things to say to Racist Roomie, Racist Roomie stopped paying attention to the conversation all together. Instead, he took out his phone and began to text feverishly across the table. Now, this is one of Hillary's pet peeves, and she called it out humorously. RR promised that he was only texting his sister who was in town from out of state. After 15 minutes of straight texting, though, Hillary inwardly (and outwardly) began to question the kind of relationship RR had with his "sister." 

Sparkly Eyes kindly apologized for his rude, racist, Republican roommate, and continued to buy Danielle drinks until, lo and behold, RR's "sister," a sassy Asian lass (Racism apparently takes on many forms), walked into the bar to join us at our table.

Sassy Asian: "Hi! I hear you are doing a road trip and going on 30 dates in 30 states! That's so cool!"

Hillary: (stares dumbfounded)

Danielle: saves the day by extending her arm for a handshake and a "Nice to meet you." 

Danielle keeps it classy like that. Hillary was still in shock, and turned her back on RR and his fuck-buddy (relationship later confirmed by Sparkly Eyes.)

Before Hillary could inform Racist Roommate that she had finally figured out why he's still single, Sparkly Eyes gently guided Hillary and Danielle from the bar, glaring at his roommate in the process, and directed them to the taco shop across the street, where the new trio chowed down and discussed the ridiculousness of the situation. 

The three amigos then migrated to yet another bar down the block, which was showing the Shawshank Redemption (Sparkly Eyes' favorite movie.) We drunkenly discussed why Danielle's last relationship failed, harped on Hillary's debilitating neuroses, and tried desperately to convince the bartender--who kept reminding us he had a girlfriend--to be our stand-in second date--which he finally agreed to after we ordered a second round. 

The evening lasted far too long for the absurdity of the situation, but we really truly appreciated Sparkly Eye's devotion to our cause, and his intense efforts at becoming our Best Date in spite of an intense handicap brought on by his horrific dating companion. We left him with the promise of the good nickname on the blog, and Hillary really had to refrain from using Racist Roommate's real, full name in this post, and then calling his mother to let her know about his behavior. 

Captions:

1) Hill stealing a sip of RR's beer unbeknownst to him

2)Us with Sparkly Eyes at the end of the night (he's hotter in real life... And his eyes don't glow red)

Jersey Boyz

**For a full sensory experience read while listening to Deniece Williams's "Lets Hear it for the Boy"**

Have you ever had an experience that left you scratching your head in a bemused 'what just happened here?' kind of way?


US TOO!


If anything, we should, by this point, have total faith in our friends and companions who have proven time and again that they can set us up with wonderful and interesting people. Nevertheless, it's still a shock when a date that was beyond the confines of our imagination manages to delight us thoroughly:

Welcome to Jersey! (At this point, we obvi need to give a shout-out to J-wow, Snookie, and Pauly D)

An awesome ex of Hillary's is a native Jersey Boy who rapidly took up the task of finding us dates in the Garden State. In fact, this might've been the first official date that was set up at all (Thank you!!). Apparently, as told to us by one of our dates, he received a cryptic text that said, "Do you have a single guy friend and will you be around on the 22nd?"

Simple and brilliant, no?

And, like the sporting gentlemen they were, they went along with this vague amorphous plan. That's always a good sign.

They asked us to meet in Asbury Park, New Jersey at a hip tavern.

We hauled ass from Philly, but clearly didn't leave the time one might want to - oh, I don't know - groom? re-apply makeup? change outfits? No matter. We arrived in the seaside town, hoped they were tall (as we both wore our wedges), and muddled a few blocks in the rain while shielding our non-waterproof mascara-d eyes like jersey shore girls.

We hovered in the entry of the very ai- conditioned restaurant waiting for...two men. [One of the most fun parts of this trip is the truly 'blind' nature of it all in this age of Facebook and OKkillme. We consistently have NO idea who we're meeting.]

Sure enough, two large men (football player-ish) walked in... but then promptly walked by us. We continued to loiter in curiosity as the two dudes clad in casual shorts and damp normal non-fancy T-shirts came back around and introduced themselves. There was some formal and stiff hand shaking and name blurting.

The place was very crowded and we were told we'd need to wait half an hour to get a table - which would've been fine if we hadn't just awkwardly exclaimed that we were ravenous. (Classy right?) In an effort to cover this awkwardness, Danielle suggested we get a beer while waiting for a table.

We felt strange and doubted the wisdom of our matchmaker. We began bracing for a night of tepid polite conversation... but then - in an epic display of social adeptness and insight - one of our dates began to talk about how he studied music made from cosmic astrological supernovas (we think?)... and we knew that things were gonna be OK.


Hillary even said aloud, "Yes! OK! This date is gonna be great - I'm an expressive arts therapist and Danielle loves astrology!"


Crystal Shaman was a white guy - our age - dressed in all black with an earthy tree shirt on. Long blonde hair in a ponytail. Handsome facial hair and strong eye contact. Studied shamanism and had crystals on hand. Vegetarian. Legit was open to full-moon ceremonies in a way that was genuinely intriguing. Web genius.


Erudite Guido was a white guy - our age - dressed in an upscale creative-ish batman riff T-shirt and cargo shorts. Handsome facial hair. Hilarious storyteller. Teacher with poor spelling. Knew his cross-cultural mythology and could correlate it to modern day comics. Thoughtful Italian-American dude.

The guys ordered beet salad, grilled fish, and broccoli all round. Hillary ordered thanksgiving dinner and Danielle had a pub burger and fries.

Imagine the following conversational excerpts taking place with Hillary, Danielle, Crystal Shaman, and Erudite Guido. Over the course of a totally AWESOME 4 hour date we discussed the following:

-ghost encounters
-road trips
-things we learned from our parents
-music
-art
-superhero powers we wish we had
-teaching
-therapy
-shamanism
-blue waffles
-the satisfying sound a golf ball makes when it sinks into a hole
-'that's what she said' jokes
-drugs
-our best and worst dates
-our most embarrassing moments
-past relationships
-our favorite movies
-whether or not it's OK for guys to keep their socks on during sex


This date was incredibly positive. We felt very comfortable. We talked and listened equally. There seemed to be a shared value to our time together. It was never particularly clear who liked whom -but on our end, it didn't matter at all, because we both liked them both!

Insights about the date:
One thing we've discussed at length with each other is how we wouldn't stumble on any of these people if we were searching for matches on OKcupid, or even eyeing chaps in our local bars or coffee shops - they'd be too tall or short or skinny or fat or whatever. But, in this format where you randomly meet someone and just have to roll with it, our minds are often blown... like they were in Asbury Park, on a double-date with these two amazingly beautiful individuals.

Selective Verbatim Reflections on the Date as we Drove to NYC:

"They were so interesting... Who are you people?!"

"I'm even down with his appropriation of shamanistic culture."

"Wow. At the beginning of the night I was like 'no', but by the end I was like 'I like both of you guys and would have sex with either of you and it would probably be good.' "

DC Double-Double-Dating

As we roll into the Northeast, where we have lots of friends/people trying to hook us up with potential dates (read as: trying to win our new competition…), we are having to schedule more than one date a day. Exhausting, yet appreciated.

DC was our first encounter with this double-double-dating experience.

Date #1:

Our first date of the day was set up by Hillary’s childhood friend’s girlfriend’s friend’s cousin. Yup. We know you just read that twice. 

Danielle and Hillary received an email from the cousin stating, “Meet us at the International Spy Museum at 1 PM on Saturday.” Beyond that, we had nothing to go on, but if you’ve learned anything from this blog, you’ll know that we were clearly down for the adventure.

We met these two lovely chaps in the lobby of the Spy Museum and promptly learned that one of them refused to put any information about himself online (no Facebook account? Baffling!), and that the other worked for the Department of Defense and could not disclose anything about his job.

One was tall. One was short. Both were gentlemen. They took us out for fancy cocktails and were able to describe the latest in spy technology. Beyond that, we will not be disclosing any other information about the date. Apologies to our readers, but if we did, we’d have to kill you.

Date #2:

After a long 4 hours of drinking and spying, we were relatively spent. Um, remember, we turned 30 this year. We climbed into Hillary’s car at the over-priced DC parking garage and promptly took a 20-minute nap (which cost us an extra $4.) But we know there is no rest for the dating, so we quickly woke up, redid our make-up (wait, who are we kidding?, we’ve stopped wearing make-up) and braved the DC traffic for Date #2.

Now, to be honest, at first we thought that Date #2 was a guilt-induced, obligatory date. One of our friends (previously referred to as Chicago Fashionista/Super-competitive LawyerFace) had been exercising her competitive side and was setting us up left and right! She contacted a friend in DC who Hillary and Danielle had peripherally known in college, and promptly set up an afternoon date.

So, while we were way more thrilled with the idea of escaping to Hillary’s family’s house for a nap, we pushed on, and drove to the house of two roommates who promised us a chill, afternoon barbecue atmosphere.

We must pause here to announce a finding: When we have incredibly low expectations for dates, and are also incredibly exhausted, the dates tend to go better.

Within 15 minutes of our departure from the parking garage, we were seated in the clean, comfortable kitchen of two welcoming, charming, hilarious, smart, gainfully employed gentlemen, munching on fancy olives, sipping craft beer from glasses, and helping them strategize about where to hang new artwork.

We felt comfortable letting our hair down (OK, not really, it was hot in DC, and have you SEEN our hair?) and laughed more than we have on any other dates. One of the men grilled fresh vegetables and prepared gourmet Sriracha/blue-cheese burgers, while sous chef/date #2 asked thoughtful questions of us that showed he had been listening attentively since our arrival. We knew this mainly because he quickly (and correctly) categorized Hillary as a person who enjoys lying to/hiding from conservative religious figures (read as: Lubavitchers), and Danielle as a lover of obscure and precise descriptions (in describing a friend, he mentioned that he looks like “someone who used to fence.” Danielle loves that kind of shit.)

We were pleasantly shocked by how much fun we were having talking to these two nice Jewish boys (thank G-d Hillary’s mother isn’t reading this…also, reminder: NO ONE should be telling Hillary’s mom about this trip.) If we hadn’t already made late night plans with Hillary’s cousins, we would have totally hung out with them for dessert (grilled peaches? What? Amazing), karaoke, and the local dive bar.

Profound take-aways:

11.)  Always go on the date. (We reserve the right to rescind this thought later, though.)

22.)  Smart, funny guys are hot.

33.)  Low-key dates are sometimes the way to go.

44.)  Thoughtful questions and active listening are turn-ons.

55.)  Hypercompetitive Lawyer-Faced friends always know best.

Seriously. This random “guilt-ridden obligatory date” might actually be in the running for Best Date. We already told the dudes this. They high-fived. And we even liked that. Thanks for a great time, guys. You can print out this write-up and frame it on your Art Wall. (Or not.)

Our Horoscope

Why isn't this Downton Abbey?

Seriously. Wtf. 

Here we are with a rigorous social calendar and we're expected to bathe, comb, and dress ourselves?! No ladies maids?!

What have we come to?

The social pressures of the season are making us pine for the bucolic pastures of a simple country estate. 

Why oh why aren't we aristocracy? We'd even settle for American socialite...

Hometown Huh?

So instead of giving [danielle's] long-winded play by play, we've decided to simply describe the cast of characters, and you are at liberty to imagine your own plot to accompany this colorful cast.  

Setting: Media, PA; city motto, "everybody's hometown"; suburbs of Philadelphia; Friday evening. 

Dates showed up 20 minutes late. Thank g-d. (Danielle likes this phrase for all the careful readers. Hillary...is still agnostic about it.) 

All names have been changed to protect the innocent... And Hillary.

Nate: 29 years and 11 months old. Caucasian male who lived with his parents until one month ago. Had a parrot with attachment issues that prevented him from traveling more than three hours from Philadelphia. May have worn wolf T-shirts in high school. Fantastic cartoonist who has tried to woo Hillary in the past with original  comic   strips based around high school teachers. Presented Hillary with a multi-colored daisy bouquet, a homemade corsage constructed out of a slap bracelet, and a green boa. A nice Christian boy who apparently dabbles in Hebrew (he leaned over the table to whisper "ani mideberet katzat ivrit" for all the MOTs out there), and whose favorite sound is a shofar being blown on high holidays (??) Held both the inner and outer door of the restaurant in a display of dexterous chivalry. He spoke of the ways his father cares for and raises birds. Hillary is terrified of anything that flies. Bradley Cooper's shorter third cousin. Cute, quirky, and a novice dater in any dating situation, much less the dating situation we were throwing him into. 

Matt: Five feet and eight inches of self-proclaimed white redneck raised in the citified suburbs. Married at 23, divorced now at 30. Two small boys that Danielle wants to mother, the thought of which horrifies Hillary. Arborist and general tree man, also volunteers in his free time. Met a 22-year-old girlfriend through his volunteer work. Questionable judgment all around. Either delightful or dominating depending on if you are seeking Danielle or Hillary's perspective, respectively. Was vaguely the glue for this hangout triple date situation. Rounded up another buddy for Danielle. (Fine. As much as she pines for Matt (again, a baffling concept for Hillary), 'home wrecker' is not a desired position... Although she's open to other positions should they break up.)

Matt's Girlfriend: 22-year-old tomboy. Wearing a sports bra under a casual T-shirt and potentially dirty basketball shorts. Consumed her first drink so fast that by the time the bartender brought the last pints of the first round, she had finished and already ordered her second. An open-mouth eater. Sans-knife. (Lisa style for all you TGT readers). Nay, she did use the knife, to saw at her boyfriend's arm. Also yanked his  sunglasses off and tried to play hide and seek in the small booth. Also placed him in a headlock. Multiple times. Also wrote on his arm, "Matt likes eating dick". Was unsure how to interpret Danielle and Hillary's genuinely friendly overtures at including her in conversation. 

Matt's Friend/Danielle's Date: Tall corn-fed Midwestern looking dude. From New Jersey. Also a tree man. Couldn't get a word in edgewise over Matt. Was probably actually fascinating and intelligent-- we wouldn't know as there was too much wrestling on the other side of the table to have a sustained conversation. Never had a girlfriend, and was maybe afraid of looking directly at Danielle, although to be fair her boobs were a little intense. Longtime friend of Matt, he was perhaps perplexed by his new girlfriend...and the whole experience.. which he had gamely drove an hour for. 

Hillary & Danielle: Dressed nicely. With make up. And real (regular) bras. Clearly overdone. Enmeshed in a surreal high school throwback dimension, at a highschool hot spot restaurant. Having a good time, when Hillary wasn't ducking under tables, and especially when they (JUST Hillary and Danielle) went to a local dive bar to debrief. Even Hillary will say a "thank g-d" for the Plumstead. 

Stood up [again]?

17 minutes in.

We're sitting in a brightly-lit bowling alley. 

Surrounded by toddlers. 

And sans dates. 

Hometown Nerves?

We are in Hillary's hometown. 

We are going bowling at the place where Hillary went on dates in high school. Hillary texted her ex-bf from high school to tell him about this plan, and he responded, "oh, Christ." 

This is partly because there is no booze at the family bowling alley. 

Hill is going on a date with a man who may or may not have had a crush on her in high school.

I may or may not be dating a fireman. 

We are sitting in the car, talking Hillary down, and considering wiping off our make-up.

Lucky strikes? We hope!

Chicago's Finest

Close your eyes and imagine the traditional Hollywood first double-date.

Then open them and look at these photos. (As Hillary's bro would say, we're Livin the dream - L-n' the D.) 

Our fantastic art therapist/Peace Corps friend set us up with the sweetest of Peace Corps gentle giants, currently living in Chicago. They had worked together  in Togo a couple of years ago.

Due to this connecting factor (and his impressive height), we will refer to Gentleman #1 as "Tall Togo." And, being the crazy nice gentleman that he was, he took on our task and invited another Peace Corps Togo friend, who we will refer to as "Mall Togo." (What? He was clean-cut pretty- like a classy. worldly, Chicago mall boy. This is not deprecating. He was seriously nice and beautiful.)

The guys [competently] asked what we'd like to do on our date, and after some back and forth discussion, suggested dinner and a comedy show. 

Holla!

Real date bitchezzzz. 

Another fantastic friend/cousin volunteered her home as our weighstation/salon/b &b for the night. (She even bought us flowers!) Upon leaving her home to meet our dates, we decided we looked so cute that we should have our picture taken... by us. 

.... which clearly wasn't working so well because a stranger (total hottie) asked if we needed help. Yes, we do. Also, D needs to put her lungs away (TM: Mom Mom Mitz)... oy. 

... and this was clearly the man who took our photo. We had to capture him [stalker mode] because he was vaguely D's college crush. mmmmyesss.

The boyz met us near Second City where Danielle and Hill were partaking in a much-needed pre-date caffeine ritual at Starbucks. We were nervous that they would judge us for our evil coffeehouse patronage; however, they didn't appear to be fazed by our corporate coffee selection... actually they didn't seem fazed by anything. 

Cliff notes version for the ADD reader: This was probably the most normal date we've had yet. Or maybe the most normal dates of our lives.

Mall Togo and Tall Togo asked where we wanted to eat. We settled on a normal fancy-ish Mexican restaurant next to the theater. 

Dinner went off without a hitch - normal conversation (we learned a lot about Tall Togo... Mall Togo remained slightly elusive). We spoke of loves, depression, African French, and A LOT about Chicago. As soon as the bill for dinner came, Mall Togo snapped up the check and threw down for all of us. When we asked if we could chip in, they both looked at us as though we were nuts. They declined, saying "This is a date [duh]" and that since Tall Togo bought the show tickets, Mall Togo was buying dinner.  Tall Togo even told us about taking his Togo Girlfriend on dates during the Peace Corps: he insisted on buying the yams. 

For those paying attention to Hillary's ongoing issues with who-pays-for-what, Don't worry: Hillary forced them to accept our offer to buy them drinks during the show.   

After dinner, we migrated to the comedy show - it was still 100% unclear if there were any sparks amongst any of the four parties involved. The seating arrangement at the show determined who would talk to whom for the remainder of the night: Tall Togo couldn't fit in some of the seats so we sat Hill - Tall Togo - Danielle - Mall Togo. (Hey - again, you know how much D like Mall Boyz, and Hillary's ex is 6'7'').

The comedy show was awesome - although unexpectedly three hours long. Danielle and Mall Togo had a pleasant if not quiet-ish time. To dispel some of the awkwardness, Danielle struck up a convo with the 2 cute girls in front of us. Some might call that a dating don't - why bring in cute chicks when you already have a nice Mall Togo? Well, because as nice as Mall Togo was, he and D clearly weren't about to pick out rings or make the trailer shake. On the other end of the row, Hillary listned to Tall Togo talk even more about Chicago and learned that his star of david tattoos were, in fact, Chicago-commonwealth six-pointed stars.  Deceptively, and sadly, not a MOT. He also talked of his crush in DC and Hill therapized him on the situation. In related news, while he was incredibly nice and, again, extremely tall, Hillary remembered that she doesn't like nice boys. (Yes, we know this is messed up, and needs to change.)

But, in reality, the date inspired some serious reflection on our part. We realized that it is possible to go out with funny, kind, smart, semi-worldly, attractive men who treat you wonderfully...and still have no romantic connection. 

And that's OK. 

And that's what this trip is about too. Finding out. 

Besides, now we have new Facebook friends!

Here we pose with Tall Togo. Mall Togo had already peaced out. 

Leader board

Danielle and I are currently creating a leader board of successful dates and the friends who set us up on said successful dates (as well as friends who tried and failed.) 

Point system for our friends:

Attempted/failed set-up: 1 point 

Successful set-up: 5 points

(We will now make up appropriate nicknames for you all...and hopefully you know who you are*)

Danielle: 7 points

Hillary: 6 points

Competent co-worker: 6 points

Peace Corps: 5 points

J-Mac: 5 points

Jersey Girl: 1 point

Chicago fashionista: 1 point

* we know many others are working hard to set us up on future dates, and we will include your names as soon as we arrive at the state of your potential set-up and gauge the outcome.

There will be BIG PRIZES for the friend who gets the most points.

Oh yeah, this just became a competition, biznatches. 

Chicago Bound

Thankfully leaving Missouri. 

But the small towns in Illinois haven't been much more welcoming (i.e. folks talkin shit about our citified outfits - what? We can't help our natural beauty!) 

The only redeeming feature is that the men are a big deal here.