I want a fucking date

Just what in the actual fuck happened to “the date”- the real date; the kind of date in which the man calls the woman and asks her out for dinner or for drinks.  Prior to which - girlfriends gab, plan, and plot whilst the men folk conjugate with their buddies and brag about their upcoming rendezvous. When the nervousness of what to wear, say, and how to act, ate us up inside and we couldn’t eat for days.  When the thought of spending time with someone we were really interested in caused goose bumps from excitement. When women spent hours primping and men showed up wearing their best outfit and smelling of cologne.  A woman was picked up at her door and driven to the cool new lunch spot on the water or to a dinner at a romantic restaurant. The date in which holding hands, walking, and sitting in a coffee shop for hours happened after the actual date was over.  When the promise of a kiss at the end of a date was such a stressor it caused sweaty palms, nervous stomachs, and lots of awkward smiles.

It seems that the art of dating is all but lost in the easy access of getting on our smart phones and texting or Facebook messaging the object of our desire. Dating in the traditional sense requires planning, courage, and an investment of self confidence.   The simplicity of being able to punch in a few characters and find out immediately if someone wants to “hang out” is far too attractive for many.  It cuts out all of the nervousness and fear of rejection. Rejection is easily ignored via text or messaging.    This form of communication is removing all the character building aspects of learning to woo. Yes, that reads woo.  (Woo – to try and attract someone or engage in a romantic relationship.)  In our current social climate there is no longer a need for charm, romance, or wooing.  This can now be imitated with an emoji. The electronic date is becoming more and more popular.    Is this a good thing?

Hanging out, too, seems to have replaced actual dating.  After hitting up our potential hottie hook-up via text, we hang out.  What is hanging out?  It’s keeping the nips in place and the nut sack from dangling out of an old pair of ripped shorts.  It's spending time with a entire fucking group of people while attempting to attract the person we actually drove all the way out to the middle of nowhere on a Thursday night to see.  Why?  It’s the cool new thing to do - apparently.  And nobody is doing anything about it.  We are all just lemmings following our non-dating leader into singlesville.  How are we supposed to get a girlfriend, boyfriend, or land a relationship when we are always hanging out?  Will it happen eventually or just fizzle out so we can move on to our next hangout?  Should we just go back to hooking up?  At least we were alone with our date.  Sadly? - Banging our way through the hang out probably isn't the best idea.  

Back in the day a man courted a woman.  They got to know each other with no physical contact.  Essentially it was dating - without all the nudity and awkward hanging out.  They got to know each other first.  They enjoyed each other’s company.  Knowing someone before hitting the sheets.  Hmmph.  If we knew what an asshole the person we were about to let invade our nether region was, we might just skip that asshole (might).  It might cut down the number of “walks of shame”, sexually transmitted diseases, unwanted pregnancies, and the good ole’ hang-over regret.  Maybe it’s old fashioned and out of touch with the reality of today’s dating scene but it’s worth a shot.  Isn’t it?

In closing and in my personal opinion, I want a fucking date; a real old fashioned date.  I want to be asked out.  I want a friendly stalk.  I want a man to see me in a random shop and hunt me down to ask me on a date.  I want charm.  I want some effort.  I want to feel like I am wanted.  I want someone who wants to spend time with me to think enough of me to put his ego aside and go for it.  Men need to be men.  Get over yourself, grow a set, and ask me the fuck out. 

*No.  I don’t think any of the above will happen but a girl can dream so suck it.*

PPB aka The Precious Princess - The Princess is a twice divorced, recently dumped, recently unemployed, self-proclaimed member of the mentally hilarious. She has been referred to as living under a rock stocked with vodka and anger. Her 12 year old “Mini”, who is carbon copy of the Princess, is often the subject of blogs, and Facebook posts. In addition, she writes about dating, the dumbness of boys, life after 40, and shares stories from Bananaland which is both her past and current residence. She is the owner/sole admin for the Facebook page Precious Princess's Guide to Bananaland where she is famous for her rants and her blunt, honest, and sarcastic look at life. She blogs both extremely funny and all-the-feels posts at Princess Bananaland. She hates people, kids, and karaoke. She uses all the swears and makes up dirty words. Be afraid.