Last Thursday I ditched my friends for a date.

Okay, before you think I’m at best a terrible person, at worst that girl allow me to explain.

This wasn’t any date, this was a date with a guy I knew nothing about. Literally nothing beyond the 5-6 letters of his first name.

“Ronnie. His name is Ronny.” I told Rose, one of the friends who I was ditching, “I’m fretting about a date with a dude named ‘Ronnie/y’.” I didn’t even know if he spelled it with an “ie” or  “y”.

“I hope he’s just like Ronnie on the Jersey Shore. Or maybe he IS Ronny from the Jersey Shore! THAT would make a good story!” Rose always knows the right thing to say.

This wasn’t any date, this was a blind date. I’m talking eye-balls-removed-from-skull blind.  He could be 400 lbs, 5’3, all gold teeth, 66 years old, for all I knew.

I certainly didn’t look like I usually do for a date. I was dressed for a night of outdoor dancing under the Brooklyn Bridge with my girlfriends. I was wearing my roommate’s hand-me-down jeans that I sometimes convince myself they look like their supposed to be ankle-length. Other times I realize they look like jeans passed down from someone 3 inches shorter than me. My top was so hippy-dippy it may as well have had the words embroidered on it HIPPY DIPPY. On top of all that, I’d tried something new with my hair that morning. I couldn’t have been less prepared for a date that night, and still I’d said yes. Carpe Diem and all that.

Actually, I thought I’d have time to go home and change. Yeah, that didn’t happen.

This wasn’t any date, this was a date for Time Out New York. 

If you’re unfamiliar, Time Out New York is a local magazine full of event listings and articles about city life. There’s one page every week that outlines a date two New Yorkers embark on knowing nothing about each other. The section of the magazine is well-known as The Undateables.

A friend who works for Time Out urged me to submit my information. How could I resist? It was guaranteed free drinks and perfect blog fodder. Great! With a guy that I didn’t have any say about. Maybe even better! History shows I’m pretty terrible when it comes to picking men, so maybe thrust into the hands of Time Out match-makers was the way to go!

I received the email from The Undateables editor at 1PM: someone had canceled and he was hoping I might be able to go instead on “super late” notice. I wasn’t even the first choice for this first blind date! And still I thought, SURE, WHY NOT! This kind of thing only happens once! My friends understand!

They did understand. They can’t wait to read all about it. Perhaps you feel the same way….

This wasn’t any date, this was a date you can read all about tomorrow (or today depending on when you read this) in the glossy pages of a magazine. 

Which is kind of terrifying. I hope I don’t come off sounding like a ditz. Or a bitch. Or a blonde! Or a man-hater! Or a meanie! Or A CRAZY CHICK WHO OVER-THINKS FUCKING EVERYTHING! You’ll have to let me know! As someone who is used to editing everything she says about her dating life, it was nerve-wracking to give up that control!

If you’re not in NYC ,an online version of The Undateables section is available the week after it goes into print. Once that’s up, you can bet I’ll blog all about it!