Guys like to deal in statements, in commands, in Jen Aniston cleavage references.  We’ll be the ones asking the questions, thank you very much.  Everyone else can shut the hell up – including and especially every late night host not named Conan O’Brien.  Don’t ask us where we want to go for lunch, what we’re wearing tonight, or what time we should leave for the funeral.  If we knew/cared, we’d be doing it already.

There’s no question that questions suck, but, as with all societal ills (and Shia Labeouf movies), there are some that suck more enthusiastically than others.  For example, “Do you like it when I do my hair like this” isn’t necessarily as bad as “How come your Facebook status still says ‘single’” but it’s a far sight worse than “What day is it?”  And don’t even get me started on credibility killers like “why do guys think it’s hot when two girls kiss” or “do you think you could date a girl who was still in high school?”

And yet, even these are not the worst offenders.  It gets much, much worse.  Allow me to present, for your consideration, the worst question in the English language.

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

For starters, it’s a question about asking a question, and, as such, is meaningless and entirely unnecessary.  But that’s not the worst of it.  I can deal with unnecessary.  Katy Perry is unnecessary and I still like her.  No, the problem with this question is the specter of doom that comes with it.  It never comes alone and it never comes in peace.  No one ever says, “hey can I ask you something – are you gonna eat the rest of that?”  Or “hey, can I ask you something – how bout them Packers?”

When you hear “hey, can I ask you something”, especially within the context of a dating relationship, you can be sure that a heavy conversation is on the way.  She wants to talk about her mean boss, her hot sister, or whether or not you’ve read that Joshua Harris book she gave you.  Or maybe it’s not that.  Maybe she just wants to talk about “us.”

“Hey can I ask you something – how come you never use your ‘pookey-poo voice’ when we’re at Buffalo Wild Wings with your friends?”  “Hey can I ask you something – if I was paralyzed in a car crash that totally wasn’t my fault, would you still find me attractive?”  It’s like the 4^th Horseman of the Apocalypse – “Its rider’s name was Death, and Hell followed close behind him.” (Rev. 6:8)

This is why, when asked “hey, can I ask you something”, everything inside a guy wants to scream, “No.  NO!  A thousand times, NO!!  In the name of all that is pure and holy, please do not ‘ask me something.’”  But we can’t say that.  Saying that would be an admission of guilt.  So we say “yes” and we turn to face the firing squad.  For my money, I don’t know if there’s a more terrifying moment in human existence than the seconds that pass from the utterance of “hey, can I ask you something” to the asking of the actual question.  Maybe being buried alive.  But probably not.

And it’s all so easily avoidable!  Got something serious to talk about?  Did we say/do/drink something that’s been eating you up inside for the past month?  Just come out with it!  Skip the intro, skip the solicitation of permission – just ask the damn question. We don’t want to talk about it.  We don’t even want to think about it.   But we’re going to anyway.  This is your world; we’re just living in it.  You know it.  We know it.  The people sitting next to us at Panda Express know it.  So let’s just get it over with.

Because, honestly, can I tell you something?

We really don’t care.  Really.

The social universe has an unspoken balance in place that ensures that life makes sense. We hang out with people as cool as we are, we date within our acceptable range, and people that are born into wealth and status run our countries. When some son of a bitch tries to upset that balance, bad things happen. Remember the French Revolution? That happened because one of Quasimodo’s descendants landed a smoking-hot art model. The Civil War? Some mustachioed sea donkey from the North decided she wanted to date a studly land owner from Alabama.  Name any natural disaster and it can be traced back to some fugly idiot not following the rules of romance. If you mess with the balance, the universe compensates with blood.

Despite this delicate equilibrium, matchmaking is never perfect. Occasionally it is so uneven that it elicits a deep sense of injustice from our communal soul, sort of like any time Keanu Reeves gets another acting gig. You know something isn’t right. You can feel it. Someone is getting something they don’t deserve.

So, you walking dumpster, how do you make things right once you have a hottie in your white-knuckled, kill-me-to-take-it grip? How do you cope with dating someone that is hotter than you? Grab your Moleskine and take a seat, my child. We have much to discuss.

One rule: Over Compensate
She’s a 10 and you’re a 3. That’s a pretty sizable gap, almost as significant as the one between your two front teeth. You’re going to need to string a rope-bridge across that dark chasm. When people see you with your deafeningly hot significant other, the comments will go something like this:

“Damn, (he/she) is so (hot/attractive/sexcellent). Why is (he/she) with that Seth Rogen look alike? Well, I guess (he/she) is at least (fill in the blank).”

That blank can be filled with a few different things that will help even the score between you and your walking fantasy.

That is one unattractive dude.

1. Get in ridiculous shape.
You can’t help having a Haitian Earthquake for a face, but you can blast your pecks into beautiful oblivion. Work out constantly, get really into triathlons, get ab implants – whatever you want. You need to work your way into the “butterface” zone so people may be able to shrug off the 7 point difference between you and the Greek sculpture you’re dating.

2. Get rich and/or famous.
Ideally this would happen before you start dating a walking masterpiece, but if you somehow win the lottery before buying the ticket you still have options. Are you talented? You’d better hope you are. It doesn’t matter if you’re the world’s greatest tap dancer or if you start the next Google, you just need to be on top of something. It can even be something nerdy like math or writing internet humor, people won’t care as long as they have a good reason not to kill you for upsetting cupid’s system. Hell, you may even be able to get away with being a second or third string celebrity/musician/mogul, you’ll just have to deal with more public anger and ridicule than you would have if you were Seal.

Apparently he's a great musician.

3. Get a horrible disease.
If all else fails, there’s always the “Make-A-Wish Foundation” route. This is the Hail-Mary of dating-up excuses, but it is also one of the hardest with which to argue. Example:
“Damn, that girl is fine. What’s she doing with that retarded hippopotamus?”
“Bro, you’re an asshole. That guy has EbolasyphillAIDS. He’s already died like three times.”
You’re clearly not otherwise qualified to bask in the magical fairy-glow of hotness that shines forth from your spouse, but somehow you’ve earned it by suffering so hard that even Job says “yikes, that sucks.”

Follow these rules and you might be able to avoid getting hit by a meteor for dating someone that even blind people can tell is better looking than you.

Enjoy pointing out who got the sweeter deal in a relationship? Roll on over to SheWonHeWon.com and vote on hotness to your heart’s content!

“Schnuckums!? Are you listening to me?”

“Uh…” You say, your voice waivering. “Yeah babe, I hear you.”

“Are you ready?” the predator bellows, baiting the prey.

“Ready for what… beautiful?” You reply, hoping that somehow the interrogative will provide you an escape while tossing in the compliment at the end to ease the delivery, like the flavoring those bastards put in NyQuil.

“Don’t even try that crap on me. Get off your ass. We’re going shopping.” The snare tightens around your feet. You’ve been caught. Resistance is now futile.

Now that you’ve been reduced to the status of indentured servant, there are a few things you must remember in order to survive. The full moon that is a monthly sale has turned your once kind, sweet girlfriend into a vicious, bloodthirsty monster. A wereshopper, if you will. Like a lycanthrope, but much more subtle in its preferred murderous methods.  You’re about to venture into a dark, dangerous place. Stick with me, and you’ll be stronger, more courageous, and not single when it’s over. Welcome to the jungle.

Do Not Opine
You are about to be bombarded by lies. She will ask you over and over “what you think” about “this dress” and “these pants” and “that girl’s butt.” She will tell you to “be honest” because she “seriously doesn’t care” and “really wants your input.” She will ask if you are “having fun” or “enjoying this time together” or if you think that shopping is still “excruciatingly painful and torturous.” DO NOT BELIEVE HER. She does not want to know what you really think. These are landmines that she is throwing in front of you, like some kind of horrible Super Mario level. To avoid them you must not under any circumstances give your honest opinion. You must tell her what she wants to hear. To determine what exactly that is, a good general rule is to take your actual opinion, and say exactly the opposite. Examples:

Scenario One: Beauty Contest

Her: Babe, that girl is so fat, right?

Your Actual Thoughts: Nope. She’s pretty hot actually. Do you know her?

What You Should Say Instead: What girl? Oh, that porker over there? Yeah. She’s a giant.

Scenario Two: Fashion Show

Her: Honey, how do these pants look on me?

Your Actual Thoughts: Yikes. Looks like half of your ass is trying to escape suffocation.

What You Should Say Instead: How do they feel?
(Based on her response, choose positive or negative)
Positive: For real, I think they frame your figure pretty well.
IMPORTANT NOTE: If she goes negative, that doesn’t mean you can agree with her. Find a way to agree with her without agreeing with her. Sound like some kind of psychological puzzle? Say hello to the female psyche.
Negative: They don’t look bad to me, but you know European sizes can be pretty weird. Why don’t you try on a few more pairs?

Have fun hanging on the rim comrade, because you just scored a slam dunk.

LET VICTORIA HAVE HER SECRETS
This is a survival tip that came straight from Survivorman Les Stroud himself. Your lady might throw some sort of sexy glance at you and say “hey… wanna help me pick out lingerie?” Sounds like a fun idea, right? You are being tempted by the devil. You might think this is like walking into the Victoria’s Secret Catalog you have stashed underneath your mattress, but you are actually walking into weeks of groveling and having to watch Matthew McConaughey movies. You will not be able to say anything right. See something you like? Here’s how her responses will go:

Her: Of course you like that. All that you think about is sex. You’re a pig.
or
Her: Seriously? That? What am I, a grandmother? You’re a pig.

There is literally no way to win. The best way to win is to stay out. Your feet hurt, you’re hungry, you have to call your mother, you want her to surprise you – it doesn’t matter. Piss your pants if you have to, just don’t go in there. Furthermore, you could gouge your eyes out with golden broaches Oedipus-style prior to walking into the store, but it wouldn’t make a difference. She’d still think you were looking at every other girl’s boobs in there. Not even looking at mannequins is safe. Even if she’s right (and she probably is), she’s bringing you into an woman’s underwear store that is literally wallpapered with scantily clad babes. What the hell does she expect? Unless she thought she was dating a eunuch, she can’t expect you to avert your eyes from every cleavage chasm around you. You can’t put metal next to a magnet and get pissed when it gets pulled in. It’s science.

There you have it my brothers. If any of you have any tips you’d like to add to help your fellow man survive this treacherous landscape, please feel free to add them. Until next time, good luck.

There’s a little phenomenon I’ve noticed among women that I’ve found troublingly pervasive. It seems to be like some kind of mental infection. I guess they call that insanity, huh? Anyway, girl after girl, all over the country, they seem to suffer from the same disturbing delusion that is destroying more relationships every day. It is this delusion, not the gays, that is responsible for the degradation of marriage in today’s society.

The habitual crime is thus: Women believe that it is funny to men when they use fake accents.

Oh my gawd! I sound British, but I'm not! Hahahahahaahhaha!!!!!!1

I’m going to begin with the cold hard truth, ladies. Your accents – British, French Russian, whatever Asian accent it is that you think you’re doing – are not funny to men. Your girlfriends may laugh, but your girlfriends also like Matthew McConaughey and Kate Hudson movies. Do you see what I’m saying? Follow the logical progression here.

Y’all can get together and watch How to Lose Ghosts of Girlfriends While Failing to Launch in 10 Days and pretend that you talk like a gay German all you want, just don’t include us. There are plenty of things that we know that you do that we don’t want to hear about or participate in. One of those things is driving. I know you do it, but it’s terrifying to me, so I’d rather block it out. Another is voting. Our whole country has been suffraging since the 19th Amendment passed, that’s a fact. There’s a large group of other activities that involve the bathroom that I don’t care to think about enough to name, but I will tell you that showering is not a part of that group.

Then there are the things girls do when they’re “out with the girls” on “girl’s night.” Unless girl’s night involves showering, pillow fights, or cooking, we’re probably better off not knowing. I’m not telling you to stop doing those things, I’m just asking you to keep it within the circle of protective estrogen where those sorts of activities are kosher.

I can already hear the protests from some silly, silly girls: “My boyfriend thinks my accents are hilarious!”

No, no he doesn’t. Your boyfriend does, however, understand that sometimes women force men to lie to them. He probably learned that when you first said “My cousin Cheryl is so pretty, don’t you think?” or “This dress from high school still fits me, right?” If you wanted honest answers you’d be asking honest questions. All you really want is for him to affirm things you know aren’t true to compensate for your daddy issues or your eating disorders or your multiple personalities or whatever it is that makes you insecure and prone to impersonation based humor. So, because he’s a smart man, he picks his battles and laughs when you respond as a Ukrainian woman, even though he dies a little inside.

And don’t even start with the “double standard” crap, you Lifetime watchers. I keep my fart jokes, objectification of women, and excessive vulgarity with Dude’s Night. Maybe I laugh at accents that some of my bros do. Maybe I do some myself when I’m with my bros. You’ll never know, baby, because that time is for bros and not for hos.

To clarify, when I say “baby” I am of course referring to “any interested woman,” because due to some scientific mystery I am still single.

spelling "hot" incorrectly means it's sexier

Man, look at her over there, being all hott and stuff. Mmmm hmmm, hott with two t’s. Don’t you wish you could talk to her? Maybe for extended periods of time, perhaps via a telephonic device? That sounds like a fun idea. But how do you get to that point? It’s a treacherous trail to blaze, son. If you’re a total sissy, I mean. Then it’s treacherous. If you’re a sweet master of romance like myself, it’s just another phone number for my little black book. And by “little” I mean “the size of most dictionaries.”

You’re going to want to print this guide out, fold it up, and put it in your wallet. Discreetly pull it out and unfold it when you’re at a bar, a coffee shop, or Victoria’s Secret, having with you a step by step guide to getting that babe’s digits. Another idea – this is progressive, but it’ll show you’ve got heart – tattoo a summarized list on your forearm. That way, when you get this chick’s numero (that’s number in Spanish) and you fall in love Eharmony-style, you can show her that tatt and say “baby, that’s how bad I wanted to know your mind.” She’ll be gushing, friend. Gushing. It’s time. Walk with me.

Step One: Preparation
Before you move in for the kill, you have to make sure you’re fully prepared for the game of mind-chess you’re about to play. This is going to be a lot like a high school wrestling match. Lots of grappling and trying to push each other out of the circle of trust (I think that’s what it is, right?) except it’s you and a babe, so it’s not all ancient greeky homoerotic. Without the proper preparation you might as well continue living vicariously through your Sims character.

1. Sweat Like You’re the Biggest Loser
There’s nothing the ladies love more than l’odeur d’un homme, which I believe roughly translates into “the pungent smell of the sweat from your butt crack.” Do a bunch of jumping jacks, jog in place – whatever you have to do to saturate yourself in that wonderful salty substance that makes the ladies weep with joy. It has something to do with pheromones or estrogen, I don’t really get it, but there’s probably an article in Cosmo about it and how women can use it to be more effective in the bedroom.

2. Unbutton Your Shirt
This needs to be at least halfway. If you’re not wearing a button up shirt, I don’t even know what to do with you.

3. Eat Something Sloppy
Remember how back in the day, dudes were into fat chicks because it showed that they were wealthy? Weird how that’s kind of opposite now. Anyway, you need to eat some buffalo wings or some ribs before you get to sweeping this honey off her feet. Preferably with no hands. This is nonverbal communication that says “check it out, I can afford to take you on as many dates as you want as long as they’re to B-Dubs.”

Step Two: The Approach
Walk up to her. That’s… That’s it. If she looks like a nice, nurturing softy, you could trip and fall to build up some sympathy points. Use discretion, as this could backfire pretty easily. Happens to Kent all the time.

Step Three: Go Time
You’re sweaty, your shirt is open, and you’ve got mild chipotle sauce on your face. Some people – wrong people – might refer to you as “a walking Hurricane Katrina” or “Michael Moore every single day.” You know what they don’t understand? I’ll tell you. Have you seen Terminator 2? You know the T1000, this dude that’s made out of liquid metal? Yeah, that’s like you, but instead of metal you’re made of raw liquid masculinity.

Get down to business. It’s up to you to carry on the conversation with her. This is the “mind chess” I mentioned earlier. You’re going to want to take her knight with your bishop, or her queen with your rook, or… whatever metaphor works. I am available for real-time walk throughs like that epic weirdo Mystery, but the cost would likely drive the world into a much deeper recession. My time is a commodity. Seriously, people trade it. Know how the markets have rallied lately? You’re welcome.

Optional Opening Lines:
Here are a few opening lines you can use if you really can’t think of one yourself. Feel free to belch these to her or convert them to Old English (aka “the white man’s Ebonics”), it’s all gravy.

“You look like you’d make a great addition to my Dungeons and Dragons raiding party.”

“Lucky for you, I love women with mustaches.”

“Smell that? That’s the smell of a very healthy digestive system.”

“Looks like we could make the fat children I’ve always wanted.”

“This one girl I got pregnant looked a lot like you.”

“You look like your biological clock has almost run out.”

Did you just feel that spark in your mind? That’s called an epiphany, my friend. I just gave it to you. Bust out any one of these, and you’ll have digits in no time. Keep on living, gentlemen. There are plenty of fish in the sea, and thanks to me that sea looks a lot more like a barrel.

Point: Sweet, this chick totally wants to make out with me.

By: Fratboy Chad

Oh yeah.  It’s gonna happen.  I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life (except maybe my sexual orientation: All straight, all the time, baby!).  This isn’t even a question, it’s science.  It is scientifically impossible for an 18-45 year old female to be this close to me in a dimly lit room without making out with me.  I may not know much, but I know one thing, this chick is jonesing to get her tonsils tickled.

Trust me on this one.  If past experiences have taught me anything it’s this: (1) Axe Phoenix was definitely the right choice in body spray this evening and (2) we’re about t-minus thirty seconds from some good old-fashioned tongue wrestling.

How do I know this, you ask?  It’s just simple math: dinner at Chili’s – anything with onions + killer Dane Cook impression + feigned interest in women’s basketball/water polo/rights – presence of roommates + movie with semi-romantic plot involving an orphan and a soul patch sporting Robin Williams = mind-blowing makeout seshy.

Works every time.

Look at little Miss Coy there, pretending to care about this stupid movie, pretending she doesn’t want a taste of this Orbit Mango Surf gum I’m chewing, pretending she doesn’t notice that our hips are now touching when they were twelve inches apart when the movie started.  She’s good, but not good enough.

Her playful game might fool a hook-up rookie or a sober person, but not the Chadasaurus Rex.   I’ve been around long enough to know that “no” can only mean two things: “yes” or “try harder”.  It almost isn’t fair.  With the Axe, the American Eagle graphic tee, the distressed jeans, and the recent bicep workout, this broad never had a chance.

Dammit Robin Williams! Say something funny so I can get my arm around her while I pretend to laugh.  Man, if there’s one thing I hate, it’s washed up comedians salting my game.  No matter.  Even Robin Williams can’t stop what nature has set in motion.  Let’s face it, this chick came here for one thing and one thing only: inter-face.

And inter-face she will have.

Counterpoint: Wow!  August Rush is a Really Great Movie!

By: Sarah Elizabeth

Oh my gosh, I looove this movie! That little boy is so cute!  He’s such a good little actor and he was so good in Finding Neverland.  I’m super excited that we’re watching it- and I can’t believe Chad wanted to see it too. I totally missed it at the theaters, but this is even better cause it’s the 2 disc DVD where the little boy talks about learning to play the guitar.

I think the only thing that could make this better is if we were sitting in the living room and watching it on their huge HD TV instead of on his twin bed, on his Macbook.  Apparently, “It’s better this way.”

Wow.  Keri Russell looks so pretty in this movie, and Jonathan Rhys Meyers?  Break me off a piece of that.  And what ab – aww, this is the part where the little boy sings! Bless his heart! He is such a cutie.  He just wants to find his parents and just plays his little guitar with all of his heart.  What a sweet story.  I wish we had some better speakers; it’s hard to appreciate the music when Chad and I are sharing the same pair of ear buds.

I still can’t believe he actually wanted to watch this.  He told me, “Chadmeister loves him some good cinema and he knows he’s going to heart this movie.” I hope he can see okay.  He keeps scooting closer every couple minutes.  He probably just doesn’t have enough room.  It is a pretty small bed. Also, I’m pretty sure he has Transformers sheets.  But that’s neither here nor there.

Oh, the little boy is singing again!  I just love this movie!!

Thanks to Libby Magliolo for contributing the Counterpoint part of this article.  When she is not watching August Rush, Libby runs The Poptimist, an excellent blog covering all the coolest stuff you never knew existed

true love is hearts and circles shooting out of your head.

Yes, yes, I know. It’s been a long time since we’ve spent some time together, talking through our problems and becoming better people. I apologize for the hiatus of my massive wisdom. I’ve been busy writing my autobiography How to Cope with Being Awesome: The Life of Conor McCarthy. I’ve finally finished all 1200 pages of that though, and it’s time to get back to helping you navigate this horrifying labyrinth that is your everyday life. Today I’m going to guide you through the section of this maze that we call the First Date with some succulent bread crumbs of advice. Romance is near, friends. Walk with me.

First Things First
You’re already ahead of the game in that you’re going on a date at all.  You landed a phone number (most likely) and a date, so you at least have that trophy. No one can take that from you, even if your date decides that you’re “the creepiest guy she’s ever met” and that you “have the style of a Las Vegas street performer.” She’s a stinky skank anyway. (Yeah, that’s right Susan. Stinky. Like a petting zoo.) I’m going to split this guide into a section for the ladies and a section for the gentlemen. The first date experience is different for both genders, just like urinating.

All the Ladies in the House Say What!
Some dude used the killer “is that a mirror in your pocket” line on you and landed your number. Don’t feel bad for not playing hard to get. That line is like catnip for the ladies – there’s nothing you can do but surrender your phone number and then fan yourself afterward. But what now? How do you approach the “maiden voyage” of your new relationship? After all, this could be the story you tell your grand kids. Here are a couple important things to remember.

1. Violence Violence Violence
This is a very basic nonverbal communication strategy that shows interest, but not so much that it’s offputting. It hearkens back to a simpler time when communication was much clearer than it is now – second grade. If a girl liked a boy or vice versa,  violence would ensue. Lots of people out there want to tell us that we’ve “grown out of this” or that “mature people don’t communicate that way,” but who are these people who are trying to mislead us? Cat ladies and fat dudes that masquerade as chicks on myspace. They don’t know what they’re talking about. When he initially picks you up, kick him right in the shin. If you really want to say “hey, I’m a level headed girl with no emotional issues” you need to go for the gold. And by gold I mean kick him in the crotch. Only do that for a guy you really like though.

2. “The Mumble Laugh”
Never, ever, ever laugh with your mouth open. NEVER. This is the first date. You’ve really got to be cautious about the message you’re sending. What if you have puke breath? What if one of your teeth is loose, and then it shoots out of your mouth and into your date’s throat, causing asphyxiation and other wacky hijinks? Sound like a Ben Stiller movie? That could be your life. Calm down, calm down. There’s a way to avoid that kind of complete failure. Just laugh with your mouth closed. Go ahead, try it. See? Sound like someone you want to spend the rest of your life with? It totally does. Keep that up for the entire date and you’ll be just fine.

All My Homies in the House Say Hey!
So that one chick you’ve been messaging with on myspace finally agrees to meet you at IHOP. Congratulations, let’s hope she’s not one of those fat dudes I mentioned from before! Hahaha! Just kidding. No but really, you should be careful. Anyway, assuming she’s really a she and not Trey that lives in his mother’s basement, here’s a couple rules to follow to make sure things go silky smooth.

1. Momma’s Boy
Girls want a guy that is close with his mother. That means the dude will have a good relationship with his wife in the future. What’s that? Freud said what? Yikes. Good thing this isn’t Ancient Greece, right? Anyway, you need to talk about your mom as much as possible. Does your date have nice earrings on? Tell her they look like a pair you’ve seen your mother wear before. Do you like her perfume? Tell her she smells like your mother. In the middle of the date, take a picture of her with your camera phone. Say “gotta send this to Mumsy to see what she thinks.” Three words will inevitably pop into her mind: Marry this man.

2. Fighter, not a Lover… Wait. Both.
99% of the purpose of the first date for a guy is impressing the girl. There are a lot of things that impress women: wealth, power, physical prowess, belch volume – just to name a few. But what can you do on a typical “dinner date” that will show her that your genes are indeed the best to combine with? Fight someone. It doesn’t matter who or for what reason, if any at all. Punch a waiter/ess. Make sure it’s someone you can take easily. An elderly man or an adolescent boy is always a solid choice. Nothing says virility and romance like punching a pubescent kid right in the forehead. She’ll probably high five you because that was awesome and then you’ll sit down and enjoy a wonderful dinner.

There you have it ladies and gents. Follow these steps and you’ll be well on your way to a long, beautiful relationship with the love of your life. Tune in again soon for another guide to coping with life’s toughest issues. Until then, best of luck.

Two months ago, after nearly three years of semi-monogamous partnership, I parted ways with the Anglican church I have attended since my Junior year of college.  It was an amicable separation accompanied by none of the status updates, bitter texts, and Hallmark-fueled bonfires that so often color my breakups.  I felt that each of us had taken all that the other had to give, and we owed it to ourselves to end it before I started signing up for pot lucks and volunteering for nursery duty.

So, after three years in a committed relationship, I’m back on the church market.  Since Wheaton is the ecumenical equivalent of Cancun at Spring Break (i.e. lots of options in all different colors, shapes, sizes, and languages), I’m not too concerned about finding a suitable church home.  But I do have one question that has been lingering in the back of my mind ever since I started playing the parochial field.  The question is this: Is the presence or absence of a thriving population of attractive, single females an acceptable standard by which to judge a church?

I’m not saying it’s the only criteria.  Due consideration should, of course, be given to theology, worship style, and donut hole quality, but I cannot ignore the fact that, since graduating college, the number of places where Mrs. Kent Woodyard and I could conceivably bump into each other has been significantly reduced.  I’ve quit waiting for her to stumble into my arms at the club/bar/field party.  She has not applied for any of my store’s open cashier positions.  She does not use the elliptical machines at Cardinal Fitness, nor has she been at any of the high school volleyball games I’ve recently attended.

That leaves church.  And the fact is, none of the aforementioned locations can hold a finger to church when it comes to the quality, or at least sobriety, of dating prospects.  Whatever beef I may have with singles groups, relationship seminars, or all-church picnics, I recognize that I’m far more likely to find a mother-approved mate in a Sunday morning pew than on a Friday night dance floor.

That being the case,  it stands to reason that attractive 20-somethings are factoring into my church search alongside other s like greeter friendliness, Chris Tomlin competency, well-executed communions, and the presence of a man-made waterfall.  There’s no sense denying it.  Aspiring actresses move to Hollywood; aspiring husbands of Christian wives go to church.

The problem with my situation is that it is largely ignored by clergy and condemned by older Christians (i.e. married people).  Elder brothers and sisters in Christ shake their head in bemused disapproval when I tell them of my church search criteria.  In their minds, a room full of hot girls is not even a good reason to audit a class, much less to join a congregation.

They view the acquiring of a Godly wife as a potential byproduct of regular church attendance, but not something to be sought directly.  It’s like going to the beach.  You go to enjoy the natural beauty and the sunshine.  As a bonus, you might get to see someone in a bikini.  Going for the sole purpose of seeing someone in a bikini is creepy and potentially criminal.

My problem with the indirect approach is that it doesn’t work.  I spent four years in the self-contained, hormone-fueled marriage laboratory that is Wheaton College and managed to escape without so much as a confiscated purity ring.  No.  These things take initiative, planning, strategy, and a rock-solid wingman.  Yes, I believe God has a plan for my life, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t do all I can to put myself in the way of that plan.

This endeavor is not helped by the woefully uninformative pamphlets at church welcome tables.  It’s nice to know that the church was started in 1965 at an Ace Hardware, but there are more pressing issues at hand.  I appreciate the update on the elder board’s recent denial of the deity of Christ, but what can you tell me about inter-congregational dating rates?  Do you have statistics on the number of current or former cheerleaders in attendance?  If I were to say to you “single, 21-26, athletic, and brunette” would there be a small group you could direct me to?  These are questions.  Not the only questions.  Perhaps not the most pressing questions.  But questions that churches should be prepared to answer all the same.

Two months into my search I have still not found a church that I’m ready to settle down with.  The friendly ones are filled with heretics, the orthodox ones are filled with misanthropes, and the perfect combinations are a bit on the comatose side.  I’m not really sure what my purpose was in sharing this with you.  Perhaps as a defense of my church search criteria.  Perhaps as a plea to our readers in the clergy to provide more relevant demographic information.

Or maybe it was simply to announce that the church market isn’t the only one I’m toiling in these days.  Perhaps – having attained literary superstardom – I am now ready to start building my entourage.  Any interested parties can meet me at Emmanuel Presbyterian Church’s 9:15 service next Sunday.  I’ll be the guy stuffing his pockets with donut holes.

Let’s get one thing straight from the get-go: this guide isn’t written from personal experience. I am from Texas and Kent is from Texas’ attic (also known as Oklahoma) and everybody knows people south of the Mason-Dixon line are born with a certain charm that the ladies can’t resist. Top that off with starting our own awesome, super successful, multi-million dollar humor franchise and, well, let’s just say we don’t need this guide. Two women once fist fought each other in a bar over getting Kent’s email address. Not even his phone number. This other chick straight tackled me and begged me to go out on a date with her and her twin sister. That’s right. Loving the life we live, living the life we love. They call me LL Cool C for a reason. Anyway, enough about me and my totally serious, completely real and non-delusional life.

And another thing: Although Kent and I are undoubtedly irresistible and statuesque, we’re also not condoning fornication or promiscuity. We’re good Christian boys and we’re also afraid of children and gonorrhea. I’m here to teach you how to get a date and maybe even a really sloppy french kiss that was probably better in your imagination.

Maybe you’re not super awesome with babes like Kent and I are; maybe, in fact, you’re bad with women. Hey buddy, get that chin up and hold your head up high. Today is a bright new day with tons of sexy possibilities. Let’s get out there and ask them out on a date.

For this guide I’m going to use a Do’s and Don’ts format. If you can’t figure that out, I can’t help you. Go join a cult or an internet dating website and get out of my sight. You’re breathing sexy air, and it’s obviously wasted on you.

Step One: Meeting a Girl
This is often the most challenging part of the entire dating experience. There are many ways to meet a girl and they vary in degrees of pain and toil. From an arranged marriage to buying a girl a beer down at your local Hooters, different skills are necessary to keep yourself from winding up dateless and alone at the end of the night, stuck back at your apartment playing World of Warcraft until the sun comes up while you down a few pounds of stale Cheetos. Hey! Stop that. Stop thinking that sounds like a good night. It’s not. You want to spend some time and money on a lady. Listen to me, I know what’s good for you.

Do: Refer to a girl as “dude,” “bro,” or “man.” Chicks love to feel like they’re just “another one of the guys.” You should probably only approach women who are sitting next to or on the lap of a large, muscular man. This man is most likely either related to her or a paid security agent. When you introduce yourself, offer to buy her the cheapest beer the bar has. Your opening line should be “Hey hottie, you ready for me to rock that body?” The large muscular man will most likely high five you for your sweet line, and you will get the girl’s phone number.

Don’t: Respectfully introduce yourself by simply saying “Hi, my name is ___. What’s your name?” B-O-R-I-N-G. Don’t look her in the eyes or act interested in what she has to say. She wants you to act like you don’t care. It’s a “hard to get” thing that chicks like.

Step Two: Talking to a Girl
This can be confusing as women often speak in their own language called “Womanese.” It’s very complicated and nonsensical and often requires some level of telepathy. I tried taking it as my second language in college but was denied because apparently “if you don’t already know then you obviously don’t care.”

Do: Stare directly at whatever designs or text that are on the chest area of her blouse or shirt. Women want to know that you’re interested in their fashion choices. Ladies express their personalities through their clothes. When you stare at the fun slogan on the chest area of their shirt, you’re saying “Hey, I’m really interested in you and not just your body.”

Don’t: Ask questions about what they do for a living, what TV shows they like, or what books they read. Women don’t have interesting jobs, they only watch Gilmore Girls or Sex in the City which are both shows that suck, and women don’t read books. If you ask about these things it will only bring these painful facts to light and you will instantly ruin your chances of love.

Step Three: The Date
Everybody knows that the first date is crucial. Luckily for us, it’s also the easiest step out there. Despite their crazy woman language and the weird way that they communicate with each other using only their eyes, it’s pretty easy to figure out what women want.

Do: Take them places you like. Sports bar? Yes indeed! Ladies love sitting around while you drink beer and curse at televisions. McDonald’s? Absolutely! This shows her that you’re frugal, you’re fun, and you’re father material. Whenever she orders her meal, go ahead and surprise her with how much of a high roller you are – Supersize that bad boy. She won’t know what to do with herself.

Don’t: Do the well thought out, high class, candlelight dinner at an expensive restaurant thing. That horse is tired my friend, it’s time we give it a rest. She wants to see that you think outside of the box, not that you’re a slave to “old fashioned traditions.” So avoid river walks, parks, or expensive theatre productions. Stick to electronics stores, Halo parties in your friend’s basement, and ESPN Classic marathons back at your place. It’s a commonly known fact that ESPN Classic gets makes the ladies get all randy. I want to high five you just thinking about it.

There you go, gents. No more excuses. Cancel your Eharmony account and get out there in the battlefield. It’s time to win this war.

Tune in next week for How to Cope with Being a Cougar: A Guide

It is because of these ambiguities that men will do things like, for example, sit in a crowded cafeteria and ascribe numerical value to the relative attractiveness of passing females.  It’s not because we’re shallow, it’s because we’re scientists.  We need absolutes, we need facts, we need scales from 1-10.  It means nothing to us for someone say that our girlfriend possesses an above average level of physical appeal.  However, if we are told she is a 7.8 (possibly as high as an 8.3 in the summertime and on Sundays) our hearts swell with pride as we know once and for all that yes, she is hotter than Johnnie’s girlfriend.

We just want to know where everyone stands.  In the pursuit of fairness, we subject ourselves to the same process of ranking and indexing.  After all, what’s the point in dating a 7.8 (but occasional 8.3!) if you don’t know that you are at best a 7.5?  Suddenly, a simple date becomes a conquest!  Many females object to the unfairness of this system.  They claim the male scale is a bit more…forgiving, but this is a simple misunderstanding.  The fact is, the average guy possesses a level of physical attractiveness that is significantly above average (the same holds true with driving and athletic ability).

It is for this reason that I was not the least bit surprised when I received an unsolicited email from the good people at hotenough.org.  They were writing to inform me that they had received my application for membership into their exclusive community and would be processing it over the next couple weeks.  Naturally, I assumed a place with “Hot Enough” in their name would be right up my alley.  When I discovered that, “Hot Enough is not so much about looks but about ‘A LOOK.’ Attractive, fit, and trendy are just a few of the descriptions Hot Enough elites have to offer and all to accommodate your personal flare and style” I knew I was home.  I assumed my friends had noticed my astounding level of carnal allure and were now trying to connect me with a community of my equals.  How thoughtful.

NotEnough’s screening process is fairly straightforward.  You submit three photos (including one full body shot) with your application.  These photos are carefully scrutinized by the club’s gorgeous members who draw from their wealth of experience as real-live hot people to determine whether you are Hot Enough or not.  These arbitrators of attraction ascribe a numeric ranking to your pictures.  You get twenty-five votes to obtain a ranking of 7.5 (the minimum level of hotness that any self-respecting hot person will associate with), at which point you will be admitted into the club.  If a plurality of twenty-five voters places you anywhere below 7.5, you are unceremoniously booted back to the paunchy, pock-marked world of eHarmony and Match.com from whence you came.

Having placed myself at about an 8.5 (+/- .3 depending on the presence of direct lighting to my face), I considered the whole process a formality and was eagerly awaiting the objective validation of my physical appeal that I’d been searching for.  My answer came two weeks later.   After carefully reviewing my three pictures for fourteen days, 25 beautiful strangers had given me a hotness index rating of 5.62, nearly two points below the club minimum.  They bid me a charitable goodbye and left me to piece my life back together.

I had created a monster.  My wish for scientific objectivity had come true, and I wished only that I could take it back.  The flattering illusions were stripped away.  No longer could I rely on unsubstantiated comparisons and a healthy ego to speculate about my physical charm.  I knew the truth.  I was a 5.62, and that was all I would ever be.  How would I face my ambiguously attractive friends?  I was a misshapen fact floating through a world of undefined, yet potentially beautiful beings.  Would they accept me?  Would they see me for the phony I was?  Could I find an enclave of other 5.62s who would take me in as one of their own?

Then, as I sat staring at those three ugly numbers on my screen, I had a paradigm-altering epiphany.  I may not have been right for HotEnough.com, but I was comforted by the fact that I was right about one thing.   I am above average.   5.62!  Point 62 above average, baby!  That may not get me into any exclusive clubs, but it gets me through the night.  And for now, that’s good enough for me.

That is all.