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How To Be The Worst Formal Date Ever

bad formal date

The Dress:
As slutty as possible. This is important because at no point in time are you going to hook up with your date. Again, at no point in time are you going to hook up with your date. Your dress should be tight, short, and low-cut. You are essentially a walking ad for blue balls — he just doesn’t know it.

Pro tip: No bra. No panties.

The Heels:
Stilettos. No sandals, wedges, chunky heels, or (God forbid) flats. The idea is that your feet should hurt so much, that you have no other choice than to complain about it all night. By the time 10pm pulls around, if your date wants to do anything other than stab you in the eye with your left heel Single White Female style, you’re doing it wrong.

Pro-tip: Leave the Band-Aids at home.

The Hair:
Down. It doesn’t matter if it’s curly or straight, it just needs to be down. No pull-backs, no bows, no bobby pins. This is important, because you will throw up. It will get in your hair. And your date will have to clean you up. #sorrynotsorry

Pro tip: Extra conditioner in the AM.

The Pre-Game:
If it comes in a cheap plastic jug, it is your friend. You should consume your body weight in low-grade vodka — straight; chasers are for pussies and binge eaters. The trick is to drink so much that you are essentially a liquor bottle in human form, but not enough to make your date consider tucking you into his bed and leaving you behind.

Pro-tip: Nothing says class like straw in a shot glass.

The Bus Ride:
Speak loudly during the instructions, warnings, and “So help me, God, don’t embarrass yourselves” speeches from the social chair, risk manager, and president, respectively. Wear a whistle around your neck and alert the driver of passing cars and yellow lights. Call 911 and report a theft when said whistle is eventually taken from you. Fashion a seat belt out of your date’s tie. #safetyfirst

Pro tip: Bring a trash bag.

The Dinner:
When you go to sit at the table, misjudge where your seat actually is by about three and a half feet. Fall hard and fall loud. Bonus points if you take the tablecloth down with you. Pick at your meal while loudly explaining that you hate fish, even though your meal is actually chicken. Tell a pledge from across the room that he’s so cute you could “eat him up,” while violently stabbing your steak knife at the air. When the waiter asks if anyone needs any condiments, tell him that you’ll take one with ribbed edges.

Pro tip: Mistake the tablecloth for your napkin. Every time.

The Dance Floor:
Your dance moves should mimic that of someone who has Parkinson’s Disease experiencing a grand mal seizure. Power point, fist bump, grind, twerk, Cha Cha, Charlie Brown, YMCA, and Foxtrot — all on your own, and none during the appropriate song. Also, you should fall a lot. The question is not whether you are mentally competent to stand trial, the question is whether you are mentally competent to stand.

Pro tip: Slow dance with the bus driver.

The Speeches:
Hoot, holler, yell, laugh, cry, and boo throughout all of them, despite the fact that you are too drunk to recognize half of the people speaking, and too…not in the fraternity…to understand half of the jokes. After your date’s fifth attempt at whispering in your ear and kindly telling you to “shut the fuck up,” pause for dramatic effect, look around, and loudly scream “No, I will NOT go have sex with you in the bathroom. I don’t want you to ejaculate prematurely all over my dress again like you did on the bus!” And then continue drinking your vodka rocks as if nothing happened.

Pro tip: Trip a brother while he is walking up to receive his award. Stand up, jump over him, and accept it on his behalf.

The Post Game:
Insist on playing DJ and then put on a combination of The Sound of Music soundtrack, One Direction, and Milli Vanilli. Cry and hiss loudly whenever someone tries to change the song. Lock yourself in the only bathroom for no less than thirty-seven minutes while you sit on the floor and alternate between playing Temple Run and sending “heiryyyyyyy yooire cuiuiteeeee” messages on Tinder. Exit, take three shots alone without saying a word, and loudly tell your date that it’s time to go to bed. When his eyes light up, look around and say to no one in particular that you wish the president had invited you instead of him. Pass out on top of the bed, with your clothes on, mid dry-hand job.

Pro tip: Prepare never to be invited back.

 

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Catie Warren

From Rush To Rehab (@catie__warren) is a semi-fuctioning adult who has been celebrating her 21st birthday for the past three years. She attended college in the nation’s capital and to this day is angry that Pit Bull lied to her, as you cannot, in fact, party on The White House lawn. Prior to her success with TSM, Rehab was most famous for being featured in her hometown newspaper regarding her 5th grade Science Fair Project for which she did not place. In her spare time, she enjoys attributing famous historical quotes to Marilyn Monroe and getting in fights with thirteen year olds on twitter. Email: catie@grandex.co

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