I once went on a date with a guy who asked if I was "emotionally regular." Like poop. That was his opening line.
And yet, that was somehow not the worst date I've been on.
I'm not claiming to be some kind of dating guru or anything, but if bad dates earned frequent flyer miles, I could've taken a private jet around the world by now.
At this point, I've been on somewhere around 300 dates. Maybe more. Who's counting? (Me. I'm counting. Because it's hilarious.)
And before you raise an eyebrow, no, I wasn't sleeping with all of them. My sister used to call me a "food whore," and... I mean, she wasn't wrong. Free dinner, good conversation, and maybe some cheesecake at the end? Sign. Me. Up.
It got to the point where I actually considered dating professionally. I'd show up, look cute, be charming, ask thoughtful questions, and by dessert they'd be planning our retirement together.
I didn't even have to try that hard. Apparently, the secret sauce to being a great date is:
Listen like they're the only human alive.
Laugh like they're auditioning for stand-up.
Tell at least one mildly scandalous story about something that happened at a Target.
The real problem wasn't the dates. It was the apps.
Dating apps, my friends, are a full-time job. I was getting 150–200 messages a day. That's not a flex, that's a call center.
Most were just "Hey" or "Hi" or "U up?" and I was like, Sir, it's noon. Please grow up.
But because I'm annoyingly polite and maybe just a little neurospicy, I felt bad ignoring people. So I created a system. A glorious, efficient, slightly obsessive system:The One-Through-Ten Response Method.
Step one was simple: I sent a pre-written message that asked three questions.
What's your favorite meal?
Favorite dessert?
Favorite drink?
It was casual but clever. If someone couldn't answer that, they weren't going to make it past round one anyway.
And if they did? They got Response #2. Tailored just enough to sound personal but generic enough that I could copy-paste with grace.
The trick was weaving in what they told me. If they said they loved lasagna, I might say, "Lasagna, huh? Classic move. Are we talking Garfield-level obsession or 'my grandma makes it better than yours' vibes?"
I had ten of these. TEN. Numbered, organized, perfected. (Yes, I removed the number before I sent them. I'm neurodivergent, not new.)
Response #3 might be something like:"Congratulations! You've passed round one. Your prize? Two more questions: What's something you'd never order at a restaurant? And what's your hidden talent? Bonus points if your talent is juggling or impersonating your mom."
Or I'd drop a random story like, "That time I burned garlic bread so badly I set off three smoke alarms and cried over frozen pizza." Followed by: "Your worst kitchen disaster. Go."
Here's the thing, if they made it to round five, they were already golden.
Because by that point, I'd asked about their childhood, their weird hobbies, their job stories, their dreams, and probably their thoughts on pineapple on pizza.
If someone told me they once smuggled a hamster into their bedroom and taught it tricks using cereal? Soulmate energy.
If they couldn't name one thing they enjoyed about their job? Big yikes. Red flag. Goodbye.
Look, this wasn't just about filtering, it was about connection.
Most dating apps toss people at you like spaghetti against a wall and hope one sticks. But I wanted a real vibe. Someone who could match my wit, who wasn't intimidated by questions with actual substance.
I didn't care about height or income or if they looked like Jason Momoa's less sweaty cousin. I wanted chemistry. Personality. And proof they could hold a damn conversation.
My profile? Straight fire. Witty, sarcastic, and full of charm. Five photos: one glammed up, one silly, one barefaced, one sultry-but-covered, and one full body. Basically a dating profile buffet, with zero catfishing on the menu. That's the dating equivalent of a LinkedIn resume, complete, confident, and totally me.
Did I mention it also said I had kids? Yeah. That's a face-to-face convo, not a texting one. But honesty is hot, and I'm not here playing bait-and-switch.
Here's the best part: my system worked.
No more time-wasters. No more guys who thought "Hey sexy" was a personality. Just real, interesting people who actually made me laugh and made dating fun again.
And yes, most of the nearly 300 plus dates I've been on were actually good. Entertaining. Even memorable. Because my system filtered out the nonsense and gave the good ones a chance to shine.
Dating today feels like shouting into a void filled with gym selfies and half-hearted emojis. But when you show up prepared, with intention, a little flair, and a ten-step response test, you flip the whole system on its head.
I might not be a dating coach, but I could've opened my own "Romantic Hunger Games."
Ten messages. One date. May the odds be ever in your inbox.