Unfortunately, however, I was about the only person who thought this was the worst idea ever. The rest of the staff thought it was the most hilarious idea they had ever heard. So with that, combined with Julia’s immense enthusiasm and idolatry for the Yale sex columnist who wrote about a date with a fellow staffer, I had an exceedingly unlikely and equally hot date (not to objectify, but she seriously is smokin’ in case you’ve never seen her).

Phase 1: Popping the Question
It was in the office two weeks ago when the crazy fellow staffers had this idea, and in an aberrant burst of confidence and courage on my part (coupled with an unbearable amount of peer pressure that none of the techniques I learned in D.A.R.E. class could defend against), I asked the beautiful “sexpert” for her cell phone number — and she actually gave it to me.
I would like to say that I was cool as a cucumber in the following days, but instead I did some studying. Specifically, I read Julia’s column about the rules of dating in order to get some pointers. Low and behold, I found a rule about not asking girls out on a date for the weekend after Wednesday. Thus, trying to maintain a nonchalant image, I called at the last possible time — Tuesday night. It was supposed to be a big moment where I would ask her if I could take her out to dinner, but like in every crucial cell phone situation, I got the voice mail and proceeded to leave a very polite message proposing a date for Sunday evening.

Phase 2: Overcoming Adversity (and a little age discrimination)
I was worried when I didn’t get a call back on Wednesday. My cell phone was on full volume and vibrate mode during class, but she didn’t call. I actually did have one false alarm that turned out to be my mother asking me how to turn on the printer back at home, but I digress. I really wanted to give her another call but I didn’t want to come off as too anxious. I was informed by a secret source that she had no idea I was a freshman and was having second thoughts about the entire thing — and wouldn’t you know, there was still no call by Thursday afternoon. I went to THE HOYA office on Thursday night to work on Friday’s issue and to my surprise and subsequent nervousness, Julia was there. I decided to confront her about the whole thing. She made a couple dumb excuses for not calling me back but in the end agreed to go out and said she was excited.

Phase 3: Word on the Street
Following that encounter, I was feeling disenchanted and unenthusiastic (I mean I was doing this for the paper and it seemed like she was doing me a favor or something). But according to the female staffers who are always a wealth of gossip, she was sincerely excited about the ordeal and even buying gifts for me. Needless to say, a feeling of uneasy excitement swept through my body.

Phase 4: Gearing up
By Saturday the date was only one day away and I needed to get ready — I mean this girl was a professional dater and I was a typical, freshman professional masturbator (sorry I don’t mean to gross out the readers it just rhymes really well). I decided to seek some advice from the female staffers. As you have probably already assumed, the newspaper provides my only interaction with the opposite sex (i.e. I am a pathetic nerd). Roxanne Tingir, our lovely senior news editor, told me that no Georgetown girl could resist a guy in a blue Polo shirt, and being from North Jersey like everyone else here, I happened to have a few of those in my closet. I was also told that I should get her some gifts—so on Sunday, before the date, I rushed over to Hallmark in the mall and picked up some fancy chocolates and a teddy bear holding a heart.

Phase 5: Disappointment
So there I was, rushing back to campus with my Hallmark products to take a shower before the 7 p.m. rendezvous. The big night was finally here, or so I thought. It was twenty-six minutes before “game time” when I got a call from Julia. It went something like this: “Hey Tom! It’s me Julia! Listen—I’m still kind of hung-over from last night and I have a paper due tomorrow. Would you mind if we went out tomorrow night instead? Great! Pick me up at six.” My big night was postponed. The next day, the big night was finally here—again, or so I thought, again. At about 5:56 p.m., four minutes before the scheduled date, I got another call. Only this time, she only wanted to postpone it for an hour more because she had “just gotten back from the gym” or something like that. But no biggie, I guess I could wait an hour longer.

Phase 6: The Interrogation
So by 7:05 (again not wanting to seem too anxious I allotted myself the fashionably late five minutes), I went to her Henle apartment to pick her up — and by that I mean walk over to her place. Like most girls (or so I’ve heard at least), Julia wasn’t ready yet. I sat on her couch and played some Falling Numbers on my Motorola V60i. As I approached my high score, I was interrupted by roommate number one. Seemingly uninformed about the situation, she started asking me a series of questions (“How did you and Julia meet?” “Is this the first time you’ve gone out?” “Are you nervous?”) telling me that I could “shoot straight” with her. Roommate number two then proceeded to bombard me with some more informed questions (“Do you like Julia?” “Do you expect to get action?”) and I suspect she was commissioned by Julia herself. I was warned that Julia was a “tough date” and she “gets really excited.” This was about the part where I was feeling ridiculous/embarrassed/random.

Phase 7: Predating
After keeping me waiting for fifteen minutes, Julia finally came into the living room. It was well worth the wait. Julia — with her whore-boots, mini-skirt and cleavage — was enough to turn on Elton John. She then informed me that she always does shots before a date, so there we were doing a couple of Bacardi shots just to “loosen up.” We then exchanged gifts. I got a half-dead plant with the caveat that it was a “symbol of our relationship” so I had to take good care of it. In addition, I received a very sweet homemade Valentine. I then gave her the chocolate and teddy bear that I had picked up the day before. And with that, we were off.

Phase 8: En Route
Only about eight steps out of the fishbowl, Julia ran into some friends. I was introduced to them before the all shared a “Legally Blonde” moment commenting on each others respective “Louis Vitton” and “Coach” purses. The cab ride regressed into exactly what I wanted to avoid – talking about high school (as if I could make myself seem any younger). We did, however, find common ground in our leadership activities and such probably common in any Georgetown student’s high school career.

Phase 9: Eating Out
The cab dropped us off and I had planned to take her to Nathan’s (no – not the hot dog joint but the fancy restaurant at Wisconsin and M). But this independent woman, powerfully asserting herself, didn’t want to eat there. She wanted to go to Benihana’s instead, which was totally fine with me. And after about twenty minutes of waiting and a strange phone call from her ex-boyfriend (go figure), we were seated.

Phase 10: Margaritas and Reese Witherspoon
Now I love Japanese restaurants, but I would have preferred a traditional table where I could have looked down her shirt during dinner when I got bored. The waitress asked for our drink orders and we both ordered margaritas and the underage freshman was served no problem (that would have sucked if I got carded, and sucked even more if I got busted using a fake ID). I think it’s fair to say that halfway through the margarita Julia was drunk. She was quick to notice the uncanny resemblance of another woman at our table to Reese Witherspoon, who actually turned out to be a staffer for John McCain.

Phase 11: Creating Conversation
Julia knew that THE HOYA was paying for our dinner, so she unhesitatingly ordered the most expensive meal on the menu. Even though we didn’t know each other very well, we actually had good conversation throughout dinner. I talked about my siblings, she talked about dating medical students. I talked about my future aspirations, she talked about dating a CIA agent. I talked about my family, she talked about dating a law student. Okay maybe I’m exaggerating but she did seem to have an awful lot of dating experience.

Phase 12: Party like It’s Your Birthday
By her command, I whispered to the waitress that it was Julia’s birthday (it’s actually not for another month). The crew came over, banged a drum, and the table sang happy birthday and clapped for her. We also got some complimentary ice cream. We were eating ice cream out of the same bowl, talking about politics, having some laughs, and for brief moment, I forgot that this woman was totally out of my league and I was having an unreserved great time. The moment quickly subsided when her psycho ex-boyfriend called again.

Phase 13: Back to Her Place
We grabbed a cab back to campus and were arm-and-arm on our way from the Healy Gates to Henle. Julia, still thoroughly drunk, decided that I was ready for my last batch of gifts. I got a nice box of chocolates and a red teddy bear (whom she affectionately named Princess Sophia). We embraced and the date was over.

I wish I could say that I got some on that date. I wish that I could have provided inspiration for all the nerdy freshmen out there too afraid to talk to the hot older women on campus. I wish I could have had a story to tell my friends. And moreover, I wish I could have had a happier ending to my column. But no, I failed to accomplish every date’s goal. But at least for one night, Steve Urkel got to have a serious date with Laura Winslow. Unfortunately, I have no transformation chamber.