09/16/2010 11:27 am ET | Updated May 25, 2011

Fifty First (J)Dates: Draft Me.

By Fifty First (J)Dates

Ah, fall. The leaves are beginning to change, it's getting too cold for your Pleasure Doing Business skirt, which is basically just three pieces of PVC stapled together, suffocating the life out of you as you make a pouty face at that boy at Tao. Fall is also when people break out sweater coats that make them look too boxy. I don't think even Bar Rafaeli would look good in a sweater coat. They should be outlawed. I had a pink fuzzy one. It's a miracle I have friends.

More important than all of these amazing wardrobe changes and leaf-crunching (one of the most gratifying sounds in the world besides the whirrrr of the Tasti D Lite machine) is football. Bet you saw that one coming.

Meredith = football. Fo sheez. I mean no.

I, like most girls, just like shmoozing at games and trying to figure out the best ratio of guacamole to chip (I always get too aggressive and put too much guacamole and then my chip breaks into the bowl and I have to look around before sticking my hand in and removing the glob). Also commercial watching, boy scouting, and cheering when you think you know what's going on are fun ways to pass the time. I think football is the only thing in the world where a "minute" can actually be ten. But that's besides the point.

The whole reason I brought up a sport that makes no sense to me is the idea of "drafting" the perfect team. I hear the young folk (especially rowdy bros) love fantasy football.

You might compare fantasy football drafting to sorority recruitment - scouting for the hottest girls, with the best clothing you can borrow, and whose boyfriend has the hottest friends who are also cool and in AEPi and will make you look cooler by association. Just like you pick the girls with connection to that hotel in Paris, or the best player for your fantasy football team, you have to draft your love life.

Let's be real: there are only so many players in the JDate pool, at least in DC. You have to be strategic. Do I want the wide receiver who went to Emory and works in consulting and MIGHT be over six foot? Or how about the tight end whose cleavage looks nice in her photos and might be lax with her clothing removal?


To boot, you might have some competition - your friends, colleagues, or some dude who says he's only doing this because his mom signed him up but you know he's curious about sending flirts like "Are you wearing moon pants? Because your butt is out of this world."

You have to mark your territory.

One Saturday afternoon some guy friends of mine sat down and had a JDate draft. He refused to tell me what round I was drafted in. I think this is where Maureen Dowd comes in and writes about the fantasy drafting scandal at that school in my area that I'm embarrassed for, but the girls were 14. Different.

Girls do this too. We call dibs on certain boys, and you have to be very careful because it can lead to arguments, resentment, and exclusion from Facebook pics, which is devastating. One of the first boys I went out with had gone out with two other girls I know. Thankfully they didn't like him, because I thought he was great. Maybe I have terrible taste.

Be fair, play nice, and maybe give that third round draft a chance. Just don't go out with that boy Erin dated and he ditched her for some dumb sophomore. That could lead to some hair-pulling and bitch-slapping. Which might actually be more entertaining than the actual date at Public where you asked Michelle to call mid-way and tell you she had an awful vomiting spell that is causing you to leave and meet up with her at the bar down the street. That always does the trick.

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