It's easy to forget that celebrities are people too! And so we turn our loving gaze towards Rachel Bilson, who we can never actually recognize, but we know she's the one from that show that isn't Mischa Barton, who we can recognize. As Rachel limps slowly but determindly back into the dating scene, we present our quiz: What Kind of First Date Are You? Find out, Rachel dear, after the jump.
It's your first date, where would you go?
- Somewhere expensive, intimate and romantic, where the lighting is low enough to conceal your desperation.
- To the nearest puppy farm, to cuddle some puppies.
- To the nearest puppy farm, to shoot some puppies.
- The nearest 8-Ball motel with rooms for rent by the hour.
What would you wear?
- Jeans and a teeshirt. Why make an effort when all men are pigs anyway?
- Little black dress, long gloves and a tiara because you think you're fucking Audrey Hepburn you deluded fat fool.
- That coat you made for your project runway audition out of dead lepers' skin and infused with your menstrual blood.
- Your vagina, and a dab of perfume.
You go out for dinner, and order drinks first. What's your tipple?
- Something pink and creamy because you're a girly girl and you are entirely hairless below the neck.
- Champagne. If you're going to have to sleep with this jerk, you're gonna get your money's worth. Oh yes.
- Water or a soft drink. Because you are a crashing bore.
- Nothing too over the top - just a couple of bottles of vodka.
The bill comes. What do you do?
- Offer to pay because you refuse to bow before the patriarchal norms of society, which is why you never get a second date, and also you don't shave your armpits, you lesbian.
- Lean over seductively and whisper in his ear that cheapskates don't get their cocks sucked.
- You don't notice, you passed out under the table an hour ago.
He walks you to your apartment and suggests coming up for coffee. You:
- Can't hear him over the noise of slamming the door in his face
- Vomit apologetically on his shoes.
- Bring him up and make him coffee and then say goodbye and thank him for such a lovely night, you boring pathetic goody-twoshoes, no wonder no-one loves you and you will die alone.
- Bring him up, drink another couple of bottles of vodka, smoke some weed, have enthusiastic but inept ultimately unsatisfying drunk sex, repeat for six months until you're both deluded enough to get married, have a couple of kids, wake up one day wondering how you ended up saddled with such a dickhead, divorce him and slide into a banal, lonely alcohol-infused middle age.
Mostly 1s, 2s, 3s or 4s: Kill yourself, loser.