Damn you, Panda Express.

You lied to me. 

Exhausting

This is an exhausting thing, online dating.


I had another lunch date today. I don't even know what to say about this one...


I was there for 2 full hours, and this is what I said:


"hmmm"........"oh"........"um-hm".........."really?"...........


He, on the other hand, did not stop talking the entire time.


There was a lot of ridiculousness said in that 2 hour time, but there are two distinct comments that emerged as the true winners to show you all, my readers, what I must endure on these dates.  I literally thought, when he said these things, "I can't wait to blog about this."


Ready? They are doozies...


1.  "If we had sex you would get pregnant because I am really potent."


2.  "President Barack Obama is just an angry black man that feels his people have been wronged for 200 years, so he thinks that while he is there in the presidency he can just take what he deserves."


Those comments really were making me lean towards a resounding NO if I was asked to go out with him again.  But what really cinched the deal was when he told me that Matchbox 20 was the greatest band that ever was. 

 I met a few guys while I was on my trip. 

At the beach in Santa Monica, no less. 

They were walking along the beach, 

and being the new, flirtatious, open person that I am, 

I bravely asked them to take my picture. 

Unfortunately, upon this request, I realized that they didn't speak a word of English.

 And then they wanted to be IN my picture. 

And after the pictures, they both gave me very large hugs and kisses. 

(gotta love the Europeans...)

Here are our pictures....

(I like the thumb especially)

Yikes.

I loved what one of my employees said to me when I showed him the pictures,

and told him the story...

"Linda- Why do you attract the strangest people?"

Why.

Why indeed. 

What do you do when you are depressed and sad over your whole online dating experience and need an escape?

Why you go and visit some of your favorite friends in the whole entire world.  You visit family. You look at the ocean. 

That is sure to cure what ails ya. 

TENNIS

OK. So I said I was going to blog about something else. How un-date related can you get 

than the history of tennis... 

I wrote this for Square Magazine when there actually was a Square Magazine. 

“Take This: A New Look at an Old Sport”

I am not a sport person. I played soccer in 2^nd grade, and my memories of that experience are making dandelion necklaces in the outfield. I have perfected the spectator sport. Meaning, of course, that being the spectator is the sport. So here I am being asked to write about the “everyman” sport, tennis. The problem being that I am apparently not everyman (or woman in this case) and have never stepped foot onto a court in my life. My knowledge of tennis is limited: I know that at times I wear tennis shoes. I know Andre Agassi was married to Brooke Shields. I know the Williams sisters were on Oprah. 

My first approach is akin to Harold Hill in The Music Man. The Think System. I will learn all about tennis, and think really hard about tennis, and thereby will be able to write about it. And if I accumulate all the knowledge, it wont matter that I don’t really know what a backhand, forehand, or ground stroke are. My first foray into research I stumbled upon a YouTube clip of a match where a man smacked the ball, which then smacked into a pigeon flying by, killing it on impact. That wasn’t going to help me educate anyone on the sport, albeit fascinating (disturbing, yes, but fascinating nonetheless.) But as I learn more I gain a steady appreciation for this ten thousand year old game. 

Tennis was played as early as the 11^th Century by French Monks. They would hit the ball with their hand, but for obvious reasons, they thought that uncomfortable. So they wore gloves, which evolved into webbed gloves, until someone came up with the clever idea for the racket which they strung with sheep gut (ew). All this while the sport was gaining popularity with the nobility, who thought those Monks were onto something. But really, where would tennis be without Major Walker Wingfield. In the late 1800’s he patented the rules and equipment for what the game basically is today. But he called it sphairistike. It was a Greek word for “ball game” and thank goodness it didn’t catch on. This coincided with the wonderful invention by Mr. Goodyear himself, vulcanized rubber, which translated to a bouncy ball, thereby revolutionizing the game. 

It is a preppy sport. And a quiet sport. Where is the fun in a sport without heckling, I wonder. There is no “hey, racket racket racket, sa-wing, racket.” There are no taunts for offense during the serve, and you never hear “Aaair Baaaall” when it goes out of bounds. What good is a silent spectator. But then I learn that the harassing is covert. A passive aggressive approach from the inside, almost undetectable. It’s in the vocabulary. The word tennis is said to derive from the French word “tenez” which has many loose translations; play, take heed, or my personal favorite, take this- said as one player would serve to the other. I imagine it being shouted in the grunt of the serve, “TAKE THIS-UGH!” I’d yell. “What was that?” my opponent will ask. “Oh, nothing. Just Tennis,” I would say smugly. 

And then there is the scoring system. My romantic sensibilities think that it is sweet to have a game that uses the word “love” for points. As you serve you yell “Love,” so it must be the nicest game ever, I think. Until I discover its derivative and meaning. It came from the Dutch word “lof”- meaning “something for nothing.” Love is stated when a player has nothing. Love is the nice way of saying, “Sorry, bub. You have ZERO points. But I’m going to be nice about it and we’ll come up with a euphemism for zero. How about Love? Everyone loves love!“ I’m beginning to like this game. 

But I realize that I must actually play it. So I head to the Discovery Park in Pleasant Grove with my brother in law, a former tennis instructor at Ricks College. First we practice holding the racket. Then we practice swinging and stance. Then the rules and layout of the court are explained: the outside lines are for doubles only, you get two tries on a serve (any sport with a “do-over“ built into it is alright by me), and the infamous deuce. When the score is 40-40 you are at deuce, which is confusing, until I read that it is “deux du jeu,” French for “two points away from the game.” Well, if they just said that in the first place, people wouldn’t be so confused, I think. 

It seems forever before I actually get to hit the ball. And when I do, and this is the strange thing- it was fun. The scoring actually makes sense and it turns out I’m kind of good at this. I actually won a match. It was only one out of many, but still. I leave the court feeling excited. I am Every Man- I played tennis. 

OUT OF THE GAME

So after tonights date, I think I'm finally going to be out of the game, friends...


Oh.


Wait.


You thought that... 


No. 


No, I haven't been snatched up. 


I'm taking myself out of the game voluntarily, because I cannot handle the emotional turmoil of going on all of these dates. 


Seriously. 


I know you are all entertained. And I love to entertain you, really I do.


But I've kind of entered my own personal Hell.


I think tomorrow I will blog about something un-date related. 

ANTICIPATION

My Dad would always say that the best part of something was the anticipation for it. The anxious waiting, the daydreaming about the event, the planning and primping that goes into it. He believed that was a part of the whole experience, and enhanced the overall effect of whatever the occasion was.

I am mindful of that as I wait for my date tomorrow. 

I don’t know much about this guy, but we have emailed back and forth every day for over a week. I know that he has a graduate degree (in what, I have no idea), I know that he had a Lord of the Rings marathon last Saturday (yes, total nerd!), I know that he worked at Subway in Heber when he was 16 (I can't judge. I was at Del Taco). 

Random things. 

He sent me this about Harry Potter: 

(he wrote it awhile ago)

Top Ten Shocking Revelations in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

10) Harry realizes the past year of his life was just a dream, when he

wakes up one morning to find Dumbledore taking a shower in the

prefects’ bathroom.

9) Peeves? Gay as a French horn…

8) James Potter left his invisibility cloak in Dumbledore’s possession

merely as collateral for his massive gambling debts.

7) To open the locked room at the Ministry of Magic, one need only

sing the lyrics of a specific Huey Lewis & The News song.

6) In a Fight Club-like twist, Harry finally recognizes that Ron and

Hermione don’t actually exist, except in his mind. Go back and look at

the clues. It makes complete sense, I swear…

5) Dumbledore’s implicit trust of Snape stems mainly from Snape never

giving away that Dumbledore was a big Air Supply fan.

4) Wormtail ate all the Cracklin’ Oat Bran! I thought I smelled a rat…

3) Mistakenly convinced R.A.B. stands for “Raymond Burr”, Harry spends

his entire summer watching old Perry Mason TV movies, but ironically,

in doing so he discovers the vital clue to finishing his quest.

2) Though relieved to find out he is not one of Voldemort’s horcruxes,

Harry is soon dismayed to learn he is in fact housing the soul of

Peter Tork. (had to look this one up- Peter Tork was in the Monkees)

1) A dying Snape, defeated at the hands of Harry, utters his ominous

final words: “Fifty points… from Gryffindor…”

I mean really. Are you laughing hysterically? Because I was.

So here I am in anticipation of meeting him in person.

I can really understand why the Victorian era was able to maintain these sordid love affairs via letters. Because I’ve really enjoyed our emails. 

But what if I don’t really enjoy him?

Which then begs the question- is it these guys I’m going out with that have the problem, or is it me?...

Stay tuned...