Girl Dating

For the record I have been on exactly two dates this week and my husband's out of town. Before he left he hooked me up on a semi-blind date with his co-worker. And I think he may have told another co-worker to have his wife call me. I feel like a sympathy project.

However, I enjoyed both nights out. Date one involved a 3-hour walk through a park and the historic district of Peoria. We dished on clothes, travel, pets and boys (or hers at least) and that's when I discovered one of those Aha! moments. Married people want to talk about dating drama because it's fun.

I always thought that the marrieds were bored or believed everyone should be just like them with their house, dog and 2.5 children. Now I realize that between work drama and work drama and work drama, it's nice to be swept up in the love affairs that daytime dramas envy. I will be taking applications for all single or dating girls in the area. You can gush about a new crush, first kiss, or stupid boy at any time. If you'd like dating advice I can Ann Landers you.

On to Date two. A friend and I met for dinner to plan a bachelorette party. We dined on sushi and schemed up new games (preview: Laney and a trip to Costa Rica inspired my idea for a high-fashion makeover game). Looking around the room I saw multiple girls out conspiring in groups of two. Sushi is the perfect place for a light dinner and you don't feel as awkward stuffing large uncuttable pieces of rice and raw fish into your mouth when it's another girl sitting across from you. They understand your mouth is small...well most of them do.

Girl dating is kinda fun, but I'm glad Skipper comes home tomorrow.

It’s Not Me, It’s You…

Taking the high-road is not always my choice of travel. Especially if it involves a clueless boy dragging me around to restaurants, movies, sporting events or even the random finger-painting adventure. After each such night I’ve closed my door, sighed and rolled my eyes horrified at my own abrasiveness and at their ability to ignore the obvious—a lack of chemistry.

But maybe it’s not their fault maybe it’s possibly to feel a strong one-way connection. With that thought I can forgive the ignorance. I’ve had my share of passing hotties that were soul mates in denial. That was the comforting theory until Saturday.

Playing in a doubles volleyball match I started the morning with a bang. By that I mean shot dead as in the original tournament with its soft sand, pool access, bbq and rocking music was cancelled. A few of the teams withdrew at the last minute leaving the rest of us to shuffle our way down the valley to another tournament without perks. Not even a crummy brown T-shirt because we were late registration. Only the diehards and fools would continue with this day.

Fools we were as we stepped onto the grass court for our first game. We actually had reasonable expectations of passing, serving, setting and hitting the ball over the net. What’s worse is we actually failed those expectations. After the third point an unimaginable truth nailed me in the chest, we had no chemistry. We couldn’t pass to each other, we didn’t know where the other was on the court. We collided, stole balls, and watched others drop. We set too far out, too far off the net and too far to the other side. It was every bad date I’ve endured rolled in one punctuated by our accumulating losses.

Towards the end of the day, after we’d conferred and coached and strategized my partner looked at me and confirmed my horrors. It wasn’t me, and it wasn’t her, it was the lack of US.

“We don’t have chemistry,” she bluntly whispered. “We can’t find a rhythm and we’re dying on the court.”

It hurt a little, and I didn’t want to acknowledge it but I knew she was right because I’d thought the exact thing hours before.

The tournament was a bust but we left resolved to work on our chemistry, to play more and develop rhythm.

Her direct remark confirmed another suspicion, that the lack of chemistry is felt by both parties. Every bad date knows that the butterflies aren’t flying, but some of the hopeful romantics blindly believe that time with beauty will eventually evoke sparks.

Full of Hot Air

I've decided to chronicle all my past life experiences here on my blog. Most of them will be dating horror stories of the slasher variety and usually it's off with my date's head. No, I wouldn't do that to you, especially because you're only here for the pictures and I'm not about to publish a bloody mess. But I did remember a fun date with my brother Philip. So maybe it is a horror dating story.

Right before Phil moved to Seattle he convinced me to wake up at the crack of darkness to drive to Park City for a hot air balloon ride. We started by the high school, or something near there and floated a few miles towards I-80. In our wicker basket with a few other chipper morning goers, we oohhed and aahhhed. Never has land looked more plotted we exclaimed. It's amazing how incredibly high you get with no parachute we mused. Some fool really wanted to travel around the world like this we scorned.

The pilot pumped more heat into the nylon bowl. We drifted this way and that and down below a white van zigged and zagged like an ant following our wind blown trail. That was our ride back to civility, but we were headed for the nether regions and expecting a bit of a hike. We did not expect the rough landing. The wild land teased us with flat landing pads but threw a small ditch our way as we touched down.

Phil threw his arm around me and told me to hang on as our side of the basket rushed to parallel the ground. I'd braced well enough, or Phil kept me safe but the lady next to me could have used some help. She tumbled head first over the edge. Just as I thought her head would soften the fall the balloon jerked upward and the basket leveled out. The woman fell back into the basket. I bit my lip to keep from laughing and Phil shot me a warning look. I'm not sure if he was warning me to save the laughter until we'd safely landed or if he just hoped that for once I'd be nice.

As we piled out of the basket after a safe completion Phil and I had one more surprise. The balloon company presented us with champagne and a flight completion certificate to Breanna and Philip Hall—the young married couple. I think they expected a kiss, Phil pushed me away loudly refuting our marital status and clarifying our blood relation.