Blogs are a good place for random dreams, right? Especially random dreams involving professional tennis players. So here goes. The dream that almost made me late for work this morning.
In the dream, I was apparently a professional tennis player myself, and I think I specialized in mixed doubles. (Which makes A LOT of sense.) Anyway, my doubles partner was none other than my tennis love, John Isner (who, coincidentally, broke into the top ten recently after an epic run at Indian Wells). Our match was taking place in the foyer of a house. I vaguely remember that we were playing Novak Djokovic, and I was struggling a bit against him (which also makes a lot of sense, considering that he's Novak Djokovic). No worries, though. John hit a wicked ace to seal the match. At which point I couldn't contain my joy and jumped on his back in celebration. As the euphoria subsided, I descended from this piggy-back ride and he gently took my hand.
Sigh.
But then, out of nowhere, this platinum blonde woman, who I knew instinctively in the dream as a tennis official of some sort, came up to us and told us that it is against the regulations for team members to date. John wanted to rebel and be in love anyway, but I released his hand so we could talk about it. This led to a big misunderstanding, and I ended up walking away hurt.
I must have gone to my thinking place, which turned out to be the hammock of a jungle gym shaped like a pirate ship which was on top of this tennis-house. But I couldn't even rest there because as soon as I got settled, actual pirates started to cut the ropes holding my hammock up. I'm fairly certain I woke up the instant the hammock toppled over and dropped me.
Effectively ending my relationship with John Isner. But maybe I'll get lucky. Maybe he'll come courting again tonight. I did have that series of dreams in eighth grade that Matt Damon was stalking me. This can't be that different.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Saturday, March 3, 2012
First Impressions
I think I stink at these.
I think I stink so bad at these that I have self-discovered a new syndrome.
I have entitled this syndrome, "Post-First-Date Panic."
Post-First-Date Panic, or PFDP, is characterized by excessive preoccupation with desire for a second date, intense worry over what to include in the post-date text and when to send it, inability to halt over-analysis of minute of moments of said first-date, and fixation on past first-dating history of both bad dates that led to second dates and good dates that didn't.
Are there any other PFDP sufferers out there? Any advice from recovering patients? (And please don't say patience.)
I first noticed the symptoms last year at this time, a time when I felt I was in a good place, both ready and eager for a relationship. That was when I went through a string of first dates, some better than others, but none of which led to second dates. And then there was the summer of The Boy Who Called Once A Month, the effects of which intensified my PFDP.
But I thought I had worked through it all. I thought I had told myself, "Self, this time you are okay letting the process happen. You are not going to begin doubting the possibility of a second date the moment the first date comes to an end." But my self didn't hear. Because I'm totally doing it.
We met for lunch. I was totally myself. We had good conversation. He wasn't creepy, or oddly proportioned, or off-putting in anyway. And I found myself thinking, mid-date, "Hey, I can be noticed by non-creepy, normal, nice, decent guys."
Per the advice of friends, I was clear at the end of the date that I'd be open to a second. But I can never read their reaction to that openness. Because there's always a little tentativeness behind it. Was his yes an I-agree-yes, or just an I'm-trying-to-be-nice-yes?
And I won't know until he does...or doesn't...call me again.
And in the meantime, I start wondering about the first impression that I make. Because, here it is, readers. Today, I looked good. I made pleasant conversation. I was articulate and intelligent. I was witty. I may have used too many hand motions, but I think I was just who you should be on a first date: myself. And if that's true and I don't get a second date, then...
Then someone will need to stop me from drawing the conclusion--entirely based on logical fallacy--that I make a bad first impression as myself and that I'll need to be someone else if this dating thing is ever going to work.
And then we'll have to keep working on finding the cure for PFDP. 'Cause that stuff is nasty.
I think I stink so bad at these that I have self-discovered a new syndrome.
I have entitled this syndrome, "Post-First-Date Panic."
Post-First-Date Panic, or PFDP, is characterized by excessive preoccupation with desire for a second date, intense worry over what to include in the post-date text and when to send it, inability to halt over-analysis of minute of moments of said first-date, and fixation on past first-dating history of both bad dates that led to second dates and good dates that didn't.
Are there any other PFDP sufferers out there? Any advice from recovering patients? (And please don't say patience.)
I first noticed the symptoms last year at this time, a time when I felt I was in a good place, both ready and eager for a relationship. That was when I went through a string of first dates, some better than others, but none of which led to second dates. And then there was the summer of The Boy Who Called Once A Month, the effects of which intensified my PFDP.
But I thought I had worked through it all. I thought I had told myself, "Self, this time you are okay letting the process happen. You are not going to begin doubting the possibility of a second date the moment the first date comes to an end." But my self didn't hear. Because I'm totally doing it.
We met for lunch. I was totally myself. We had good conversation. He wasn't creepy, or oddly proportioned, or off-putting in anyway. And I found myself thinking, mid-date, "Hey, I can be noticed by non-creepy, normal, nice, decent guys."
Per the advice of friends, I was clear at the end of the date that I'd be open to a second. But I can never read their reaction to that openness. Because there's always a little tentativeness behind it. Was his yes an I-agree-yes, or just an I'm-trying-to-be-nice-yes?
And I won't know until he does...or doesn't...call me again.
And in the meantime, I start wondering about the first impression that I make. Because, here it is, readers. Today, I looked good. I made pleasant conversation. I was articulate and intelligent. I was witty. I may have used too many hand motions, but I think I was just who you should be on a first date: myself. And if that's true and I don't get a second date, then...
Then someone will need to stop me from drawing the conclusion--entirely based on logical fallacy--that I make a bad first impression as myself and that I'll need to be someone else if this dating thing is ever going to work.
And then we'll have to keep working on finding the cure for PFDP. 'Cause that stuff is nasty.
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