Why Women Ought To Play GOLF

SEE THAT DORKY COUPLE? That too, could be you!

Okay ladies, Denver has been voted by multiple publications as “Top Town for Singles”, but the following information is crucial, it’s a proven fact that Denver has More Men Per Capita than anywhere else in the country!

One might neglect the vital prerequisites for a worthwhile date, and we can all agree men can be easily found at Washington Park throwing Frisbees, Rockies baseball games cheering with their pals, hell walk into Sports Authority and you’ll be greeted by masculinity galore. But while most of us independent, hardworking, and awesome women are relishing June sunshine, meeting lads at the expected locations, it’s true that summer might be more fun sans singledom.

This past February I scribed about Denver’s “Meet Market” … investigating the local speed-dating scene, submitted a profile to eharmony.com, even succumbed to a high-end service determined to introduce me to my soul mate via algorithms and personality tests. But now that my sweaters and skis are packed away until this winter, I’ve taken to a more traditional idea that maybe I’ll trip across Mr. Perfect out in the real world, or on the golf course.

Sure, Colorado offers world renown kayaking, hiking, sky-diving, but how many sports can you count offer the opportunity to drive around in a little vehicle, encourage Molson Coors, and considered a perfectly legitimate place to negotiate business. Not only am I stubborn, but I take pride in my femininity, I would never suggest you sacrifice hobbies you love to take on a sport for men, but there is logic to males dedicating weekends, spending thousands on Callaway’s and enduring weird tan lines, so there might be just cause is taking up this “wanderlust” pastime. So fellow femmes, I urge you to telephone the golf instructor and purchase pink Pro-Vs, if not for him, for you!

But back to boys: Golf is especially ideal if you’re on the prowl in cognito… The majority of men will be too busy respecting your appreciation for the sport, (which works to our advantage because let’s face it requires enough athleticism for someone, say John Daly can dominate) to notice you might happen to checking them out! I’ll be honest, the minute I figured out that it was cool when I volunteered to play a charity tournament, make Saturday trips to the driving range, and kick it at putt-putt, my only wish was that I had learned the game earlier.

Not to mention that etiquette has an integral role in every aspect of golf. From staying silent when your opponent is chipping, to yelling “FORE” when you’re about to hit someone with your drive. I’m serious, if your consistent complaints tend to sound like: Why can't men hold the door open? Buy me a drink? Stay quiet and wait patiently until I’m done doing whatever it is I’m doing (ask your beau how many “waggles” his swing requires), baby you’re not alone, and you’ve just found your game.

Solution: I am the first to confess, it’s wicked fun to be a woman in the “boys club” and there are few instances when it is embraced and encouraged, and thanks to our coveted Mile High City, there are hundreds courses in Colorado where you can be the only woman for miles, or more precisely, yards. So fulfill your deep desire to don adorable plaid petal pushers, sip that ice-cold brewski, and be in the midst of many men, khaki-wearing blokes in popped polos, all of whom will find your affection for golf, irresistible.

And if all else fails, they don’t call it fantasy football for nothing.


Some tips:

- Women’s tees are there for a reason. Unless you’ve been bench pressing 200 pounds on a regular basis, I highly recommend starting at the tees created for us.
- Even if he refers to it as a beach or sand trap, don’t be misled, it’s a bunker.
- Tip the cart girl regardless of her obnoxious and annoying flirtation with your boyfriend. He isn’t paying attention to her, he is bragging to his buddies that his girl plays golf.
- Never, NEVER, talk, cough, whisper, laugh or the ultimate no-no, ask a question while someone is putting.
- If you lose a ball, you have approximately three minutes to dig it out of a bush, weeds, wherever its hid itself, if you have no luck grab another ball and go.
- One practice swing. (Ask about the waggle.)
- Cyprus isn’t in reference to a television reality series.

Ex-Boyfriends are User-Friendly

I have this strange habit… whenever there has been potential for a new, blossoming relationship, and I realize that I'm only half-in... The guy isn't perfect and I'm now frustrated with humanity. I phone my ex-boyfriend. Not for advice, or to be reassured that my alluring and quality characteristics will stop any guy dead in his tracks… I’d slip into the city for a long weekend, comforted by his familiarity. Convincing me, “No Auna, you’re not insane.” Joking afterward, “but you should come with a cautionary warning.” And then I would laugh, now confident and strong, feeling acceptance by someone who already knows how I look naked, how I kiss and how I spoon. And after a plentiful night of rehydration I would return to foreign territory of the dating world, where I"m inherently awkward and it takes months to comfortable letting go - feeling nourished… knowing if another guy screwed me over, instead of moving forward… I could always go back.

Why bother making memories with someone you know down the road isn’t going to be around to remember those memories with?

For the experience? Enjoy the succulent temporal, live for the moment that now, has already passed. Those one-in-a-life experiences that razzle and dazzle your innards, jam-packing your suitcases, hitch-hiking across Europe only to catch the 2am titty show in Beijing.

I'm a bit tipsy in California and it's amazing what the brain can rummage up when all you have is a friend, lap top, suitcase and a bottle of vino to amuse you.....

Do it for the stories you can tell. But the bigger question is: Who the hell wants to listen?

The rambunctious and insane acts we do for the sophomoric single-syllable mind-game. Possibly born out of boredom, but truly spurred from too many bland starbucks meetings where ogling at your watch doesn’t seem to get the point across THAT YOU DON’T GIVE A DAMN.

And when the blind dates and the forgotten business cards grow old it’s so easy to resort to our exes. Do we think that another “roll in de hay” will cement the issues that once kept church bells from ringing, or rekindle the bond incapable of being unearthed at the dinner table, only found once tangled in the bed sheets? (It’s amazing how much easier it is to find conversation while making out, rather than rehashing politics over steak tar-tar). I honestly wish the enchanting weekends could have rekindled the happiness I see in our pictures, but every time I waved goodbye… I felt a little bit sadder that we’d not made it as an “us”. But rather two individuals just trying to get by.

And so while there are only a few sips left of my red wine … and after I shall retire for the evening. Tonight is a first when I haven’t a conclusion, simply a question. Are we afraid? Or tired? It’s so easy to trust what we know “almost worked” rather than perspire and selflessly try at the new relationship, which still has a small chance to actually work out.

There is something so cozy about nostalgia… it grows with us and absorbs the situations and mistakes that no longer define. The memories you no longer associate yourself with, but without them you don’t know how you made it out alive.

If I could have one more night with the guy who swallowed my heart several years ago, and only gave some of it back… I might. And while he is the closest to perfect I have yet to encounter, there is a reason we didn’t make it and a reason why I’d leave our bittersweet dialogue left on the phone.

I have to believe there is the right one out there... a guy who will want the rest.