Die Hippy Die

I have accepted that there are three things in life that I am fundamentally incapable of understanding. First, I have no idea how women (or anyone for that matter) can enjoy watching Lifetime. Its supposed to be a network for women, but every movie is about a woman who is beaten, raped, killed, stalked or abused in some other way. Maybe its because I'm a guy. Maybe its because the channel sucks. I'm going with the latter. Second, why the fuck is everyone wearing crocs? They are pieces of colored styrofoam that cost $40. The last time a shoe was this popular I was 8 and everyone was wearing those sneakers with the little pump, because Little Penny Hardaway was telling them to. At least they had some added functionality. Sucking and being ugly (I view these as the sole functions of crocs) doesn't count as added functionality. I just don't get it. Finally, I don't understand hippies. Why do some people find it appealing to not shower, blame "the man" for everything, not shave, and eat ridiculous amounts of flax seed? Too much pot? Not enough common sense? I posit that it is a bigger puzzle than how many licks it takes to get to the center of a tootsie roll pop. Though this might seem like an eclectic mix of issues to address in my Jdate blog, this entry is about my Jdate with a croc-wearing, lifetime-watching, flax seed eating hippie.

She looked really normal and cute in her pictures, but sometime between when those pictures were taken and the day we met up, something went horribly wrong. She showed up wearing a lifetime television tanktop and crocs with visible armpit hair at least 47 times longer than the hair on her head (remember she was wearing a tanktop). I knew that I was in for the longest dinner of my life. Though there were plenty of gems from that night, let me give you some highlights. She was an IR major, specifically concerned with AIDS in Africa, certainly a noble subject of study. After telling me how corporations were destroying Africa (which is at least partially accurate), she told me that it was her dream to one day go to Sri Lanka in Africa to help slow the progression of HIV/AIDS through sub-saharan Africa. Unfortunately for her, Sri Lanka is a country off the Eastern coast of India, which isn't really that near sub-saharan Africa. I was going to correct her, but I really didn't see that leading the conversation anywhere positive, so I decided instead to bring up the broader topic of travel. We talked about how we both enjoyed travel (but really everyone enjoys travel/vacation so it wasn't a huge coincidence) and she told me that the only downside of travel is when she "catches the jetlag". She went on to explain that doctors aren't quite sure what causes the illness, but that its very contagious at high altitudes and most travelers on longer flights come down with some form of the illness. I changed topics immediately.

After a few other failed conversations, we finally arrived at sports (I'm a huge Phillies fan). Though I was half expecting a hippie rant about the patriarchy, she immediately and proudly proclaimed that her favorite sport is cornholing. I'll assume that most of you are like me and know the more common definition of cornholing, which involves an asshole and penetration. I knew that either a) I was missing something or b) cornholing actually was her favorite sport either of which was pretty hilarious, so I asked, "So why exactly is cornholing you're favorite sport, and how exactly did you get into it?" She said, "Well I'll answer your second question first, I think my dad first taught me about cornholing when I was really young, but I don't quite remember, it might have been my brother." It was a dark restaurant so luckily she didn't see how wide my eyes had suddenly become, giving off a clear "What the fuck??!?!" She continues, " As for your first question, I just find it really satisfying to grab the bean bags and try to hurl them through the holes, especially the smaller, more difficult ones." Though entirely possible to read sexual meaning into that, it was at this point I realized that there may be alternate definitions for cornholing (it turns out that cornholing is literally just throwing bean bags through holes cut in wooden boards... not surprisingly, its only popular in the midwest).

Luckily, the check arrived at that exact moment, so I made up some excuse about why I needed to get going, we hugged, said goodbye, and then she asked me to braid her armpit hair (she didn't actually do this). I was pretty impressed with how quickly I ducked out of there. It was maybe 60 seconds from the time the check arrived until I walked out the door. In case you were wondering, we never saw each other again. Oh yeah, Lifetime Movie Network sucks too.