One bucket

For some odd reason, the BF really wanted to take me to the driving range this week. I've never had a real desire to go because a)you can't talk a lot, b) you can't really yell "FOUR" like they do in the movies, and c) you must have patience for the art of golf. All of which are qualities that I don't posess. But, for the sake of trying new things, I ventured to the greens with him to spend some QT and let him try and teach me the game of golf.

(Editor's note: We don't do work out activities together. I can't work out with him. If we go for a nice walk in the metroparks, he tries to push me over the edge of the cliff. Not funny. I don't like working out with people in general so it's no exception with him.)

Anyway, back to our golfing trip. We attempted to go the day before but because the BF knew all things golf, he forgot to call them and ask if they'd be mowing. Because if he did call and ask, he would've been told that they were mowing the driving range that evening.

All in all, I don't think I'm that terrible of a golfer. I don't know if my spastic movements are right for golf - I have a lot of energy. But, maybe if you give me more lessons (like 35) and I think I could become pretty competitive.

This is rough:


Here's where I start to get a bit better.


I only lasted one bucket of balls.