That's right your eyes do not deceive. Because when it comes to honesty and golf I'm your girl.
My friend Megan runs a tournament which is for a charity and named after Kelly Frietas. I don't know who she is but she must have been pretty special because a lot of people show up for this tournament. It's held at San Juan Oaks which is the fanciest of the three golf courses in my town. Which seems like a lot to me but whatever.
Kristen was volunteering to help out and I said "I'm in too." We commoners are big at volunteering. It may be why we aren't rich-we do a lot of things for nothing or next to nothing. We're givers-hey you probably are too!
When we got to the event we were told we would be working the hole in one competition for a new car. I knew we would be at the hole in one competition, but I didn't know that meant they won a car. I was picturing a windmill. What's worse-if we weren't there as witnesses they couldn't have the car-PRESSURE!!
I had no idea my afternoon in the sun with the golfers was going to carry so much pressure. The next job was driving out to the hole we would be working by following one of the employees.
He showed us to our golf cart-which I love-I really love those things. If you ever need someone to drive a cart for you that's me. He said okay press the throttle. My first question was-what's a throttle. He looked at me weird. I'm sorry I don't drive throttle vehicles.
So we zipped around the golf course, which never seemed that big from the dining room which I've been too many times. Finally we arrived at a place which looked like the side of a desolate highway. No plush green grass, some weeds, some fallen leaves, and hopefully not any snakes.
We pull out and we park the carts and I ask where's the finish. He looks at me again and says-I'll be sure to check on you guys often to make sure you are okay.
I'm in trouble already. The only instruction he gave us was to look sexy. I said, "No problem we got that."
He took us to the T-off spot (or whatever you called it) and showed us where the women hit from and the men hit from. He said there would be about 8 teams up at a time and you had to be super quiet. You couldn't say things like -"bad shot".
I know golfers are a cranky lot and I volunteered to go to the finish part, also known as the hole or whatever. He told me he had been here since the golf course opened and only two people got holes in one on this hole. It sounded a lot safer to be there where I could chat with them under less pressure. Plus I was sure someone would pay me off to say they got a hole in one and could take the Ford Focus home. Hey-I can be bought.
Just kidding. I drove my car to the finish-or hole-positioned it in the sun. Did I say car? I meant to say cart. I've been working on a tan all summer this was a great opportunity. Spare the lectures.
Finally a bunch of golf carts came up the path and they all waved at me and I waved at them and I had no idea what was going to happen since I don't play golf. All of a sudden I notice a ball go right past the hole out of no where! OMG this is close I wasn't even watching! (I can say that now). It didn't go in but that was close.
As time went on the golfers came and went, I smiled and chatted, I offered to make deals for the car (kidding-golfers have a huge conscious). A family of deer hung out for a while. They were really cute.
Also as time went on it got windy and less and less people were even making their ball get to the green. But apparently you could pick the ball up and PLACE it there and all of you could try again. I guess. But no one could really get it in, it always stopped before the hole.
Finally I started giving advice to the players. "You have to hit the ball really hard because no one is making it to the hole." So they would listen and maybe do better. I'm nice like that. I like to help people.
Lots of people rode by to check on me. Snacks, pizza, and the guy who drove us out to our hole and probably figured we had no idea what we were doing.
All in all it was a lot of fun. I learned how to be a golf coach. I didn't cheat. I got a nice tan and they gave us a great bar b que lunch.
This Kelly girl must have been someone special that so many came out to help her. Kristen and I both said we would help again next year.
This summer since I decided not to work-and some days not leave the house. I've taken on some things I've been really wanting to do. Among these things is learn how to use my Mac Book I bought last year, learn how to make jewelry. And finally cook my way through the Pioneer Women's Cookbook.
Although I'm Italian and afraid of cowboys and nature. I'm drawn to that good old cooking that the Pioneer Woman makes. I also think she's funny inspite of living a life that would scare the crap out of me.
Well this is a wonderful cookbook full of mouthwatering, delicious American recipes and I am going to cook my way through it.
Well a few of these recipes have been bonifide hits. Rob absolutely LOVED the breakfast potatoes and the french pastry thing (basically a biscuit which you dip in butter and cinnamon sugar while still warm) were both really good.
Sometimes though I look at the ingredients, I read the story, I look at the pictures, I go over the directions-and then .....I decide to just have the dish at a restaurant or go the bakery and buy the item. It's so much easier and faster and neater.
Parking your car seems to be a pretty involved activity for most people. Some like to park far and walk, some like to take two spots and protect their precious wheels, some like to look for the best spot available, some like shade, some like to use handicapped placards.
Me? I have two demands on parking. Number 1; I need a really wide spot because my terrible parking skills are both epic and famous. Admit it-you've probably left me a note with compliments on it.
The second demand on parking is to remember where I put the car. I have tons of pictures on my cell phone as to where I put my car. Sometimes my reminder is a note on my cell phone as to the cross street.
I'm sure these problems are due to the wonderful mini van -recently crushed by a garbage truck-. This van was the auto love of my life. The first and only car bought for me-not a hand me down. But it had a terrible turn base and was hard to park. Also somewhere along the line the clicker stopped working and thus you couldn't beep for it.
So last week when I met fellow commoner Kristen she requested that we meet at the opposite side of the Farmers Market than we usually meet at. She has an appt. there and the asparagus side was much closer to her than the popcorn side (although they don't actually sell popcorn on the popcorn side-they moved that to the food vendor side but I digress)
I had no problem with this as I'm always willing to help a commoner out, but if you know anything about my OCD-you already know that this wasn't going to go well for me.
This side of the farmers market is a challenge. I drove up and down side streets trying to find spots that were both big enough and not too far from the actual market. I drove past the park and some shady transaction that was going on. I went up sixth, down fifth, up south, down, seventh, up and down up and down and at this point I knew I was late when -voila -a marvelous spot.
So as I walked toward the farmers market I quickly
glanced up and put the address in my phone for later usage. 433 South
Street and off I was to find Kristen
I bought a lot at farmers market last week-corn, onions, potatoes, bread, 2 tri-tip sandwiches, my shopping bag was full and it was time to leave.
We passed Kristen's car and I declined the chance to get a ride to my car because I was sure I had only walked a couple of blocks. But my phone said South Street so I kept walking.
Finally it dawned on me- I had not walked this far, this bag was heavy, and conceivabley I could be walking for miles looking for my car.
So as Kristen flagged down with a wave and said I think I need a ride because I'm not sure where my car is! And we drove up all the streets with an S until we got to 7th street and there it was.
I sometimes wonder if I'm losing my mind-hello alzheimers-or if its some sort of ADD where I never stop and pay attention to anything.
Who knows? I can't even remember what I was talking about.
Summer for me always starts with two large binges. I must go through this process simply to purge myself of the doldrums of a Northern California spring (kind of cold and windy) and the prospect of a summer filled with relaxation and free time. Those two binges are-eating and shopping.
I run a lot and I drink a lot of water-especially coconut water. But other than that it's candy, and other things that are really bad for you. I've since sworn off candy but that's a story for another day.
The shopping is another issue, and there's nothing you can do except work your way through it. It was on a shopping trip with my friend Orian at the Calvin Klein Outlet that I by chance decided to try on a cute dress that was in the fitting room, rejected by some other shopper, that I decided to try on-yes it's that bad.
Now Orian is an attorney and her husband is an executive at Pepsi, she lives in Atlanta and is one of my best friends-she's still a commoner though-her obsession is Coach and we have a coach outlet. But I digress...
Well that pretty little dress was a size 6-I didn't care I figured I was trying stuff on anyway let me try it...and IT FIT-in fact the sales woman insisted it was too big and got the 4 for me to try. Although that fit -it was a little too short...and I bought it!
The next day I was at the Eddie Bauer outlet. (I told you this was a problem). I was trying on shorts-it's my theory that everyone should wear shorts if they aren't working. No matter how nippy it may be or how heavy you may think you are-if it's summer and you aren't working you should be wearing shorts.
A few days later I was going to San Jose to meet my son for lunch. He works in a mall and I was walking through Macy's when I found another size 6 pair of shorts-of course I bought them.
Okay one more test-this time the ultimate test of all-that's right jeans. And I had to know I was getting them from a place that was true to size. Meaning they couldn't be oversized so off to the GAP I went. Hello!!!! They fit-I could bend I could zip, they went over my legs, I could sit. These were the ideal jeans.
I didn't buy them though. Although I'm a chronic shopper the rule is -never pay full price. I filled out one of those survey receipt things though and I have 20% off coming to me-I will buy those jeans.
I reached a milestone last week. One I waited for a long time to make. What is it you wonder? A weight goal am I 120 pounds yet? A 50th birthday? A special anniversary? A million on Bejeweled? Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. It was 300 miles on my running shoes which meant it was time for a new pair! HURRAY
So off we went to Running Revolution in Campbell. A fancy shmancy running store where they fit you for your shoes and then they sell them to you. I'm so excited that I can't wait. My one stipulation was that I had to have Nike's because I sponsor them remember?
So we walk in the door and it's really cool. Running things everywhere, hats, shoes, watches, tops, bottoms, socks....everything you could imagine. But wait-we were here for shoes and the first step was the dog machine thing.
Now one thing you probably don't know about me is that I'm really short-5'4". Which isn't a big deal on its own. The big deal is that no one ever believes that. Besides the fact that I almost always wear a heel, I also have hands and feet the size of a 6'5" NBA player. I'm not kidding. I should be at least 6' to carry off this part of my anatomy.
It's been this way since the 8th grade, and most people aren't really aware of it because I never play up my feet with fancy shoes or pedicures.
That's an important part of the story because the first thing that they did at Running Revolution is fit my feet. In one of those silver things like I used to use at Buster Brown when I was 4.
So it was no surprise when the hipster runner guy pronounced a number and width only produced for women giants. I was unperturbed by this fact and moved on to the next portion of the 'fitting'.
I put my feet in some really cool goo thing -like those gymnast mats. Ooh hipster runner tells me-you have a high arch. That makes a high arch, wide, and amazonian. Please step on the tread mill we want to see your running stride-BAREFOOT.
So I step on and I plug something to my shirt or something and I start running barefoot, on a treadmill, in a store, in my street clothes. I do this for about a minute-which felt like a century and then I was told to get off -without breaking my face.
Well turns out I run like a duck. Feet (super large feet) pointing out, high arches, ankles flexing on landing, like they were going to snap. I need stability shoes, here are your 71 dollar insoles (no obligation) move over to Kim she'll find your shoes.
Well to make a long story short-Kim came out with a pile of like size men shoes because apparently my shoe size is so rare in a women's cut. I wasn't having any of that or my new shoe size. I said thanks for everything and marched down to Sport's Authority, where I got the Nike I wanted in the size I wear at a great price.
I could hear them whisper as I left the store, "There goes the short girl with the HUGE feet in a size we don't carry."
There was a lot of sickness around my house last week. Both Bella and I had versions of a sinus infection which left us both very sick and feverish. Maybe you haven't met Bella. She's my black lab/border collie mix and she's the smartest most faithful dog in the world.
Bella is a quiet leader among my two dogs, always in charge and never saying a word. She's never been sick and she was really sick. Then there's Benjie.
Benjie decided to be nursemaid to both of us. When I got better he took care of Bella. He sat with her, he cleaned her face, he guarded her, and then.....he fell in love with her.
On the day I was sick with a 102 fever all day and sleeping, Benjie laid by my bed all day and barked if anyone came near me. Wow I thought he's such a good nurse.
The next day she did the same thing with Bella. Wow I thought this dog is really meant to be a nurse. He could be a rescue dog. He's so special. At that moment, my special little, child like, happy-go-lucky, I love you mommy puppy turned into well.......Hugh Hefner? Except his only love was Bella and at that point she was a magnet and getting to her was Benjie's obsession.
And there was nothing that was going to stand between him and a very sick Bella. We tried everything-spraying him with a water bottle when he barked, cried, or approached Bella. The result? A very wet and very angry Benjie.
Next I thought I had a great idea-I put Benjie on a leash! Doesn't that sound great? Yeah he chewed through that in about 30 seconds.
Next we tries separate rooms. This resulted in barking, scratching, crying, barking, growling, and biting-yes I'll admit I bite back.
Gone was my cute little dog replaced by this beast. At this moment if someone had offered me 25 dollars for Benjie, I would have paid them to take him. There were a few times I was sure Benjie was going to show up on one of those Sara McLaughlin commercials. I prayed to St. Francis to protect him from us.
Finally I told the Vet please neuter my dog before I do it myself....Well that's a story for another day....
In the meantime Bella started to get stronger and Benjie started to get calmer and then once in a while he would bring me a baby to play fetch with and I knew there was light at the end of the tunnel.
Tonight as I write this Benjie is recovering from his 'procedure' and Bella is comfortably resting without someone sniffing her butt, or ear. (for reason's you'll learn another time-this process was confusing to Benjie-)
My idea of dog love was something like Lady and the Tramp, eating spaghetti and falling in love-this was more like The Wild Ones.
Recently I decided to stop watching news. No local news, no CNN, no Fox-just 10 minutes of Good Morning America a day. Nope couldn't take it. But that's a story for another day.
So I've taken to watching a lot of ESPN. I've always loved sports and sports news is a lot like reality TV with the drama of a soap opera. That's how I begin my day.
Recently there's been a lot of talk about the NFL draft. I'm not a big huge fan of college sports-I have very strong feelings about them I'll also save for another time. ESPN (What does that stand for anyway?) has been talking about them for months. I'd heard about Andrew Luck, I like his name, that he'd be wearing a horse shoe and that he was from Stanford because that means he's smart. He's a future quaterback star for sure.
But then they kept talking about someone else. I had never seen him, I didn't know what college he went to, what team he was going to , nothing, all I knew was he had the coolest name I had ever heard.
His name is RGIII. This got me to thinking-this is what I need-a cool nickname! When your initials are TP-well that won't work. While wine tasting this weekend after commenting that red wine left me with a fuzzy mouth-I was named fuzzy mouth.
None of those really work. PDiddy, Jlo, RGIII, what will mine be? I'm on the never ending look out for a great nickname. And no-commoner isn't a nickname it's a social position.
