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May 18, 2007

Girl! Coming through!

The month of May at the office I work for is lovingly entitled "The Month of Hell" because of the many major events taking place every weekend. I've been gearing up a large golf tournament which proved to be interesting, as I know next to nothing about golf. I know that my dad plays several times a week, I know that you have to hit the ball into the hole. On The Green. I know there are golf carts involved, and that golfers like to use expletives and names of fowls to describe and classify their shots. I know that my guy friends spent many high school summer nights snorkling in the leech infested ponds for golf balls. That's about it.

I won't go into the details of the event, how I spent several hours at home the night before doing "last minute" projects, or how I spent the morning finishing up "last minute" projects, or how I spent the afternoon finishing up "last minute" projects, or how I scrambled to get out of there to avoid any "last minute" projects. I will not get into how 99% of those "last minute" projects could have been completed weeks ago, while I'd sat on my butt waiting for them. I just won't, okay? Gees....pushy.

The golf course where we held the event was private of course, and I've never seen such a beautiful and large gated community. I absolutely postively DROOLED over the homes as I drove by, admiring the edged lawns, crisp estate sized floormats, and lawns that any self respecting golf course would pine for. There was not a soul in sight. I might have found this eerie if I wasn't so infected with the Home-Buying Bug. All I know is that my Toyota Corolla seemed a little out of place. Sorta like when you walk into Nordstroms in your faded Old Navy tee (what's WITH that box cut style they've got going on?!) and last year's frayed jeans.

The event went smoothly enough with only a few minor revelations. The first? I most definitely have absolutely zero knowledge about the San Jose Sharks, much less knowing their star player as he stood before me politely asking if he could please check in.

"Excuse me sir, could you tell me your last name? Oh? You said it's right there on the back of your jersey? Would you mind turning around so I could read that? Yes? Thanks...."

I was completely unaware until one of my coworkers ran up to me screeching "DO YOU KNOW WHO THAT WAS?!?! HMM!?!?"

The second revelation? I am most definitely a girl. I was told to go run some lunches out to some people on the 7th hole and thrown the keys to the nearest golf cart.

"You know how to drive those, right?" "Well, you'll get it. And be quick! I have some "last minute" projects for you to do!"

I sat in the seat for a few minutes trying to figure out how to get the thing going and nearly lost it when I looked down and saw TWO pedals....." this thing a STICK!? WAIT! I CAN'T DRIVE A STICK!!!!!"



Yeah, my car? That's not a stick? It has two pedals. This thought took it's sweet time channeling through the thick grey matter of my brain, and seriously, it was only hurting itself. Ischemc stroke is no laughing matter, Mr. Grey Matter. You should know.

Oh, and I REALLY could have done without that wide-load beeping noise as I reversed. That really wasn't necessary.

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