(I swear to Christ that I didn't lose a ball on this hole. I may have recorded a 9, but I played with the same shitty-ass Dunlop ball, dammit!)
I really didn't anticipate writing about my Memorial Day weekend trip to the Palm Beach/Lauderdale area, but like everything else that has happened in my life recently...shit be fucked up. Pay attention everyone because there are some decent stories here.
So our flight out of Columbus was to leave at 2:30 on Friday. I'm one of those people who likes to get there early just in case it takes forever to get through security. Since it was a holiday weekend, I thought that maybe that would be the case. But I get home from work at noon and She$ is dicking around with mulch. This pissed me off greatly, not to mention the fact that her hands looked like a coal miner's for the rest of the weekend. Anyway, we get to the airport a little after 1 and head to the Delta desk to check-in. Our flight was cancelled. Apparently, there were mechanical issues. Fuck. I guess it's better to not board a plane destined to crash though. They send us to another desk to see if they can get us on another flight. This chinawoman tells us that there is nothing flying in to West Palm or Lauderdale that night with any openings. I tell her that we're OK flying into Miami as well. A minute later, she tells us that we are on a 3:30 flight to Philly and then to Lauderdale. I find it hard to believe that she found two openings into the Fort a minute after she told us there were none. Fucking lying cunt.
So we're waiting in front of the Philly flight gate. I'm using the google machine to see if there are any cheesesteak joints in that airport or not. And then the announcement comes over that our flight has been delayed two hours due to rain on the east coast. This would cause us to miss our connection. There is nothing left for Friday evening. Keep in mind, it is 88 degrees and sunny in central Ohio on Friday yet Delta could not get us in the air. I call bullshit here. There is NO WAY that they exhausted their resources to help us. Instead, they book us on a 6 AM flight Saturday morning. This is not a reward. We were already taking a short three day vacation. Cutting it down a day and making us get up at 3 am the next morning is unacceptable. Fuck Delta in the ass. Way to be prepared for one of the busiest travel weekends of the year. At least they didn't charge us for bags.
My brother-in-law has been telling for me years that I needed to come down and play golf with him. Since I hate everything about Florida, this was one of the very few buttons that he could push to get me down there. We were to play on Sunday morning. But on Saturday afternoon, he talked me into going into the driving range with him. Now, I have no idea why I ever go to these places. My mind frame is not built for the range. You are supposed to go there to work on your swing. I go there, pull out the driver that I never use, and see if I can hit it as far as I can. It's retarded. Needless to say, after about the tenth "swing out of my ass", I get a blister. By the end of the bucket, I have another one. We head to a bar afterwards (in time to see A-Rod knock David Huff's face off) to have four pitchers of beer, I see a third one pop up on my thumb. Again, why did I agree to this?
My BIL, Joe, tells me that this course we're playing tomorrow is private (The Falls) and costs members $200 for a round. I ask how he pulled this off. I never really thought about this but I guess in Florida, you can't get on anywhere between Christmas and Mother's Day. After that, when all the northerners go home for the summer, the courses are dead and you can play anywhere. Makes sense. But I did not want to pay $200 for a round. My game isn't worth $40. Joe tells me that all we do is tip some guy and were gold. Fine by me.
So our tee time is at 11 and there is NO ONE out there. Fucking beautiful. I don't need to see a bunch of old fucks laughing at my shitty chipping game. I can't stress enough how amazing this course was. It was immaculate. Water and sand everywhere but just gorgeous. The only thing that ruined the day were my blisters and the 8000% humidity that is a daily feature of south Florida (it is reason #1 out of 400 why I would never move there). By the end of the first hole, it looked like I had just gotten out of the pool with my clothes on. Disgusting.
I ended up shooting a 112 which is about what I was hoping for. And since I took a 12 on the 8th hole (Tin Cup moment of hitting three straight drives into the drink), it wasn't bad at all. I don't know if I could have broken 100, but my sand play is just terrible. I have no fucking clue how to get out of the traps. I lost at least 7-8 shots in the beach. I ended my round by sinking a 40 foot putt to save bogey so finishing with a good shot was nice. You know what it cost me to play that course? Twenty bucks. And we finished in less than three hours. Best $20 bones I ever spent. It's about damn time that my marriage started paying off!
Sunday night, the four of us and the two year old niece (who is terrified of me) decide to head to the Ritz-Carlton for a few drinks. This was awesome. This was some Entourage-type shit except that I'm not a faggot like Vince. They knew someone who worked there and she hooked us up with a round of drinks and a round of shots. I felt like such a big dog. We're sitting on these sick couches out by the pool getting comped. Awesome. We were on our own for rounds 2 and 3 though. You want to know how much 8 beers at the Ritz costs? $63. Seriously. But it was worth it even if there were no celebrities staying there that weekend. Yeah, I asked. Oh shit! Speaking of which...
On our flight from Atlanta to Lauderdale on Saturday morning, it featured a pseudo-celebrity. If you remember my post-honeymoon post, you know that ESPN play-by-play stalwart, Gary Thorne, was on my flight to San Diego. This time, none other than former NBA player and 12th man extraordinaire, SCOTT WILLIAMS, was on the flight with his family! And he was riding coach! How embarrassing. He played in the league for over a decade and is riding in the back with the scrubs. Hilarious. To answer your question, I had no desire at all to get his autograph and his wife was not that great looking. White chick though.
On our way back Monday morning, we had an other goddamn red eye (6:45). We get to Atlanta at 8:45 and the wife and I head to Friday's for a bite to eat. I don't care what time it was, I ordered a fucking dinner. Who gives a fuck, I was hungry as shit. I ordered the chicken and cheese or whatever they call it. I'm inhaling it like I do eventhough it's 9 am and this old fuck comes up to our table and slurs out, "Is the chicken and cheese any good, big boy?" Now, I can live with the slight insult because the guy was clearly a failed abortion. But I fucking HATE IT when some damn stranger comes up to my table while I'm eating and asks how my food is. IT'S CHICKEN AND FUCKING CHEESE, YOU TAMPON, HOW THE FUCK DO YOU THINK IT IS!!! If my wife was not with me, I would have went to his table as I left and said, "how is your Coke, you taint burp". I hate that shit. I really really hate that shit.
So I'm back. For as much complaining as I have done, it was a nice little vacation. But then again, I would be quite the dick if I bitched about cheap-ass private golf and getting comped at a sick hotel bar. Whatever. I'm still a better golfer than Dut.