One of the many reasons I like living in Bermuda is that there's no racism. Lemme clarify: there's no malicious racism. What I mean is ppl aren't yelling 'chink' or 'gook' at you, both of which have happened in the states. Out here, it's more ignorance. Just ppl not knowing any better, like they've never seen an Asian before.
When we were here for Sandy's interview, the cabbie says to us: "Oh there's ppl here that look like you guys". He wasn't trying to be a prick about it. He was just stating a fact.
When I come back from Taiwan, the customs ppl are always like..."Oh my brother loves Taiwan. He loves going to the beaches and every thing's really cheap over there." Oh, you mean your brother loves the cheap hookers in THAILAND? Or "you learned to cook food while you were there? I love Thai food!" OK, that's not really racist.
Our first winter, Sandy's coworker's cousin's boat broke off its mooring and wound up by our dock. We helped the cousin and his buddy get the boat back and give them a ride back to their place. Our conversation on the ride:
Cousin: So where you guys from?
Sandy: Oh we're from Chicago.
Cousin: Oh, sorry.
Sandy: Sorry about what. (I give Sandy a "I can't wait to hear this shit" look)
Cousin: I thought you guys were Asian.
Sandy: Oh no, we're Asian. We just grew up in the states.
Cousin: Oh.
I'm pretty sure he still had no idea what we were talking about. Did Whitey oppress you too? But how can you be mad at that? Seriously. He just had absolutely no clue. He wasn't saying it to be mean or hurtful. He was asking a legitimate question. That I can take. And I just smile and laugh it off.
But, earlier this month, we were at a restaurant to watch the Christmas boat parade. This dood at the table next to us was arguin with his wife, so he decides to chat me up.
Guy: So where you guys from?
Me: Chicago.
Guy: Oh, I'm from Boston.
Me: Cool.
Guy: Yeah....I'm surprised you're from Chicago. You look like you'd be from Asia.
That shocked me so much that I had no witty comeback. Guy couldn't even use the excuse that he's an ignorant Bermudian. He's from the states! Are there no Asians in Boston? I'm pretty sure that white shirt Paul Revere's was wearing that historic night was dry-cleaned by an Asian. But again, guy wasn't trying to be an ass. So what am I supposed to do?
Some one here once said to Sandy: "Wow, I can't believe you have no accent when you talk. Every Asian I've ever met has had an accent, and I've traveled all over the world!" Are you fucking kidding me?! Does your 'worldly travels' include the United States of America, at places other than massage parlors?! Jesus.
Seriously tho, how do you respond to stuff like this? You can't really get mad. They just don't know any better. They're just not exposed to much out here. Most of the Asians here are Filipino or other Southeast Asian ethnicity working as wait staff in restaurants. Basically Asians = Mexicans. And yes, I'm aware of the irony that I myself am a racist. But I admit it!
It's like when I was in rural part of China way back when. My mom and I walk into a store. Mom talks to the store owner in Chinese. I'm just standing next to them, bored as shit. Mom introduces me as her son. Shop owner is shocked: "That's your son? What nationality is he?" For real?! Give me a fucking break lady! We're the same peoples! You're my peoples! I'm your peoples! Or however you're supposed to say that shit. I'm gettin racism from my own fucking race. At that point, you just gotta realize you're forever fucked and give up.
At least it's better than when we were at the airport and the military dood at security takes my US passport and says in Chinese, "Let's see what a Chinese guy looks like." Later on my mom said it was meant as an insult. Too bad he was too stupid to realize my Chinese sucks ass. Booyah!
And that's still better than back in the states when a lil white kid called me "Daisuke Matsuzaka" while Sandy and I were playing tennis. Or when a group of guys drove by us after golf and yelled out the window "ching chong ping pong". Or another guy calling Sandy Michelle Wie. Or a big ass white dood calling us 'gooks' after a night of clubbing. Yeah, I wasn't drunk enough that night to get my ass beat. If you're biceps are bigger than my thighs, say whatever you want bro.
So yeah, I'll take stupid over nasty any day.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Vegas recovery
I think I'm finally fully recovered from Vegas. We left on the 2nd and got back last Wednesday. Basically a week's recovery time...pretty standard. Thing is, it wasn't a typical Vegas trip. I didn't place a single bet, go to any club (clothing optional or otherwise), hit any buffets. Hell, I didn't even drink a drop of alcohol. Half the time we weren't even on the strip. And when we were, it was in the podunk Monte Carlo.
Sounds like an absolute blast, I know. Reason we were there is cuz Sandy was grading an actuarial exam. These losers actually volunteer to grade actuarial exams (for free, in case you guys didn't understand the 'volunteer' part). After spending however many years studying for these brutal exams, you'd think they'd want absolutely nothing to do with them. Guess not.
And the cheap ass actuary heads booked these slaves in the ghetto ass Monte Carlo. You'd think they'd show some gratitude and shell out some actual cash. That whole actuary thing is such a racket, but that's for later. If I hadn't first walked thru the lobby first, I woulda thought we were staying at a Comfort Inn. The room was not good. The bathroom was average, at best. The handle on the faucet wasn't even attached. I was scared to put my dirty feet to the nasty ass carpet in case I'd catch herpes or something. Who knows in Vegas.
The other half of our trip was spent in the suburbs with Victor and Tammy. Even when we were on the strip, we'd spend our nights back in the burbs. I had the Monday free to myself. Instead of spending the day gambling, cruising the strip, at the bar or talking politics with the friendly strippers, I spent the day dancing and cooking with my 2 ½ year old niece. Very wild, I know.
The highlight of the weekend was getting to shop at Target. Yes, that's the retail store with the red bullseye logo. It's not Vegas code for sex shop. Highlight shoulda been Costco, but Sandy wouldn't let me go cuz we had already bought a lot of stuff and didn't want our luggage to be overweight. Target was so awesome that I went to two different stores a total of at least 3 times. It was so euphoric that I actually lost count.
We're so deprived of shopping here in Bermuda that my heart actually skipped a beat when I walked in retail stores. Target and its big open space: love it. Best Bath and Beyond and their tall ass wall of kitchen goodies: amazing. Best Buy and those damn blue shirts: score! Sadly, Wal-Mart is just depressing. Even in the parking lot, Sandy and I were like...damn, this place is fuckin ghetto. Walking thru the Wal-Mart is almost the equivalent of driving thru the streets of 3rd world countries.
The food highlight of my trip was Arby's. Twice. My fast food dilemma was Taco Bell or Arby's. Double Beef N Cheddars won out, even though I already had one at the ATL airport. No Bellagio buffet. No sushi. No steak. No oysters. But I did have like 5 Venti Java Chip Frappuccinos.
You know you're getting old and lame when the highlights of your Vegas trip consists of Target and Starbucks. Our old asses woulda prolly just died had we actually been there for something like a bachelor party.
Sounds like an absolute blast, I know. Reason we were there is cuz Sandy was grading an actuarial exam. These losers actually volunteer to grade actuarial exams (for free, in case you guys didn't understand the 'volunteer' part). After spending however many years studying for these brutal exams, you'd think they'd want absolutely nothing to do with them. Guess not.
And the cheap ass actuary heads booked these slaves in the ghetto ass Monte Carlo. You'd think they'd show some gratitude and shell out some actual cash. That whole actuary thing is such a racket, but that's for later. If I hadn't first walked thru the lobby first, I woulda thought we were staying at a Comfort Inn. The room was not good. The bathroom was average, at best. The handle on the faucet wasn't even attached. I was scared to put my dirty feet to the nasty ass carpet in case I'd catch herpes or something. Who knows in Vegas.
The other half of our trip was spent in the suburbs with Victor and Tammy. Even when we were on the strip, we'd spend our nights back in the burbs. I had the Monday free to myself. Instead of spending the day gambling, cruising the strip, at the bar or talking politics with the friendly strippers, I spent the day dancing and cooking with my 2 ½ year old niece. Very wild, I know.
The highlight of the weekend was getting to shop at Target. Yes, that's the retail store with the red bullseye logo. It's not Vegas code for sex shop. Highlight shoulda been Costco, but Sandy wouldn't let me go cuz we had already bought a lot of stuff and didn't want our luggage to be overweight. Target was so awesome that I went to two different stores a total of at least 3 times. It was so euphoric that I actually lost count.
We're so deprived of shopping here in Bermuda that my heart actually skipped a beat when I walked in retail stores. Target and its big open space: love it. Best Bath and Beyond and their tall ass wall of kitchen goodies: amazing. Best Buy and those damn blue shirts: score! Sadly, Wal-Mart is just depressing. Even in the parking lot, Sandy and I were like...damn, this place is fuckin ghetto. Walking thru the Wal-Mart is almost the equivalent of driving thru the streets of 3rd world countries.
The food highlight of my trip was Arby's. Twice. My fast food dilemma was Taco Bell or Arby's. Double Beef N Cheddars won out, even though I already had one at the ATL airport. No Bellagio buffet. No sushi. No steak. No oysters. But I did have like 5 Venti Java Chip Frappuccinos.
You know you're getting old and lame when the highlights of your Vegas trip consists of Target and Starbucks. Our old asses woulda prolly just died had we actually been there for something like a bachelor party.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Worst Son of the Year
So finally, after two years of begging and pleading, my mom has finally come to visit us. Too bad it took us moving out of our resort-like home to convince her. My aunt and cousins came back and August, and they must have told her that it really was nice out here. After all, why would anyone believe anything I say?
We're moving on the 16th, so the house is full of boxes. No biggie cuz Bermuda is all about the weather and great views. Too bad the one week she decides to come, there's a subtropical storm. It's been cloudy and raining every day since she's been here. Perfect timing, especially since it's been nice every week since June. It doesn't rain all the time tho, only a minute after we venture outside.
One of the big perks of our place is that there's a dock and beach. So you have easy access to the water. Mom's been feeding the fish from the dock every day. Since she enjoys it so much, I kept telling her that she has to snorkel. Every one who visits says the snorkeling right along the dock is amazing. You see tons of fish and it's so easy to get to. If you like the fish so much from land, you're gonna love em up close in the water.
Sandy can't swim but she can snorkel. My mom can swim so she can snorkel. That logic seems to make perfect sense. I guess there's a reason I'm unemployed. So after 3 days of asking, she finally agrees to go snorkeling. I got my mom fitted with all the snorkeling gear: Sandy's wetsuit, boots, fins, mask, snorkel and life vest. Then I give her some basic instructions: snorkel, breathe; mask, look; fins, kick.
I jump in first. It takes my mom over a minute to jump in after me. I know cuz I was filming it. A couple seconds after she jumps in, her head lunges outta the water with a panicked look in her eyes. I notice that her snorkel is not in her mouth. That would explain why she's gasping for air, tho there's really no reason for her arms to be flailing around. Bermuda's waters has the 2nd highest salt concentration in the world, so there's almost no way you could sink. Plus she's got the life vest on. I'm pretty sure I've told her this a couple times already so dunno why she's thrashing about the way she is.
I try telling her to calm down. All you gotta do is breath outta your mouth. It's quite natural. But she won't put the snorkel back in her mouth. Reminded me of when you try feeding a baby and, no matter how hard you try, you just can't get that damn spoon in its mouth. At least we're already in the water so it's easy to clean up all the saliva being spit out. I keep telling her to try again, but she's stubborn. Now I know why waterboarding is such a successful torture technique.
I really should thank her for not trying to drown me in the process of all her flailing tho. Once again, the movies got it all wrong. Maybe it's cuz I made sure to keep my distance. "Now Mom, if you don't calm down I'm not gonna come over there and keep you from drowning."
After a couple minutes of unsuccessful coaxing, I agree to let her live. We get her back on land, and I continue on my merry way to spear some dinner. I'm actually surprised she didn't cry or anything. She really is a tough lady. Guess she has to be to have raised Cam and me by herself. After a while, I look up and see my poor mom kneeling at the edge of the reef with one hand holding on to the side. She's got her snorkel gear on and head in the water. What a champ! We eventually get her back in the water for about a minute before she's had enuff.
Looking back, I guess it woulda made sense to ease her into it. We prolly shoulda started off at the beach and worked our way to deeper waters instead of throwing her straight into the ocean. And I prolly coulda given her a lil more instruction than the simple "Breath out of your mouth and into the snorkel". How am I supposed to know snorkeling is so difficult? All you do is breathe! All I can is say is thank God I didn't take her scuba diving. That would not have ended well at all. And she kept apologizing to me for messing up. It's OK, she's making it up to me by preparing the fish for dinner as we speak. Moms, gotta love em!
We're moving on the 16th, so the house is full of boxes. No biggie cuz Bermuda is all about the weather and great views. Too bad the one week she decides to come, there's a subtropical storm. It's been cloudy and raining every day since she's been here. Perfect timing, especially since it's been nice every week since June. It doesn't rain all the time tho, only a minute after we venture outside.
One of the big perks of our place is that there's a dock and beach. So you have easy access to the water. Mom's been feeding the fish from the dock every day. Since she enjoys it so much, I kept telling her that she has to snorkel. Every one who visits says the snorkeling right along the dock is amazing. You see tons of fish and it's so easy to get to. If you like the fish so much from land, you're gonna love em up close in the water.
Sandy can't swim but she can snorkel. My mom can swim so she can snorkel. That logic seems to make perfect sense. I guess there's a reason I'm unemployed. So after 3 days of asking, she finally agrees to go snorkeling. I got my mom fitted with all the snorkeling gear: Sandy's wetsuit, boots, fins, mask, snorkel and life vest. Then I give her some basic instructions: snorkel, breathe; mask, look; fins, kick.
I jump in first. It takes my mom over a minute to jump in after me. I know cuz I was filming it. A couple seconds after she jumps in, her head lunges outta the water with a panicked look in her eyes. I notice that her snorkel is not in her mouth. That would explain why she's gasping for air, tho there's really no reason for her arms to be flailing around. Bermuda's waters has the 2nd highest salt concentration in the world, so there's almost no way you could sink. Plus she's got the life vest on. I'm pretty sure I've told her this a couple times already so dunno why she's thrashing about the way she is.
I try telling her to calm down. All you gotta do is breath outta your mouth. It's quite natural. But she won't put the snorkel back in her mouth. Reminded me of when you try feeding a baby and, no matter how hard you try, you just can't get that damn spoon in its mouth. At least we're already in the water so it's easy to clean up all the saliva being spit out. I keep telling her to try again, but she's stubborn. Now I know why waterboarding is such a successful torture technique.
I really should thank her for not trying to drown me in the process of all her flailing tho. Once again, the movies got it all wrong. Maybe it's cuz I made sure to keep my distance. "Now Mom, if you don't calm down I'm not gonna come over there and keep you from drowning."
After a couple minutes of unsuccessful coaxing, I agree to let her live. We get her back on land, and I continue on my merry way to spear some dinner. I'm actually surprised she didn't cry or anything. She really is a tough lady. Guess she has to be to have raised Cam and me by herself. After a while, I look up and see my poor mom kneeling at the edge of the reef with one hand holding on to the side. She's got her snorkel gear on and head in the water. What a champ! We eventually get her back in the water for about a minute before she's had enuff.
Looking back, I guess it woulda made sense to ease her into it. We prolly shoulda started off at the beach and worked our way to deeper waters instead of throwing her straight into the ocean. And I prolly coulda given her a lil more instruction than the simple "Breath out of your mouth and into the snorkel". How am I supposed to know snorkeling is so difficult? All you do is breathe! All I can is say is thank God I didn't take her scuba diving. That would not have ended well at all. And she kept apologizing to me for messing up. It's OK, she's making it up to me by preparing the fish for dinner as we speak. Moms, gotta love em!
Monday, September 26, 2011
Direction, Part 2
Wow, looks like I have ADD when it comes to blogging. Maybe cuz I'm just so busy all the time...
Anyways, the point of my story was the fact, as bad as my sense of direction is on land, it's even worse on the water in the boat. And that means it's absolutely terrible IN the water. I started scuba diving this May. After almost 2 years on the island, I finally decided it might be a good idea to get scuba certified. I honestly don't know why I didn't do it when I first got here. Maybe it's cuz back then I thought $650 was too expensive. Maybe it's cuz I thought I'd be a pro golfer. Or just maybe it's cuz I'm a lazy ass. It really is as cool as every one said it was. There's hundreds of shipwrecks around Bermuda, not to mention all the coral reefs, sea life and underwater tunnels.
So anyways, I joined the scuba club at a dive shop. Since I'd scuba almost every day, the crew would tell visitors that I knew all the wrecks. You're never supposed to dive alone in case something happens to you. So if there were ppl on the boat who didn't have a buddy or weren't comfortable diving in pairs, and there wasn't enuff crew to lead, they'd assign them to me.
I'd try telling them that I was terrible with directions and would most likely get them lost. No one in Bermuda really cares about anything. Never ridden a scooter before? No biggie, here's the keys...make sure to drive on the opposite side of the road. If you get lost underwater with a limited amount of air, so be it.
On land, at least you have street signs. And maps. And landmarks that look familiar. And ppl you can ask for directions. And the sun. You can throw down bread crumbs (I actually tried this in the alleys of Venice...didn't really work. You don't really think about the fact that ppl like to litter anyways and will throw all types of shit on the ground).
So with all these tools to help you, you gotta be pretty retarded to still get lost. That's me. Now you throw in being underwater. There's no street signs in the ocean. There's no maps. Every thing looks the fucking same. You can't ask ppl for directions cuz 1) chances are you're not gonna see anyone else if you're lost and 2) you can't talk underwater. There's tons of fish, but they could give two shits about your lost ass. You don't have a spear, so it's not like you can threaten them (you can't have a lobster noose or polespear when you have a scuba tank). You definitely can't use bread crumbs cuz the fish will just eat it.
To get certified, they make you do a navigation test where they put a towel over your head on land, and all you can look at is a compass under the towel, and you gotta find your way around. I dunno if I should be closing my eyes or what, cuz I did a lot better on land than I do in the water with my eyes open. Worst part is my cheap ass didn't even buy a compass for my first 20-some dives. When I finally realized that I could pull an Open Water fiasco, I bit the bullet and bought a compass for a whopping $50.
I'm pretty cool with the scuba crew and they all know I'm retarded. So when we're in the water, sometimes they'll make a boat symbol with their hands to ask me to point to where I think the boat is. Most of the time I'm right but that shit's pretty easy when there's no pressure and your life isn't on the line. This one time, a chick asked me where the boat was. I looked at my compass and confidently pointed in a direction. She smiled and pointed up. The fucking boat was right above me. Sweet. I'm so directionally-retarded, and apparently blind, cuz I don't even know when there's a big ass boat on top of me with its shadow cast all around me.
So this one time they paired me up with this guy Kent. Kent musta been over 60 years old. Definitely pushing the later half of 50. I did not feel comfortable being in charge of this old dood's life, so I asked one of the dive masters if I could follow her. Halfway thru the dive, the bitch disappears! I guess the pair she was assigned to were complete idiots, inflated their vests for no reason and shot to the surface. So fine, I've been checking my compass just in case. Just go the opposite direction back to the boat. No biggie. We swam for at least 10-15 minutes. Weird, the boat should be around here. We swam about the same distance to get to the wreck. Meanwhile, poor Kent kept signaling to me that he's running out of air.
Finally, I'm like...fuck, where the hell is this boat? Poor Kent's gonna run outta air and die. So we float up to the surface. We look around but see no boat. Panic sets in. OMG, I'm gonna die...hopefully Kent dies first so I can use his body as a life preserver. Then we spot the dive boat off in the distance. I'm talkin way distance. It musta been at least a half mile away. Usually, you'd just pop back down underwater and swim. It's a lot easier swimming underwater cuz you don't hafta deal with the waves pushing you backwards. Too bad Kent's outta air.
I can share air with Kent using my spare regulator, but I figure it can't take that long to swim back. WRONG. To "swim" with scuba gear on the surface, they teach you to kick with your back facing your destination. Kinda like swimming on your back instead of stomach, so you're facing upwards and can breath. Except you got this big ass tank strapped to your back, so you're kinda sittin on your ass. It ended up taking what felt like forever to swim back to the boat. At least 20 full minutes. Every once in a while, I'd ask Kent if he was OK cuz I was gettin pretty damn tired. He musta been dyin.
I must also mention the fact that every one else is already on the boat, including the owner of the dive shop, whom I've never met before. Some of the crew have been trying to get me to work at the dive shop to help them out. Not a great first impression. So there's 20 some ppl on the boat watching my dumb ass swim back to the boat like a jag doing a retarded backstroke, with this poor old man clinging to life next to me.
When we finally get back to the boat, I just hang my head in shame, avoiding eye contact with every one. No one even bothers to talk to the retard. The owner's like...why didn't you guys just use your snorkels and swim? Good question...cuz I'm an idiot? Fuck me. Poor Kent was so damn tired from swimming a mile with 50+ lbs of scuba gear that he didn't even have energy to do the second dive. He just stayed on the boat. Poor guy. Drop $120 to get lost by some stupid Asian kid and almost have a heart attack in the water. He was surprisingly cool about it tho. Prolly cuz he was too outta breath to bitch me out.
Anyways, the point of my story was the fact, as bad as my sense of direction is on land, it's even worse on the water in the boat. And that means it's absolutely terrible IN the water. I started scuba diving this May. After almost 2 years on the island, I finally decided it might be a good idea to get scuba certified. I honestly don't know why I didn't do it when I first got here. Maybe it's cuz back then I thought $650 was too expensive. Maybe it's cuz I thought I'd be a pro golfer. Or just maybe it's cuz I'm a lazy ass. It really is as cool as every one said it was. There's hundreds of shipwrecks around Bermuda, not to mention all the coral reefs, sea life and underwater tunnels.
So anyways, I joined the scuba club at a dive shop. Since I'd scuba almost every day, the crew would tell visitors that I knew all the wrecks. You're never supposed to dive alone in case something happens to you. So if there were ppl on the boat who didn't have a buddy or weren't comfortable diving in pairs, and there wasn't enuff crew to lead, they'd assign them to me.
I'd try telling them that I was terrible with directions and would most likely get them lost. No one in Bermuda really cares about anything. Never ridden a scooter before? No biggie, here's the keys...make sure to drive on the opposite side of the road. If you get lost underwater with a limited amount of air, so be it.
On land, at least you have street signs. And maps. And landmarks that look familiar. And ppl you can ask for directions. And the sun. You can throw down bread crumbs (I actually tried this in the alleys of Venice...didn't really work. You don't really think about the fact that ppl like to litter anyways and will throw all types of shit on the ground).
So with all these tools to help you, you gotta be pretty retarded to still get lost. That's me. Now you throw in being underwater. There's no street signs in the ocean. There's no maps. Every thing looks the fucking same. You can't ask ppl for directions cuz 1) chances are you're not gonna see anyone else if you're lost and 2) you can't talk underwater. There's tons of fish, but they could give two shits about your lost ass. You don't have a spear, so it's not like you can threaten them (you can't have a lobster noose or polespear when you have a scuba tank). You definitely can't use bread crumbs cuz the fish will just eat it.
To get certified, they make you do a navigation test where they put a towel over your head on land, and all you can look at is a compass under the towel, and you gotta find your way around. I dunno if I should be closing my eyes or what, cuz I did a lot better on land than I do in the water with my eyes open. Worst part is my cheap ass didn't even buy a compass for my first 20-some dives. When I finally realized that I could pull an Open Water fiasco, I bit the bullet and bought a compass for a whopping $50.
I'm pretty cool with the scuba crew and they all know I'm retarded. So when we're in the water, sometimes they'll make a boat symbol with their hands to ask me to point to where I think the boat is. Most of the time I'm right but that shit's pretty easy when there's no pressure and your life isn't on the line. This one time, a chick asked me where the boat was. I looked at my compass and confidently pointed in a direction. She smiled and pointed up. The fucking boat was right above me. Sweet. I'm so directionally-retarded, and apparently blind, cuz I don't even know when there's a big ass boat on top of me with its shadow cast all around me.
So this one time they paired me up with this guy Kent. Kent musta been over 60 years old. Definitely pushing the later half of 50. I did not feel comfortable being in charge of this old dood's life, so I asked one of the dive masters if I could follow her. Halfway thru the dive, the bitch disappears! I guess the pair she was assigned to were complete idiots, inflated their vests for no reason and shot to the surface. So fine, I've been checking my compass just in case. Just go the opposite direction back to the boat. No biggie. We swam for at least 10-15 minutes. Weird, the boat should be around here. We swam about the same distance to get to the wreck. Meanwhile, poor Kent kept signaling to me that he's running out of air.
Finally, I'm like...fuck, where the hell is this boat? Poor Kent's gonna run outta air and die. So we float up to the surface. We look around but see no boat. Panic sets in. OMG, I'm gonna die...hopefully Kent dies first so I can use his body as a life preserver. Then we spot the dive boat off in the distance. I'm talkin way distance. It musta been at least a half mile away. Usually, you'd just pop back down underwater and swim. It's a lot easier swimming underwater cuz you don't hafta deal with the waves pushing you backwards. Too bad Kent's outta air.
I can share air with Kent using my spare regulator, but I figure it can't take that long to swim back. WRONG. To "swim" with scuba gear on the surface, they teach you to kick with your back facing your destination. Kinda like swimming on your back instead of stomach, so you're facing upwards and can breath. Except you got this big ass tank strapped to your back, so you're kinda sittin on your ass. It ended up taking what felt like forever to swim back to the boat. At least 20 full minutes. Every once in a while, I'd ask Kent if he was OK cuz I was gettin pretty damn tired. He musta been dyin.
I must also mention the fact that every one else is already on the boat, including the owner of the dive shop, whom I've never met before. Some of the crew have been trying to get me to work at the dive shop to help them out. Not a great first impression. So there's 20 some ppl on the boat watching my dumb ass swim back to the boat like a jag doing a retarded backstroke, with this poor old man clinging to life next to me.
When we finally get back to the boat, I just hang my head in shame, avoiding eye contact with every one. No one even bothers to talk to the retard. The owner's like...why didn't you guys just use your snorkels and swim? Good question...cuz I'm an idiot? Fuck me. Poor Kent was so damn tired from swimming a mile with 50+ lbs of scuba gear that he didn't even have energy to do the second dive. He just stayed on the boat. Poor guy. Drop $120 to get lost by some stupid Asian kid and almost have a heart attack in the water. He was surprisingly cool about it tho. Prolly cuz he was too outta breath to bitch me out.
Monday, August 22, 2011
No sense of direction
My mom would say that the title of this post has to do with my life. While that may be true, in this case I'm referring to compass directions. I am notoriously bad at directions. I have absolutely no sense of direction. In gifted class back in high school, we had to take that one test to determine your personality. Or maybe it was the one that tells you what your career should be. In any case, one of the results was that "you suck at reading maps and have no sense of direction." And it was true.
When we were kids, we'd take lots of road trips. Back and forth between Houston and Dallas. Dallas to New Jersey. blah blah. I would never be in charge of the map, cuz I could never figure out if you were supposed to turn left or right on so and so street. I'm like Snooki.
You'd think you could just chalk it up to me being a stupid kid. Nope. When I got my license, I would constantly get lost. Whenever some poor fools needed a ride from the airport, and my mom wasn't available, I'd hafta drive out to O'Hare from Schaumburg to pick up visitors. Most of the time I could get there OK. The problem was going back home. There's just too many damn signs leaving the airport. I'd always wind up in some industrial park or out in Itasca. Saddest part is I knew I was bad at directions, so I'd actually have someone written step-by-step directions for me. Guess I needed bread crumbs.
Moving to the city was an absolute nightmare. Any time I was driving into the city from the burbs I'd hafta call one of my roommates and ask them which exit to get off. "Dood Brian, do I get off east or west? Hurry I'm about to pass the exit!" This went on for months before Brian finally got sick of my calls and told me about the whole "visualize the highway along Lake Michigan." Frankly, I'm surprised that worked.
I lived in Illinois for like 17 years. I drove the same routes for years. Once I somehow forgot how to get to Sandy's office downtown and ended up in the middle of nowhere. In my defense, we had just gotten back from vacation (that's why I'm not a lawyer but love lawyer movies, like A Time to Kill. Dood, he was able to get Samuel L. Jackson off of cold-blooded murder!) How does a grown ass man forget how to get from point A to point B when he's driven the route hundreds of times?!
When we were kids, we'd take lots of road trips. Back and forth between Houston and Dallas. Dallas to New Jersey. blah blah. I would never be in charge of the map, cuz I could never figure out if you were supposed to turn left or right on so and so street. I'm like Snooki.
You'd think you could just chalk it up to me being a stupid kid. Nope. When I got my license, I would constantly get lost. Whenever some poor fools needed a ride from the airport, and my mom wasn't available, I'd hafta drive out to O'Hare from Schaumburg to pick up visitors. Most of the time I could get there OK. The problem was going back home. There's just too many damn signs leaving the airport. I'd always wind up in some industrial park or out in Itasca. Saddest part is I knew I was bad at directions, so I'd actually have someone written step-by-step directions for me. Guess I needed bread crumbs.
Moving to the city was an absolute nightmare. Any time I was driving into the city from the burbs I'd hafta call one of my roommates and ask them which exit to get off. "Dood Brian, do I get off east or west? Hurry I'm about to pass the exit!" This went on for months before Brian finally got sick of my calls and told me about the whole "visualize the highway along Lake Michigan." Frankly, I'm surprised that worked.
I lived in Illinois for like 17 years. I drove the same routes for years. Once I somehow forgot how to get to Sandy's office downtown and ended up in the middle of nowhere. In my defense, we had just gotten back from vacation (that's why I'm not a lawyer but love lawyer movies, like A Time to Kill. Dood, he was able to get Samuel L. Jackson off of cold-blooded murder!) How does a grown ass man forget how to get from point A to point B when he's driven the route hundreds of times?!
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Ultimate shit show
Since I started scuba diving in May, there's been one thing I've been wanting to do: spear a lionfish.
Lionfish are the only thing you can catch with scuba gear cuz they're a menace to the marine life. Sharks are one of its only predators and, since there's no sharks in Bermuda, they're basically free to destroy sea life here. I've gone diving with guys who have speared lionfish. Sergey's speared 3 of them while we've dove together. They're difficult to spear because 1) they're usually in deeper water and most of our dives aren't deep enuff, 2) they like dark places, so you hafta keep an eye out for them, 3) they're hard to spear and kill, 4) even if you see one, you prolly don't have a spear on you. I've had 51 dives so far. I've seen a lionfish maybe 5 times. So basically, whenever I dive with a spear, I'm extremely anxious to find a lionfish. First time I dove with a spear, I didn't see a single one. Second time, I shot one but got away. Supposedly they're notorious for having paralyzer spears bounce off them.
This time I actually see one. I swim up to it, point the tip right at it and fire. I dunno if it bounced off him or what. I really don't think I missed cuz it was so close that I could basically touch it. Musta been stunned cuz it swam to a hole but was still in view. I aimed again yet still somehow missed even tho I was inches away. This time, it disappeared into a hole.
By this time, I'm pretty pissed with myself. Not only did I actually see a lionfish but I had two perfect chances to shoot it. Loser. Spend the next 20 minutes looking for another one. No dice. Towards the end of the dive, I decide to go back to that original spot and see if the lionfish popped out again. Sometimes works with lobsters too. Who knows, could get lucky. Sure enuff, lionfish is back out in plain view. This time, I take extra careful aim. Bam, stick it with all three prongs. Sweet. I even pin it up against the reef so it can't swim away. At this point, I'm extremely happy. Finally got my first lionfish! I'll bring it up on the boat and all the tourists will be in awe and tell me how cool I am.
As soon as I take the spear off the reef, the lionfish starts to wiggle off the spear. I quickly pin it back up against the reef. This fool already has three holes in it but is acting like Superfish. So I just chill there for a bit and wait for it to die or at least tire out. I even push it up to the very front of the spear. If this were a lobster, I could just grab onto it to make sure it doesn't swim away. Can't do that with lionfish cuz they're poisonous. Lionfish stops moving, so I figure I'm OK. As soon as I lift it again, it swims away.
I try chasing it. Not paying attention, my face rubs up against fire coral. If you touch fire coral, you know immediately. It's like a burn, stinging pain. I say "fuck" to myself, but I don't even care about the pain. I just want that damn lionfish. I look around for a while, but it's gone. Lionfish has 3 holes in it but still somehow manages to swim away.
I've never seen that before. All 3 times I've seen someone spear a lionfish, I've never seen it swim off the spear once it's been shot.
At this point I'm beyond pissed. I find a lionfish. Miss it twice. Am lucky enuff to find it again. Actually shoot it. Play with it for a while. It still swims away. And all I have to show for it is a big, puffy rash on my face. You don't understand how difficult it is to find a lionfish, let alone shoot one!
When I bought my scuba gear, I also bought a 6" dive knife. Someone told me that, if you ever spear a huge fish and are worried about it breaking your spear, just pull out your knife and cut open its stomach. That sounded so badass. Rambo badass. Of course, my knife was sitting at home, so I couldn't use it. Totally badass.
I don't know if I'm stupid, clueless, don't really pay attention (prolly all of the above), but it's not the first time I've touched fire coral. Usually it's on my ankles or wrist, so it's not that big a deal. They say to put the spot up against brain coral, which will help to suck out the stinging cells. So I find a big brain coral and go to put my left cheek up against it. As soon as I do that, I feel a burning pain on the right side of my lip. I had just brushed up on another fire coral. Naturally. Of the thousands of brain coral in the water, I pick one with fire coral growing right next to it. Why not?
Let me tell you how rare this is. You hardly ever find fire coral next to brain coral. Why? Cuz brain coral can kill fire coral. I wonder what happens when you have one cheek on brain coral while the other is one fire coral? So now I have a swollen lip to go along with my swollen cheek. Balance.
Oh but the story doesn't end there. When I get back home, I decide to find some more brain coral by the dock. My cousins are coming this weekend, and I'd rather not look like Freddy Kruger. I figure I don't need to put my wetsuit on. After all, I just rinsed the saltwater off. Jump in, find some brain coral right away. Of course my body brushes up on all sorts of crap as I'm trying to plant my face on this poor brain coral (when you touch brain coral, it dies).
So basically, as I'm trying to cure this painful itch on my face, my body starts to itch every where. Do I stop or keep going? Rather have a rash on my body than face, right? Does this brain coral thing even work? Sure doesn't feel like it. Do I go back up to the house and put on my wetsuit? Nah, too lazy. This goes on for about 5 minutes. Finally, I figure I've had enuff treatment. That and my shoulder's really starting to itch. As I'm climbing back up the dock, I feel a sharp pain on the back of my left leg. I look down and there's a fire coral looking up at me.
Lionfish are the only thing you can catch with scuba gear cuz they're a menace to the marine life. Sharks are one of its only predators and, since there's no sharks in Bermuda, they're basically free to destroy sea life here. I've gone diving with guys who have speared lionfish. Sergey's speared 3 of them while we've dove together. They're difficult to spear because 1) they're usually in deeper water and most of our dives aren't deep enuff, 2) they like dark places, so you hafta keep an eye out for them, 3) they're hard to spear and kill, 4) even if you see one, you prolly don't have a spear on you. I've had 51 dives so far. I've seen a lionfish maybe 5 times. So basically, whenever I dive with a spear, I'm extremely anxious to find a lionfish. First time I dove with a spear, I didn't see a single one. Second time, I shot one but got away. Supposedly they're notorious for having paralyzer spears bounce off them.
This time I actually see one. I swim up to it, point the tip right at it and fire. I dunno if it bounced off him or what. I really don't think I missed cuz it was so close that I could basically touch it. Musta been stunned cuz it swam to a hole but was still in view. I aimed again yet still somehow missed even tho I was inches away. This time, it disappeared into a hole.
By this time, I'm pretty pissed with myself. Not only did I actually see a lionfish but I had two perfect chances to shoot it. Loser. Spend the next 20 minutes looking for another one. No dice. Towards the end of the dive, I decide to go back to that original spot and see if the lionfish popped out again. Sometimes works with lobsters too. Who knows, could get lucky. Sure enuff, lionfish is back out in plain view. This time, I take extra careful aim. Bam, stick it with all three prongs. Sweet. I even pin it up against the reef so it can't swim away. At this point, I'm extremely happy. Finally got my first lionfish! I'll bring it up on the boat and all the tourists will be in awe and tell me how cool I am.
As soon as I take the spear off the reef, the lionfish starts to wiggle off the spear. I quickly pin it back up against the reef. This fool already has three holes in it but is acting like Superfish. So I just chill there for a bit and wait for it to die or at least tire out. I even push it up to the very front of the spear. If this were a lobster, I could just grab onto it to make sure it doesn't swim away. Can't do that with lionfish cuz they're poisonous. Lionfish stops moving, so I figure I'm OK. As soon as I lift it again, it swims away.
I try chasing it. Not paying attention, my face rubs up against fire coral. If you touch fire coral, you know immediately. It's like a burn, stinging pain. I say "fuck" to myself, but I don't even care about the pain. I just want that damn lionfish. I look around for a while, but it's gone. Lionfish has 3 holes in it but still somehow manages to swim away.
I've never seen that before. All 3 times I've seen someone spear a lionfish, I've never seen it swim off the spear once it's been shot.
At this point I'm beyond pissed. I find a lionfish. Miss it twice. Am lucky enuff to find it again. Actually shoot it. Play with it for a while. It still swims away. And all I have to show for it is a big, puffy rash on my face. You don't understand how difficult it is to find a lionfish, let alone shoot one!
When I bought my scuba gear, I also bought a 6" dive knife. Someone told me that, if you ever spear a huge fish and are worried about it breaking your spear, just pull out your knife and cut open its stomach. That sounded so badass. Rambo badass. Of course, my knife was sitting at home, so I couldn't use it. Totally badass.
I don't know if I'm stupid, clueless, don't really pay attention (prolly all of the above), but it's not the first time I've touched fire coral. Usually it's on my ankles or wrist, so it's not that big a deal. They say to put the spot up against brain coral, which will help to suck out the stinging cells. So I find a big brain coral and go to put my left cheek up against it. As soon as I do that, I feel a burning pain on the right side of my lip. I had just brushed up on another fire coral. Naturally. Of the thousands of brain coral in the water, I pick one with fire coral growing right next to it. Why not?
Let me tell you how rare this is. You hardly ever find fire coral next to brain coral. Why? Cuz brain coral can kill fire coral. I wonder what happens when you have one cheek on brain coral while the other is one fire coral? So now I have a swollen lip to go along with my swollen cheek. Balance.
Oh but the story doesn't end there. When I get back home, I decide to find some more brain coral by the dock. My cousins are coming this weekend, and I'd rather not look like Freddy Kruger. I figure I don't need to put my wetsuit on. After all, I just rinsed the saltwater off. Jump in, find some brain coral right away. Of course my body brushes up on all sorts of crap as I'm trying to plant my face on this poor brain coral (when you touch brain coral, it dies).
So basically, as I'm trying to cure this painful itch on my face, my body starts to itch every where. Do I stop or keep going? Rather have a rash on my body than face, right? Does this brain coral thing even work? Sure doesn't feel like it. Do I go back up to the house and put on my wetsuit? Nah, too lazy. This goes on for about 5 minutes. Finally, I figure I've had enuff treatment. That and my shoulder's really starting to itch. As I'm climbing back up the dock, I feel a sharp pain on the back of my left leg. I look down and there's a fire coral looking up at me.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Chicken legs, part II
My darling wife says my last post was long and pointless. No, I was just trying to paint a picture of how bad I am in the water. Whenever we go lobster diving, I pray that the reefs are close to the boat. If I hafta swim for more than 10 seconds, I'm gonna be too tired and outta breath, which severely hampers my ability to be able to hold my breath and dive.
Unfortunately, it's a big ass ocean and reefs are hardly ever right next to each other. It's not safe to go diving by yourself, in case your boat floats away or something. Honestly, I dunno how having a buddy around in the middle of the freakin ocean is going to help any. So you can hug someone and cry together as you drown? Use their blood and meat as nourishment while attracting sharks?
Anyways, no matter how many people I'm with, it's pretty much a guarantee that I'll be last. It's like the tortoise and the hare. And I'm the slow ass turtle. Doesn't matter how big a head start I have, I'm going to get passed up. By every one. We could start next to each other but, no matter how hard I try to keep the guy within viewing distance, he'll have disappeared in front of me within a minute. The last thing I see is his fins flapping into the open ocean as my hands reach out in vain and my screams for mercy are silenced by the water. It's actually quite depressing. I'm seriously like the old grandma driving on the highway, gettin passed up left and right. And there's not a damn thing I can do about it. Sometimes I'm just tempted to lasso his fin with my noose and see if he notices the extra weight behind him.
I just don't understand it. I have pretty good endurance. I go for 60 minutes on the elliptical every day no problem. My legs seem to work fine. I can run pretty well and far. I can walk 18 holes on a golf course in 80 degree weather, 90% humidity. I've tried all types of kicking motions too. Standard scissor kick, Pacman kicks, bicycle pedaling, big-step walking. I try looking down to evaluate my form while I do these kicks. That works for about 2 seconds til water gets in my snorkel and I choke.
It's so bad. It's like I turn into a 60 year old whenever I get in the water. When you scuba, the instructors tell you not to bother moving your legs cuz your legs are strong enough to do all the moving for you. They are the biggest and strongest muscle group in your body. Nope, not me. My legs get mad tired from a couple minutes of kicking. I start to lag so far behind that I fear I'm gonna get lost in the ocean. I panic and start using my arms. I'm prolly the only person in the ocean kicking madly with his feet while also flailing his arms around like a madman, doing anything he can to try and move forward that extra inch. I seriously think it'd be easier to just float to the bottom of the stupid ocean and freakin walk.
Of course my arms get tired pretty quickly too cuz my entire body is just spazzing out. I start grabbing onto coral to try and pull myself forward. You aren't supposed to even touch coral cuz it supposedly kills them on contact. Sorry, but I can't get left behind in the freakin ocean. I've seen Open Water dood. I'm trying to use anything I can to keep moving forward. Come to think of it, that's quite sad considering that water's pretty fluid to begin with. I go so far as to use my polespear/lobster noose as a walking stick. I stick it in the ground and/or coral and push myself forward. The end of my lobster noose is all tore up from being used as my personal pogo stick. So freakin pathetic. Fortunately, no one can laugh at me cuz there's freakin no one behind me to see! If ppl were to look behind, I wonder if they'd be able to notice me crying in my mask or if they'd just freak out at my seizure. Come to think of it, that's a great idea. Fake an injury so they hafta drag me along. Kinda like in a war. "Leave no retarded swimmer behind."
The last weekend of the season, I went out with two guys. One's a lil younger than me. The other's gotta be at least 50. We're talking white hair, 18 year old daughter, beer belly. We're going from one reef to the other. We're swimming along. I see the young guy pass me up. Fine. He's tall. He's got long legs. Also, he has really big fins. Not too much of a surprise there. Then, not much later, freakin the old guy passes me up. How is this even possible?! On land, I'm sure I could run circles around this guy. Doesn't his big ol stomach weigh him down or cause extra water resistance?
I had to pretend like I was going slowly on purpose, like I was too busy enjoying the general ocean splendor. You know, enjoying the view. "It's not whether you win or lose, but how you play the game". "Slow and steady wins the race." All the stupid things losers say to make themselves feel better. "I play basketball for the exercise." I almost tried pointing randomly behind me, like "oh look, we just passed some fish and coral that I really must slow down and admire." I actually thought about just jumping on his back and riding him the rest of the way. It'd be like water rodeo.
That or grab his leg and hold on for dear life. Like in the movies where two ppl are dangling from the air, and the guy on the bottom is holding onto the other guy's leg, begging him not to let him fall to his death. Except I wouldn't fall. Or die. But I definitely would be crying and begging. And the guy would look at me in utter bewilderment..."WTF is wrong with you?! Just use the strongest muscle group in your body!"
Unfortunately, it's a big ass ocean and reefs are hardly ever right next to each other. It's not safe to go diving by yourself, in case your boat floats away or something. Honestly, I dunno how having a buddy around in the middle of the freakin ocean is going to help any. So you can hug someone and cry together as you drown? Use their blood and meat as nourishment while attracting sharks?
Anyways, no matter how many people I'm with, it's pretty much a guarantee that I'll be last. It's like the tortoise and the hare. And I'm the slow ass turtle. Doesn't matter how big a head start I have, I'm going to get passed up. By every one. We could start next to each other but, no matter how hard I try to keep the guy within viewing distance, he'll have disappeared in front of me within a minute. The last thing I see is his fins flapping into the open ocean as my hands reach out in vain and my screams for mercy are silenced by the water. It's actually quite depressing. I'm seriously like the old grandma driving on the highway, gettin passed up left and right. And there's not a damn thing I can do about it. Sometimes I'm just tempted to lasso his fin with my noose and see if he notices the extra weight behind him.
I just don't understand it. I have pretty good endurance. I go for 60 minutes on the elliptical every day no problem. My legs seem to work fine. I can run pretty well and far. I can walk 18 holes on a golf course in 80 degree weather, 90% humidity. I've tried all types of kicking motions too. Standard scissor kick, Pacman kicks, bicycle pedaling, big-step walking. I try looking down to evaluate my form while I do these kicks. That works for about 2 seconds til water gets in my snorkel and I choke.
It's so bad. It's like I turn into a 60 year old whenever I get in the water. When you scuba, the instructors tell you not to bother moving your legs cuz your legs are strong enough to do all the moving for you. They are the biggest and strongest muscle group in your body. Nope, not me. My legs get mad tired from a couple minutes of kicking. I start to lag so far behind that I fear I'm gonna get lost in the ocean. I panic and start using my arms. I'm prolly the only person in the ocean kicking madly with his feet while also flailing his arms around like a madman, doing anything he can to try and move forward that extra inch. I seriously think it'd be easier to just float to the bottom of the stupid ocean and freakin walk.
Of course my arms get tired pretty quickly too cuz my entire body is just spazzing out. I start grabbing onto coral to try and pull myself forward. You aren't supposed to even touch coral cuz it supposedly kills them on contact. Sorry, but I can't get left behind in the freakin ocean. I've seen Open Water dood. I'm trying to use anything I can to keep moving forward. Come to think of it, that's quite sad considering that water's pretty fluid to begin with. I go so far as to use my polespear/lobster noose as a walking stick. I stick it in the ground and/or coral and push myself forward. The end of my lobster noose is all tore up from being used as my personal pogo stick. So freakin pathetic. Fortunately, no one can laugh at me cuz there's freakin no one behind me to see! If ppl were to look behind, I wonder if they'd be able to notice me crying in my mask or if they'd just freak out at my seizure. Come to think of it, that's a great idea. Fake an injury so they hafta drag me along. Kinda like in a war. "Leave no retarded swimmer behind."
The last weekend of the season, I went out with two guys. One's a lil younger than me. The other's gotta be at least 50. We're talking white hair, 18 year old daughter, beer belly. We're going from one reef to the other. We're swimming along. I see the young guy pass me up. Fine. He's tall. He's got long legs. Also, he has really big fins. Not too much of a surprise there. Then, not much later, freakin the old guy passes me up. How is this even possible?! On land, I'm sure I could run circles around this guy. Doesn't his big ol stomach weigh him down or cause extra water resistance?
I had to pretend like I was going slowly on purpose, like I was too busy enjoying the general ocean splendor. You know, enjoying the view. "It's not whether you win or lose, but how you play the game". "Slow and steady wins the race." All the stupid things losers say to make themselves feel better. "I play basketball for the exercise." I almost tried pointing randomly behind me, like "oh look, we just passed some fish and coral that I really must slow down and admire." I actually thought about just jumping on his back and riding him the rest of the way. It'd be like water rodeo.
That or grab his leg and hold on for dear life. Like in the movies where two ppl are dangling from the air, and the guy on the bottom is holding onto the other guy's leg, begging him not to let him fall to his death. Except I wouldn't fall. Or die. But I definitely would be crying and begging. And the guy would look at me in utter bewilderment..."WTF is wrong with you?! Just use the strongest muscle group in your body!"
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Chicken legs
I've been working out since college. In the past 10+ years, I can prolly count the number of times I've worked out legs on my two hands. Whenever I'd tell ppl that I don't workout my legs, they always tell me how bad that is. Yes, I know it's the largest muscle group on your body. It's just no fun. Not to mention the fact that you use them ALL THE TIME. Hello, what do you think you walk and run on? When I run or use the elliptical, it's basically like a leg workout in addition to cardio. And I've never had problems walking, running or moving my legs on the elliptical. WHen chicks check out guys, they don't say stuff like, "OMG, your thighs are so muscular! I love your calf muscles! I need to sleep with you right now." Besides, they're pretty much always covered by clothing. Who really cares what they look like? And if they're not covered, the focus is prolly on something else...
Even if you wear shorts, all you see are calves. My calves used to be rock solid back in high school and college...cuz I did a lot of walking when I was younger. Now they're kinda flabby, but still look pretty tone. I never thought I was missing anything by not working out my legs...until now. Lobster diving has made me realize exactly how weak my legs are.
I've never been a great swimmer. Back when we were young and living in Texas, my cousins had a pool. We'd go to visit them, and every one would be playing in the pool...except me. I didn't know how to swim. This was like 1st or 2nd grade. I prolly had floaties on while every one was swimming around me (incidentally, Cam went thru the exact same thing. Fortunately, by that time I didn't hafta fight him for the floaties). How did I finally learn? One of my uncles threw me into the deep end.
When our families were both in New Jersey, my cousins joined the local swim team. Asian parents push 3 things on their children: grades, musical instruments and swimming. They always say swimming is a great sport/activity cuz it works all muscles, helps you grow taller and doesn't cause negative impact on your body/bones. So why is it that I couldn't swim or play a musical instrument? FAIL.
So anyways, this is a legit swim club where you hafta actually try out. In the pool. In front of every one. No, it's not individual,private tryouts. It's like a once-a-year/all ages thing, so entire towns are there. All these proud and hopeful parents are there to watch and cheer on their kids. And they group you by age, not by experience level. If I had my way, I woulda been swimming with the 5 year olds (I was at least 12).
To say I was unprepared would be a gross understatement. This was like a big ass, Olympic-sized pool. They had you start off on those blocks above the pool, like in the Olympics! Since you're like 5 feet above the water, you hafta dive into the pool. One problem: I had never dived in a pool headfirst in my entire life! (Even now, I'm a pretty horrible diver, but that's another story for another day.) Guess I always feared I'd belly flop or something. That and the fact that I barely swam.
When the race started, every one else dove in headfirst, as normal ppl do. Me? I jumped in feet-first like a freakin retard. I quickly realized why swimmers don't jump in feet-first during a race. Besides the fact that you look like a complete idiot, you have absolutely no momentum when you're in the water. You're basically starting from zero while every one else is already halfway down the pool.
Oh, and if that wasn't bad enuff, I didn't know how to do that "tilting of the head from side to side" thing that normal swimmers do. Since your head is underwater, being able to do that is kinda important if you, you know, wanna breathe. So while every one is swimming normally, I'm doing my version of the doggy paddle...with over a hundred people watching.
It gets better. I'm finally able to paddle to the end of the pool. Too bad the tryout is two laps. When normal swimmers get to the wall, they do that flip thing underwater where they kick off the pool. Keeps the momentum going or something. Of course I don't know how to do this. I just touch the wall and reverse. As I'm trying to catch my breath before I start the second half of this death gauntlet, I look up and notice that the rest of the swimmers are already on the other side getting out of the pool! Guess they heard the cheers and couldn't wait to watch my swimming skills. They too can watch this shit show. Sweet.
As horrible and embarrassing as all this is, let's not forget that there's seriously over a hundred people watching this debacle. You got like 5 year olds laughing at me, grandmas laughing at me and every age in between. God knows what they were thinking. I'm sure they felt sorry for me cuz they prolly thought I was mentally and physically retarded...like that one commercial with the lil girl.
I'm pretty much already dead by the end of the first lap. I have no idea how I finished that second lap. I may have just floated and let the current drag me to the finish line. Maybe I backstroked. After laughing at me for about 15 minutes, they prolly decided to throw me that life ring and pull me to safety. It was definitely a miracle. Needless to say, I was thrown in the worst group. And I'm pretty sure I quit cuz I definitely don't remember graduating.
I'm gonna hafta finish this story another day. This trip down memory lane has been extremely sad and depressing. Time to find some chocolate and ice cream.
Even if you wear shorts, all you see are calves. My calves used to be rock solid back in high school and college...cuz I did a lot of walking when I was younger. Now they're kinda flabby, but still look pretty tone. I never thought I was missing anything by not working out my legs...until now. Lobster diving has made me realize exactly how weak my legs are.
I've never been a great swimmer. Back when we were young and living in Texas, my cousins had a pool. We'd go to visit them, and every one would be playing in the pool...except me. I didn't know how to swim. This was like 1st or 2nd grade. I prolly had floaties on while every one was swimming around me (incidentally, Cam went thru the exact same thing. Fortunately, by that time I didn't hafta fight him for the floaties). How did I finally learn? One of my uncles threw me into the deep end.
When our families were both in New Jersey, my cousins joined the local swim team. Asian parents push 3 things on their children: grades, musical instruments and swimming. They always say swimming is a great sport/activity cuz it works all muscles, helps you grow taller and doesn't cause negative impact on your body/bones. So why is it that I couldn't swim or play a musical instrument? FAIL.
So anyways, this is a legit swim club where you hafta actually try out. In the pool. In front of every one. No, it's not individual,private tryouts. It's like a once-a-year/all ages thing, so entire towns are there. All these proud and hopeful parents are there to watch and cheer on their kids. And they group you by age, not by experience level. If I had my way, I woulda been swimming with the 5 year olds (I was at least 12).
To say I was unprepared would be a gross understatement. This was like a big ass, Olympic-sized pool. They had you start off on those blocks above the pool, like in the Olympics! Since you're like 5 feet above the water, you hafta dive into the pool. One problem: I had never dived in a pool headfirst in my entire life! (Even now, I'm a pretty horrible diver, but that's another story for another day.) Guess I always feared I'd belly flop or something. That and the fact that I barely swam.
When the race started, every one else dove in headfirst, as normal ppl do. Me? I jumped in feet-first like a freakin retard. I quickly realized why swimmers don't jump in feet-first during a race. Besides the fact that you look like a complete idiot, you have absolutely no momentum when you're in the water. You're basically starting from zero while every one else is already halfway down the pool.
Oh, and if that wasn't bad enuff, I didn't know how to do that "tilting of the head from side to side" thing that normal swimmers do. Since your head is underwater, being able to do that is kinda important if you, you know, wanna breathe. So while every one is swimming normally, I'm doing my version of the doggy paddle...with over a hundred people watching.
It gets better. I'm finally able to paddle to the end of the pool. Too bad the tryout is two laps. When normal swimmers get to the wall, they do that flip thing underwater where they kick off the pool. Keeps the momentum going or something. Of course I don't know how to do this. I just touch the wall and reverse. As I'm trying to catch my breath before I start the second half of this death gauntlet, I look up and notice that the rest of the swimmers are already on the other side getting out of the pool! Guess they heard the cheers and couldn't wait to watch my swimming skills. They too can watch this shit show. Sweet.
As horrible and embarrassing as all this is, let's not forget that there's seriously over a hundred people watching this debacle. You got like 5 year olds laughing at me, grandmas laughing at me and every age in between. God knows what they were thinking. I'm sure they felt sorry for me cuz they prolly thought I was mentally and physically retarded...like that one commercial with the lil girl.
I'm pretty much already dead by the end of the first lap. I have no idea how I finished that second lap. I may have just floated and let the current drag me to the finish line. Maybe I backstroked. After laughing at me for about 15 minutes, they prolly decided to throw me that life ring and pull me to safety. It was definitely a miracle. Needless to say, I was thrown in the worst group. And I'm pretty sure I quit cuz I definitely don't remember graduating.
I'm gonna hafta finish this story another day. This trip down memory lane has been extremely sad and depressing. Time to find some chocolate and ice cream.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Oh, it's just dirt
Around this time last year, we started noticing some black dirt-like substance in the dogs' fur. I figured it was just dirt since this is Bermuda. No matter how hard you try to avoid it, you always end up bringing the "outdoors" inside your house, especially sand. Once when we were looking at houses, we walked into someone's house and it was like walking onto the beach. She just casually said, "It's Bermuda, you'll get used to the sand indoors."
The dogs are the worst. They're basically walking balls of tape. Whenever they come back in the house from doing their business outside, there will be twigs, leaves and other forms of nature sticking out of their fur. It's like they're dragging a stick wagon behind them. They've never had a haircut in 6 years. Poms are balls of fur as it is. Whenever I pet them, I'm bound to find hidden treasures twirled up in their fur. Some have been in there so long that I hafta bust out the scissors and cut out a chunk of fur to get it out. No big deal, cuz there's too much fur to notice.
So anyways, I'd pick at this dirt and it'd disintegrate in my hands...just like dirt does. Whatever, my dogs are gross. Nothing new. If I don't need showers, my dogs definitely don't. When Amy, Howard and Cindy came to visit last May, they too noticed the dirt when they were petting the dogs. "Oh, they're just dirty" I'd say, as our dogs rubbed themselves all over our first guests.
It wasn't until weeks later, maybe months, that I started getting suspicious about this dirt that was now over every inch of the dogs. I'm talking about months after the Duongs' visit. So it was many, many months since I first noticed the "dirt". One night, before bed, I'm petting Scooby on the floor. I part his fur and see something dash across the part. "Does Bermuda dirt move?" I do some more looking. Sure enough, this dirt is actually alive! I quickly figure out my dogs are infested with fleas (by quickly, I mean months)! The dirt? It's actually flea poop!
Sandy and I spend the next 4 hours going through each dog's fur and hand-picking the fleas. This is extremely difficult because 1) fleas move really fast, 2, we never cut the dogs' fur, so there's way too much to weed through, 3) fleas jump outta your grasp if you don't pinch tight enough, 4) the dogs are seriously completely covered in flea poop, which is black and provides convenient camouflage for the fleas, 5) there were hundreds of fleas. After we find a flea, we throw it into the sink filled with water or toilet. Sometimes the flea will actually jump out. By 3am, we've managed to pick out at least 40 fleas. Not exactly sure why we didn't just go by flea shampoo and give them baths. Prolly woulda been a lot easier. Then again, we aren't the best, or smartest, pet owners.
Fleas had been feasting on our poor dogs for so long now that their entire fur was actually covered in flea feces. Fleas just have a buffet, shit, hang out, sleep and repeat. Our poor dogs had been bitten so much that they're balding. There was huge patches of fur missing. Half of Scooby's skin was blackish-red and crusted from being bitten for God knows how many months. We are the most horrible pet owners ever. Our poor dogs are scratching themselves furiously non-stop, and I just comment on how dirty they are and continue on with my busy day. Not once do we bother to give them baths. If I shower once a week, my dogs aren't getting bathed more than once a year.
Not to mention the fact that these were our pets, which means we'd actually play with them occasionally. We pet them, they're up on our laps, they sleep in our bed. More specifically, they sleep on our pillows right next to our heads. I'm not even gonna mention how often we didn't wash our sheets. Scooby likes to do this thing where he rubs up against Sandy's hair. I can just picture the fleas playing Chinese fire drill.
Not only do fleas feed off dogs, apparently they also enjoy human blood. No wonder I'd have itchy bumps all over me, even in the boxer region. Like the dogs, I just figured it was from a lack of showering.
The next month was hell for me. Every thing had to be cleaned every day. As soon as I woke up, I'd spend a couple hours going through their fur, looking for fleas. Then I'd give the dogs baths. Then I'd spend the next 2 hrs drying them off (lots of fur). Then I'd sweep every square inch of the house. Then I'd vacuum. Then I'd spray the house with flea spray. Then I'd wash the sheets and clothes. I did this every single day.
Nothing seemed to work. I took them to the vet, who said "Yeah, fleas are a problem in Bermuda". Thanks. They gave them some meds that didn't do jack. I spent hours online reading up about how people were able to rid their pets and houses of flea infestations. I made an entire shopping list. I spent two trips to the states running around looking for random things people recommended. I plugged in night lights over cooking pans filled with water and dishwashing detergent. We walked around Boston looking for Brewer's Yeast to put in their water bowls. Poor dogs (have you ever tried Brewer's Yeast? It's freakin disgusting.) I went to at least five stores and was unable to find organic apple cider vinegar, but I was somehow able to find Diatomaceous earth. I bought all sorts of flea shampoo and buggers and sprays.
It was like war against the fleas. Some days I seriously thought it was hopeless. Finally, I read about Advantage and Program meds that had great reviews. We bought some from the states and have been flea-free for months now. And yes, the dogs get bathed more than once a year now. Like 2x.
The dogs are the worst. They're basically walking balls of tape. Whenever they come back in the house from doing their business outside, there will be twigs, leaves and other forms of nature sticking out of their fur. It's like they're dragging a stick wagon behind them. They've never had a haircut in 6 years. Poms are balls of fur as it is. Whenever I pet them, I'm bound to find hidden treasures twirled up in their fur. Some have been in there so long that I hafta bust out the scissors and cut out a chunk of fur to get it out. No big deal, cuz there's too much fur to notice.
So anyways, I'd pick at this dirt and it'd disintegrate in my hands...just like dirt does. Whatever, my dogs are gross. Nothing new. If I don't need showers, my dogs definitely don't. When Amy, Howard and Cindy came to visit last May, they too noticed the dirt when they were petting the dogs. "Oh, they're just dirty" I'd say, as our dogs rubbed themselves all over our first guests.
It wasn't until weeks later, maybe months, that I started getting suspicious about this dirt that was now over every inch of the dogs. I'm talking about months after the Duongs' visit. So it was many, many months since I first noticed the "dirt". One night, before bed, I'm petting Scooby on the floor. I part his fur and see something dash across the part. "Does Bermuda dirt move?" I do some more looking. Sure enough, this dirt is actually alive! I quickly figure out my dogs are infested with fleas (by quickly, I mean months)! The dirt? It's actually flea poop!
Sandy and I spend the next 4 hours going through each dog's fur and hand-picking the fleas. This is extremely difficult because 1) fleas move really fast, 2, we never cut the dogs' fur, so there's way too much to weed through, 3) fleas jump outta your grasp if you don't pinch tight enough, 4) the dogs are seriously completely covered in flea poop, which is black and provides convenient camouflage for the fleas, 5) there were hundreds of fleas. After we find a flea, we throw it into the sink filled with water or toilet. Sometimes the flea will actually jump out. By 3am, we've managed to pick out at least 40 fleas. Not exactly sure why we didn't just go by flea shampoo and give them baths. Prolly woulda been a lot easier. Then again, we aren't the best, or smartest, pet owners.
Fleas had been feasting on our poor dogs for so long now that their entire fur was actually covered in flea feces. Fleas just have a buffet, shit, hang out, sleep and repeat. Our poor dogs had been bitten so much that they're balding. There was huge patches of fur missing. Half of Scooby's skin was blackish-red and crusted from being bitten for God knows how many months. We are the most horrible pet owners ever. Our poor dogs are scratching themselves furiously non-stop, and I just comment on how dirty they are and continue on with my busy day. Not once do we bother to give them baths. If I shower once a week, my dogs aren't getting bathed more than once a year.
Not to mention the fact that these were our pets, which means we'd actually play with them occasionally. We pet them, they're up on our laps, they sleep in our bed. More specifically, they sleep on our pillows right next to our heads. I'm not even gonna mention how often we didn't wash our sheets. Scooby likes to do this thing where he rubs up against Sandy's hair. I can just picture the fleas playing Chinese fire drill.
Not only do fleas feed off dogs, apparently they also enjoy human blood. No wonder I'd have itchy bumps all over me, even in the boxer region. Like the dogs, I just figured it was from a lack of showering.
The next month was hell for me. Every thing had to be cleaned every day. As soon as I woke up, I'd spend a couple hours going through their fur, looking for fleas. Then I'd give the dogs baths. Then I'd spend the next 2 hrs drying them off (lots of fur). Then I'd sweep every square inch of the house. Then I'd vacuum. Then I'd spray the house with flea spray. Then I'd wash the sheets and clothes. I did this every single day.
Nothing seemed to work. I took them to the vet, who said "Yeah, fleas are a problem in Bermuda". Thanks. They gave them some meds that didn't do jack. I spent hours online reading up about how people were able to rid their pets and houses of flea infestations. I made an entire shopping list. I spent two trips to the states running around looking for random things people recommended. I plugged in night lights over cooking pans filled with water and dishwashing detergent. We walked around Boston looking for Brewer's Yeast to put in their water bowls. Poor dogs (have you ever tried Brewer's Yeast? It's freakin disgusting.) I went to at least five stores and was unable to find organic apple cider vinegar, but I was somehow able to find Diatomaceous earth. I bought all sorts of flea shampoo and buggers and sprays.
It was like war against the fleas. Some days I seriously thought it was hopeless. Finally, I read about Advantage and Program meds that had great reviews. We bought some from the states and have been flea-free for months now. And yes, the dogs get bathed more than once a year now. Like 2x.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Five
Yesterday was our 5 year anniversary. Yup, five years ago we got married in Joliet, IL. We've been together for 95 months (just under 8 years). Actually, it's prolly less than that, considering how many times she broke up with me that first year. My lovely wife actually broke up with me once during our drive home from Detroit. We were coming back from an Eminem concert, which she bought for me as a birthday present. Why during the drive? Cuz I opened a bottle of water myself. Her exact words: "You don't need me. My exes all needed me to open their water bottles for them."
For gifts, I made her the garden she's always wanted. Feeling bad for not getting me anything YET AGAIN, Sandy bought me the Roland Skinnard photo of Bermuda I'd been talking about since we moved here.
Friday night, we went to our customary anniversary dinner at The Waterlot. Originally, we had made reservations at Ascot's. But Thursday night, we were watching TV and happened to flip to the Travel Channel, which had a special on the best steakhouses in America. AND it just happened to be showing Chicago. I almost ate my own arm when they were talking about the mouth-watering steaks at Gene & Georgetti's and David Burke's. So we decided to have steak that night instead. Caesar salad prepared tableside to start. Cowboy ribeye for me (with foie gras on top), cowgirl for her (with soft shell crab). Creamed spinach, truffled mac & cheese and truffled french fries as sides. Sticky toffee pudding to cap off an amazing dinner.
We made dinner plans for Friday cuz we were supposed to go to Kim's bday party Saturday night. Sandy ended up having to go into the office that Saturday after lunch with Pong. We ordered KFC for dinner, even though Sandy had just spent the previous hour photocopying diet recipes from Jacqueline's Insanity book. At least I ordered the 5 piece meal instead of the 9. Of course they messed up our order and didn't even apologize for it when I had to go all the way back to replace my nuggets with hot wings.
We didn't end up leaving the office til late, and Sandy was too tired to go back out by the time we got home. No, that's not code for something else.
Today, we took a trip out to Dockyard and had lunch at the Frog and Onion. Then we walked around the mall. Sandy bought a book called "Tea with Tracey", which is basically about Tracey's experiences of living in Bermuda. Sandy read some funny stories tonight, which made me decide to start blogging again. We came back home and Sandy planted the seeds in her new garden: cucumber, pumpkin, sunflower and lettuce. Looking forward to 6. That is all.
For gifts, I made her the garden she's always wanted. Feeling bad for not getting me anything YET AGAIN, Sandy bought me the Roland Skinnard photo of Bermuda I'd been talking about since we moved here.
Friday night, we went to our customary anniversary dinner at The Waterlot. Originally, we had made reservations at Ascot's. But Thursday night, we were watching TV and happened to flip to the Travel Channel, which had a special on the best steakhouses in America. AND it just happened to be showing Chicago. I almost ate my own arm when they were talking about the mouth-watering steaks at Gene & Georgetti's and David Burke's. So we decided to have steak that night instead. Caesar salad prepared tableside to start. Cowboy ribeye for me (with foie gras on top), cowgirl for her (with soft shell crab). Creamed spinach, truffled mac & cheese and truffled french fries as sides. Sticky toffee pudding to cap off an amazing dinner.
We made dinner plans for Friday cuz we were supposed to go to Kim's bday party Saturday night. Sandy ended up having to go into the office that Saturday after lunch with Pong. We ordered KFC for dinner, even though Sandy had just spent the previous hour photocopying diet recipes from Jacqueline's Insanity book. At least I ordered the 5 piece meal instead of the 9. Of course they messed up our order and didn't even apologize for it when I had to go all the way back to replace my nuggets with hot wings.
We didn't end up leaving the office til late, and Sandy was too tired to go back out by the time we got home. No, that's not code for something else.
Today, we took a trip out to Dockyard and had lunch at the Frog and Onion. Then we walked around the mall. Sandy bought a book called "Tea with Tracey", which is basically about Tracey's experiences of living in Bermuda. Sandy read some funny stories tonight, which made me decide to start blogging again. We came back home and Sandy planted the seeds in her new garden: cucumber, pumpkin, sunflower and lettuce. Looking forward to 6. That is all.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Hole in One!
Thursday, March 3rd, 2011. The day that will forever be known as the day I shot a hole-in-one! Kinda crazy cuz I had just witnessed my uncle's hole-in-one less than a month ago in Taiwan. I never realized what a big deal it was until then. A while back, I was golfing with a guy from Florida who shot a hole-in-one. I believe it was his 3rd. His brother had also had one before. He was excited but not like pissing his pants or anything. Bought me a drink at the end of the round.
So I wasn't even all that excited when I saw my uncle's (that's what she said). That and the fact that I wasn't in a very good mood cuz I was playing like total ass. It was a perfect shot too cuz the tee box was elevated, and every one could see the ball land on the green and slowly roll into the hole. I guess out there a hole-in-one is a huge deal. I think his phone was ringing non-stop the rest of the day. When you get one, you're obligated to do a ton of stuff. First, you tip all the caddies in your group. You also give the ppl golfing in your group money. I think you're also supposed to give money to anybody around who saw your hole-in-one. THEN, you're supposed to treat all your golfing buddies to dinner, drinks all night and take them on a golf outing somewhere nice. Golfing buddies consists of whomever you usually golf with, usually a group of 20-some ppl. Golfing buddies throw in $1k each, so it's not too bad. You do all this cuz it's supposedly very good luck and, if you don't do all these things, you'll end up having bad luck. If you don't tell ppl cuz you don't wanna spend all this money, but they end up finding out, it's death by bunga bunga.
Fortunately for me, I'm not a FOB. I also usually golf by myself, so I don't hafta give anyone any money or buy anyone any drinks. But that also means it's not nearly as exciting. I always play at the Fairmont Southampton Princess, which is a par 3 course, cuz we're members and I can walk for free during twilight. I started off on the back 9 cuz there was a group of slow ass, fat ladies putzing around the first tee. 10th hole was 120-some yards. I bust out the 9-iron and somehow overshoot the hole by over 10 yards. Usually my 9 goes around 120. 12th hole is 125 yards. No choice but to go with the 9 again, figured I'd swing a lil lighter. Ball goes pretty straight, but it looks like I overshoot the green again. Shit, in the rough again. I walk to the rough and look for my ball. I drop another ball cuz I can't find it. I go to grab my ball from the hole after I putt it in...and there's my first ball!
Takes me a minute to realize what just happened. Unfortunately, there's no one around to celebrate with. There's a guy riding a lawnmower, but he's not even paying attention. It's too bad he wasn't paying attention to my hole-in-one. There's a couple coming up on the previous tee box, but I decide not to say anything. Figured it looks shady that I'm chipping and putting and then all of a sudden announce that I got a hole-in-one. It's also too bad that the green was elevated, so I couldn't see my ball go in the hole. Anyways, I'm way too excited to continue playing golf. I think I doubled and tripled bogey'd the next two holes. I also forget to stash away my hole-in-one ball and proceed to lose it off the 14th tee.
I do also add a birdie and 2 pars, but do not have a final score cuz I skipped 3 holes. There was a group of old guys who spent most of the time looking for their balls, as well as another group of ladies who prolly coulda kicked the ball further than their drives. Maybe I'll hang my certificate up when I get it. Maybe this will be a great year for me. Exciting stuff!
So I wasn't even all that excited when I saw my uncle's (that's what she said). That and the fact that I wasn't in a very good mood cuz I was playing like total ass. It was a perfect shot too cuz the tee box was elevated, and every one could see the ball land on the green and slowly roll into the hole. I guess out there a hole-in-one is a huge deal. I think his phone was ringing non-stop the rest of the day. When you get one, you're obligated to do a ton of stuff. First, you tip all the caddies in your group. You also give the ppl golfing in your group money. I think you're also supposed to give money to anybody around who saw your hole-in-one. THEN, you're supposed to treat all your golfing buddies to dinner, drinks all night and take them on a golf outing somewhere nice. Golfing buddies consists of whomever you usually golf with, usually a group of 20-some ppl. Golfing buddies throw in $1k each, so it's not too bad. You do all this cuz it's supposedly very good luck and, if you don't do all these things, you'll end up having bad luck. If you don't tell ppl cuz you don't wanna spend all this money, but they end up finding out, it's death by bunga bunga.
Fortunately for me, I'm not a FOB. I also usually golf by myself, so I don't hafta give anyone any money or buy anyone any drinks. But that also means it's not nearly as exciting. I always play at the Fairmont Southampton Princess, which is a par 3 course, cuz we're members and I can walk for free during twilight. I started off on the back 9 cuz there was a group of slow ass, fat ladies putzing around the first tee. 10th hole was 120-some yards. I bust out the 9-iron and somehow overshoot the hole by over 10 yards. Usually my 9 goes around 120. 12th hole is 125 yards. No choice but to go with the 9 again, figured I'd swing a lil lighter. Ball goes pretty straight, but it looks like I overshoot the green again. Shit, in the rough again. I walk to the rough and look for my ball. I drop another ball cuz I can't find it. I go to grab my ball from the hole after I putt it in...and there's my first ball!
Takes me a minute to realize what just happened. Unfortunately, there's no one around to celebrate with. There's a guy riding a lawnmower, but he's not even paying attention. It's too bad he wasn't paying attention to my hole-in-one. There's a couple coming up on the previous tee box, but I decide not to say anything. Figured it looks shady that I'm chipping and putting and then all of a sudden announce that I got a hole-in-one. It's also too bad that the green was elevated, so I couldn't see my ball go in the hole. Anyways, I'm way too excited to continue playing golf. I think I doubled and tripled bogey'd the next two holes. I also forget to stash away my hole-in-one ball and proceed to lose it off the 14th tee.
I do also add a birdie and 2 pars, but do not have a final score cuz I skipped 3 holes. There was a group of old guys who spent most of the time looking for their balls, as well as another group of ladies who prolly coulda kicked the ball further than their drives. Maybe I'll hang my certificate up when I get it. Maybe this will be a great year for me. Exciting stuff!
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