You would think I was at  a rave over the weekend with all the glow sticks and glow ice cubes and glow bracelets, instead of at some hoity toity country club where jackets are required in order to eat really crappy food all in the company a  bunch of lock jaws who are nothing just like me only I don’t pop my collar…EVER. And my plaid is not from J Crew.  
 I think the big difference is their plastic beer cup travellers suck compared to my sippy cup travellers in green, blue and orange.

Our good friend Druncle Bad Touch signed The Dish and I  up for a golf tournament…in the pitch black with very VERY rigid rules of play.

Sign up now for an evening of sunset cocktails, grilled kabobs and golf under the stars!

       Rules of Play:

1.       You must enjoy cocktails and buffet dinner ($21.45 per person) on the West deck starting at 6:30pm on Saturday.
(great, almost three hours of cocktails before I am supposed to hit a tiny ball  in the dark with a metal stick, something I haven’t done in years….
the hitting the ball part that is.)

2.       Absolutely no play until it is pitch black!
(by pitch black, you mean in the DARK…don’t they know people could DIIIEEE* doing this?)

3.       Your partner will be assigned at cocktails.
(WHAT….a stranger??? that I have to speak to? Well after almost three hours of cocktails this should be quite interesting.**)

4.       You and your partner must choose to bring 3 clubs which you will share on the course.
(Awesome, so I can get in a fight with a total stranger who thinks they know better than me and eventually this will end up with some one having a sand wedge shoved some where uncomfortable and you know it won’t be me. This is when I will bring up the fact that I have a Skakel*** designed pitching wedge (if you don’t know what I am talking about I will let you do the research) so consider yourself warned. 
At which point two things might occur… uproarious laughter or  a really awkward silence not even accompanied by crickets)

5.       Alternate shots and each team will play 3 holes.
(I am NOT liking the sound of this at all. There is no such thing as three holes that are playable!)

6.       Bring a flashlight.  No carts
(What is this “flashlight” you speak of? Is it something to “flash dance” to?” AND I have to walk, my high heels will get stuck in the grass.)

7.       Entry fee to be paid that night — $8.00 per person (includes ball & prizes)
(um…ball prizes? does The Dish know about this?)

 8.       Prizes following play
(seriously, you must have been drinking while *figuring* out these RULES of play, you just talked about the ball prize!)

 Not only are these country club types WILD…they can get down right nasty especially when you end up in their fairway trying to shove the damn mini glow stick back in the ball so you can pick it up and walk  back to your fairway and on the way stomp on  random ball that may or may not belong to the wise ass who was making fun of you for being in his fairway just before you killed him properly hit back to your fairway and politely resume play. In the dark. Adorned in glow sticks.
By the time we got to that infamous THIRD hole we just happened to be back by the bar club house where it was completely necessary to refresh and by refresh I mean pee because I never pee in the outdoors especially clad in glow sticks. I also mean load up on more wine water because, MAN if playing golf in the dark doesn’t work up I thirst I don’t know what does.

And in the end, we won!

WE WON!

 We won ‘The team with the most putts’ with an award of….

A GLOW STICK!

Which ended up scaring the crap out of me in the middle of the night when I woke up to it glowing  right next to my face on my pillow apparently trying to suck my soul out through my eyes. Or at least that’s how my eyes felt, and that’s when I chewed up a xanax and sucked my thumb until I fell asleep.

*I am pretty sure that some where, some one probably has been hit by a golf ball and died as a result so really I am not crazy. AND I know for a fact that a goose has because a good friend of ours actually did that by mistake at this very country club and felt very very bad about it, so the odds were against us the entire time!

**Druncle Bad Touch rigged the entire event and he was my partner and I failed him miserably 47 out of 50 of my hits.

***This is completely true and this pitching wedge is totally scary, I never use it. Bad karma I guess, but I keep it around for precisely these kind of events when I can whip it out and make horrible jokes in very poor taste.

P.S. Also it was a crap load of fun and I really enjoyed the drinking and stuff so THANK YOU Druncle Bad Touch. Also I am going to start practicing at midnight at my local club so that next year I will hit more than 3 good shots.

I am pretty sure my local grocery store is totally mind fucking me and quite frankly I am not that happy about it.

I do enough damage on my own, thank you very much.

It all started about a year and a half ago when I entered a raffle and won.
I won a mountain bike.
This is kind of like a vegan winning a cow that sits there looks and at you with those cute little blinking cow eyes that are too far apart.
You know the cow eyes I’m talking about.
That’s about how much I would use a mountain bike.

 
Then there is their meat.
Their meat doesn’t come with a disclaimer  that says “FLAVOR ENHANCED” and their meat doesn’t actually seep out white gelatinous goo when cooked.
Their meat is local and grass fed.
So you can see why I am addicted to their meat.

So I can’t understand why they would sell me a hunk of 15 dollar cheese named Prima Donna…
that when I got it home I realized the underside was COVERED in mold. 

Are you trying to kill me my beloved Local Grocer?  Or are you trying to make me go broke?

I vote for you are trying to KILL me, because NOT two day’s later as I was minding my own business picking out tomatoes through the swarm of fruit flies, all the while being  hawked on by the creepy ‘Children of The Corn’ produce guy that THIS melon, this ragged street cred honey dew melon tried to knock me out.

Not once, not twice, but three mother fucking times did that Melon jump off it’s pile at me all angry and shit!And because I was worried that the creepy ‘Children of The Corn’ produce guy was going to come at me clacking together a couple of ears of corn, I put it back three times not realizing it was the
Evil Satan Melon of DOOM.

 Just when I am about to cut you out of my life once and for all, 
you my Dear Local Grocer, 
you pull this crap out or your  fun bag of tricks.

Seriously, how can I EVER shop anywhere else?

Well played my Dear Local Grocer, well played.