Two tips for golfers on defeating Tiger Woods

I usually have no trouble falling asleep. I just pop some DMB into the stereo, climax and then Dave’s soft and soulful voice does the rest. He should really put out a lullaby album. Just think of a stampede of mothers flooding Babies R Us for that CD. And I promise to never throw ‘climax’ and ‘babies’ into the same paragraph ever again, unless I’m telling you what’s wrong with buying sperm.

I wrote something over two weeks ago about the octuplet mom. It’s obnoxiously long so if I’m feeling bitchy soon I’ll post it.

Usually I fall sleep easy, but one of my sons got an amp for his birthday a few weeks back and chose to stay up until midnight playing his guitar. I’m not complaining. I enjoy it since his goal isn’t to wake the neighbors or make the dogs bark. It sounds good and makes me forget my trivial troubles. He has long since stopped playing and fallen asleep, and yet for some reason I can’t wind down. I’ll be fine since moms can run on only a few hours sleep. It all started 17 years ago with cries in the night, and that was me trying to mix formula properly with one eye open… anyway…

When I can’t sleep I read, and I noticed a story on my homepage about Tiger Woods returning to golf after an 8-month hiatus because apparently no one gives a shit about golf unless he is playing. And you know money makes the world go round (sorry kids it’s true). So let me get this straight…

The entire sport of golf as we know it is doomed unless Tiger Woods is involved? Who would’ve thunk? Surely not me, who can’t really name any other golfer off the top of my head other than Leslie Spalding, who will always be famous around these parts. So I came up with two half-assed tips for the others, the unknowns who really love the sport (is it a sport?) and can’t for the life of them get noticed thanks to the living legend who really doesn’t need the money yet keeps reappearing like he is Michael Jordan or something. Sorry Tiger but unless you appear in a movie with Bugs Bunny, have a song written for that movie by a child molester or have women guessing what kind of undies you wear, you are a nobody.

Yeah, who am I kidding? But I might as well finish this anyway.

Tip 1) Watch the movie Happy Gilmore. It is a complete how-to on rattling the star of the golf course. You know the only reason Adam Sandler’s character didn’t give up after being hit by a car was it would’ve entirely killed the ending. And not even Tiger Woods could pull off that dramatic win. You wouldn’t be able to steal his house, but if you bribed a heckler or a mental hospital escapee I’m talking real results. And how can Tiger Woods thinking about midgets save him?

Tip 2) Don’t read my blog. This is a stupid waste of web space. I could be sharing recipes or poetry, and here I am telling people to watch Happy Gilmore. I should be attacked by a mob of angry midgets or the entire cast of Wizard Of Oz right now…

Should we even care about golf? Or should we just zone out in front of the TV watching old movies?

Magic beans, and what not...

I have this crazy sleep schedule. After a hard day’s work I lie on the sofa to watch some TV and end up passing out for a few hours. Then I catch a few more hours of sleep in the early morning until the phone rings at around nineish. It’s always a computer guy named Jim or gal named Jill who wants me to upgrade my cable to satellite or extend my imaginary warranty, or even consolidate my imaginary credit card debt. Point is, I could sleep through a tornado or monkey slapping my face. But for some reason I always jump out of bed and a deep sleep whenever the phone rings. So that works for me much better than an alarm clock. I’m pretty much awake the rest of the day. At least, until I get home from work. That’s how it’s been for the last few years or so. And now I need to change all of that. In fact, I just took a sleeping pill so I need to finish this as quick as a Vegas wedding so I don’t pass out and drool all over the keyboard. But that’s not a real scenario. Pills only seem to work when someone wants to get high. Well, I just need to hurry.

So my old boss called me about a week ago. I was his office manager for six months in ‘03-‘04 before he realized he could no longer afford to pay me. And regarding the business, he said, “Please! Just take it!”

Since then he’s started and apparently shut down another business that he ran without any outside help, and again started up an entirely new one. Now back to the phone call. I didn’t think much of it since he calls occasionally to see how things are going with me and/or needs a favor. One time I ended up selling sno-cones around town with one of his daughters from a golf cart because he got busy and needed me to take his place. And, he said I would pick up some extra cash. That only lasted about a month. After expenses and splitting the profit with his daughter, I raked in ten dollars a week.

Here’s how the convo went…

“Hey Alicia, sorry to call so early but I need to run something by you. Got a minute?”

“Uh… yeah. What time is it?”

“Ha ha. Hey, I’ve had this new business now for close to a year and it’s doing really well.”

“Tons of dough, huh?” Yawn.

“Like I said, it’s doing well. I have a new office in town, and it would be great if you would come work for me.”

“I’ll have to think about it. Can I keep my current job? ‘Cause I don’t really want to quit it.”

Translation: “I’m scared to death to quit a secure job when any time I’ve ever worked for you it’s only been temporary.”

“Hey, that’s no problem. We can work around your other job. Just think it over, and if you decide you want to do it give me the earliest and latest times you can work.”

Translation: “This I know. I will be your boss again. Muahahahahaha.”

“Sure, I’ll think it over and get back to you.”

Translation: “Oh shit! You really are serious, aren’t you?”

So I called him back on Friday, and he says this will eventually turn into full time with benefits.

Okay. Whatever!

I start first thing Monday morning. Wish me luck.

These are the scariest times

I’m focusing on the first frightening day of these scary times I’ve found myself thrown into recently. At this very moment you are reading the blog of a mom who now has her first teen driver. If that doesn’t send shivers up and down your spine, well, maybe you are laughing. Or maybe you’re one of the apathetic ones. I try but I just don’t understand.

So this is how it all began. Well, after my son decided he wanted to get a learner's permit. I gathered up the required documents and drove 75 miles to pick up my son (who was at his dad’s house) and take him to the nearest DMV. When I got there his dad insisted on driving us. Like me he had taken the day off from work, but his attitude toward the whole thing was quite the opposite. Apparently he is one of those parents the DMV pamphlet was speaking to who is eager about this “exciting time” and happy to assist in the 1½ year journey our son has embarked upon in acquiring a real driver’s license. I would describe my feelings as anxious, nervous, and downright fearful. As for the length of time it will take altogether - they made the rules stricter a few years ago. Anyway, I was only asked to show up for this event because I had the kid’s birth certificate and Social Security card. I hate it when I’m so desperately needed - and it only gets worse. In order for our son to move to the next level (a restricted license) I have to sit beside him while he drives a total of 50 hours in the next six months.

50 hours. 50 hours, which must be logged in a little booklet. I can think of much better ways to die than as a passenger in my own vehicle. Losing a “Wild West” style shoot-out would be less humiliating. And I could probably find some one crazy enough to do it.

I have good reason to be very afraid. Our son, who doesn’t yet have his own car but has driven a few times with dad (dad is a thrill seeker with no fear whatsoever), well our son let me know in advance he doesn’t plan on ever attempting to parallel park my Suburban. The big old beast scares the kid. So the thought of him driving it scares me.

When we got to the DMV we took a number, which was 26. They were serving number 16, which wouldn’t have been too bad, but the waiting area only had room to accommodate 8 and there were about 20 sweaty individuals crowded in there and out in the hallway. So we hung tightly to our number and drove to a fast food place. It was now afternoon but still technically the lunch rush. When we got back they were helping number 22. So we found a little shade outside under a tree, and by the time everyone was done eating they were on number 25. Great timing. Soon it was my son’s turn and we followed him to the counter. I handed over the docs and his dad insisted on paying, so he now has something to hold over our heads. Damn him.

We were anxious to see how our son would do on the test. Would he pass on his first try as expected? Perhaps he would fail, forcing us to leave with our heads hung in shame. Then it dawned on us that our son wears glasses. Well, he is supposed to wear them but never does because it isn’t cool, so we forgot he even had them. I just chalk it up as another downside to having kids because I really have no shame. Well, he attempted the eye test without them but couldn’t pass so his dad quickly devised a plan. Our son would take the written test and if he passed we’d head straight to my house from there, hopefully find his glasses he never wears, and maybe get back to the DMV in time so we wouldn’t have to take another unpaid day off from our jobs. Round trip it would be 130 miles. The way the kid’s dad drives I figured he could do it in record time. It’s amazing he doesn’t get more than one speeding ticket per year. The problem? I also had a plan. I had some shopping to do. I wanted him to drop me off at my vehicle so I could get that shit done while he and the kid were off taking care of business. That’s when we butted heads. No, we had to do it his way. There wasn’t any time to spare, according to him, so he refused to drive me the mere ten miles in the opposite direction to my truck. So it looked like I was doomed - stuck when I obviously wasn’t needed and could be getting other stuff done. Not only that, but the guy drives like a maniac when he isn’t in a hurry. Well, there was still a chance our son wouldn’t pass the test. We could always return another day some time within the next year, after all.

He had to miss six questions to fail. He got five wrong. Oh joy.

So off we went. Everyone was in high spirits but me. I sat in the back trying to be patient. I thought about making the trip miserable for the jerk. There were so many things I could be angry about. I could even go back fifteen years, but it wasn’t worth it. This was exactly what he was hoping for. But I did tense up when I felt us surpass 80 mph on the two lane highway. I miss the days when Montana had no speed limit. Back then, 80 was my limit. Soon I heard my son say, “Wow, Dad! 95!”

I peeked over the seat to see the car could easily do 110. Great. So what could I do? I went to my happy place.





Some day it could happen. He could get arrested, I tell myself. But until then I have to live life knowing my kids can’t tell the difference between Montana beef and the imported stuff. I hate you Ronald, and your easy beef.

So we made it back to the DMV in time, no one was hurt (yet), and our kid got his permit. Hopefully my fear of letting him drive within 75 miles of me will pass soon enough, but I have my doubts. The way I see it, if he’s nervous about driving a Suburban that his own mother can handle without any difficulty, then he really shouldn’t be driving at all. I try but I just don’t understand.

This could've been a really cool story

I’m trying to plan a vacation, and before every long trip I get the family vehicle readied for it. For me and my crew, driving is still the cheapest way to travel. And I’m sure the people on the bus will appreciate not waiting behind a line of kids for the bathroom.

It’s been two years since our last stint so I needed a lot of work done. I took the beast down to the shop Friday for a tune-up and oil change. I mentioned the muffler was smoking. I knew I needed a new one but have been putting it off since we usually don’t drive very far. It’s just a few blocks here and there. I also told them I recently started smelling gasoline under my hood and was worried there might be a leak. I trust these guys since they’ve been taking care of my vehicles for an eternity. They run an honest business, are semi-attractive, and make an effort to attempt to listen to whatever I’m saying.

When they were all done working on it they said the gas smell was due to the old muffler. That was odd, but good to hear. It seemed I’d be saving a little money. They referred me to the muffler shop, so I set up an appointment for Monday. Meanwhile, I drove the beast around town all weekend without any problems. Well, no problems other than the gas smell, smoking muffler and carbon monoxide poisoning.

I knew there had to be a reason for my goofiness. Now we know.

Yesterday was the first hot day we’ve had in a long time. It was around 80 degrees. After lunch I asked a friend from work to meet me at the muffler shop so I could catch a ride back, since the place is a few miles away. As I drove along I didn’t notice anything strange. But just as I pulled into the shop driveway to park, I noticed smoke. It wasn’t much, but enough to get my attention. I popped the hood and hurried around to investigate. When I got close enough to lift it I heard crackling noises and decided against it. It sounded like something was busy burning under there and more smoke was pouring out. So I ran into the shop and asked the two guys if they had a fire extinguisher. I told them I thought I had a fire! under the hood.

They followed me outside and Big Guy says, “Are you sure? It looks like steam. Maybe you’re overheating.”

He lifted the hood, and flames shot up. “Oh boy.” He turned to Old Guy. “Better go get that fire extinguisher.”

In a flash Old Guy reappeared, armed and ready. He muttered, “I hope I can figure this thing out.”

It took him less than a minute to pull the pin, point and shoot, and put out the fire.

My very first engine fire.

Looking back, it would have been something special if I could’ve been the one to put out that bitch, but Old Guy hogged all of the fun. And damn, that looked like a lot of fun. Right after he was done I saw him smile for a second. He even let out a little chuckle.

No fair! I have to pay for this shit, and I don’t even get to enjoy any of it?

So… what do I do now?

Well, I can assure you I’m putting ‘fire extinguisher’ on my shopping list. Never again will I let some one I don’t even know steal my fun away.

And this could’ve been a really cool story to tell the kids. It sucks that I can’t say, “The flames were shooting up from my engine - taunting me. I was all alone… Just me, the heat, and the possibility of massive explosions and/or certain death. Did I panic? No. I grabbed the fire extinguisher and put out that bastard. No fire is ever going to fuck with me, I tell you.”

But for now, sadly, I just don’t know what it’s like to operate a fire extinguisher and describe it in great detail.

So here’s the happy ending…

Big and Old Guys couldn’t take care of my muffler. They didn’t want to risk driving my vehicle into their shop for fear of more flames and whatnot (pansies). So I called the mechanics. Then my friend, who waited patiently through all of this, told me how much worse it could’ve been.

Well, she didn’t say she almost ditched me. Walking back to work and showing up even later is one way I could imagine it being worse…

While we conversed on the way back I told her the name of the mechanic who had originally worked on my flaming hell-beast, and found out she was kind of related to him. Awkward.

The mechanics couldn’t tow the smoky hellion to their shop until just before closing time, and it’s anyone’s guess when they’ll have it finished (for real). When it is finished, for real, I’ll have to dish out more (real) money. Awesome!

Then I’ll have to go back to the muffler shop.

This might turn into a week-long event.

I really need a vacation.

And a fire extinguisher. I think the first thing I’ll do when I get one is make a bonfire out of repair receipts.

"Just Say No" to your boss

It’s not easy for me to just say nay when my boss is in a tough spot. If I’m needed I can usually be counted on to nearly run myself into the ground for the company. But yesterday when I was asked if I wanted to work the substitute day off I was given for working through the weekend to cover for another employee, my aching body told me I needed a day to recover. So I turned it down. It was a tough split-second decision but I’m happy with my choice.

So today I was home with a sore back considering why I have such a hard time just saying NO. After some reflection and nearly shattering the mirror in the process, this is what I learned about myself.

I like the extra money… I like bigger paychecks. Sure, the extra money gets spent on things I wouldn’t need to buy if I weren’t working so much. Things like frozen and fast foods, and toys for the kids to ease my guilt.

But still, it looks good on paper and seems wiser (in theory).


I like to prove my loyalty. I don’t know why this is an issue with me. Why do I need to prove I am loyal? Isn’t the fact that I show up on my scheduled work days proof enough?

A boss has never actually said anything like this to me, “I don’t think you are loyal enough. Why don’t you prove it by working your days off this week. If you don’t, we’ll know you are nothing but a loose cannon.”

This is reality… My boss simply asks me if I can work and I say yes. Seriously, I need to grow a pair.


Most of my jobs have had room for growth. And I like moving up the ladder and getting the few more ounces of respect and pay that come with it, only to eventually quit because I have to move, or give birth and nurse a child for a year. Okay, that was a lie. I’ve never breastfed a child. I've tried but things didn't operate like they should have, and I still feel like less of a woman.

But this job is different - it’s a small business. There isn’t any promotion available that I’d actually want or need. I don’t want to take over while my boss is on vacation. She works from 8 am until 10 pm, seven days a week! What kind of life is that? I can’t see any real benefits from becoming boss number two, even if it is just for a few days. The hours I put in are enough as it is, thanks.

So now that I’ve realized promotion isn’t a factor here, I need to learn to implement “just saying no” more often.


I’m a nice person. I need to work on this before it kills me.


I have a fear of losing my job. I’ll start with the story of the last time I lost a job because it’s slightly relevant. Okay, it’s not really relevant at all. The true reason I fear losing my job is the fact that any work is hard to come by in a small town and I can't really afford to commute 100 miles per work day, but I really want to share this story anyway.

I used to work in an office for a guy who started up a small business, and it went very well in the beginning as far as sales go. But it wasn’t enough to support his family and cover the expenses so his credit card became his best friend. He ended up starting another business in a more profitable field and in the meantime ruined some important client relationships with the first one - not delivering the finished products on time. Running two businesses was too much for him as he couldn’t be in two places at once. It would take too long to train a new employee to do this specialized work, which was a difficult and dirty job.



I was only good at the secretarial stuff and (still) had no manly muscles, so I wasn’t a good candidate. The one guy he had spent months training became a party animal so you can just imagine what that was like. After losing clients he finally threw in the towel and gave up production. Since we had become good friends while I worked for him he asked me if I wanted the business in its new form. At this point he had already informed me he was shutting down the office, so I’d be losing $300 per week. I knew I had to find another job. But if I took over the business and ran it from my home, on the side I could make an easy $50-$100 on every sale (at least), so I thought I’d be a fool to say no. He signed it over to me for nothing and I became a dealer. Now that production was no longer an option, he sold the equipment and got a little money out of the deal.

So, the company that supplied the product to me for resale would now handle the production. This raised the final prices, and made it more difficult to entice customers. The market is an extremely small and competitive one in my area as it is. And rising fuel prices haven’t helped any as costs in the industry have gone up dramatically (rather than slightly) every year since 2004, which just happened to be the year I was handed this so-called business opportunity.

There have been some good times, though. I secured a client on my own for a couple of years and it helped pay some bills. But he was having too much difficulty turning a profit and it didn’t make financial sense for him to stay in it. Funny, I wasn’t making a killing either so I couldn’t lower the prices for him. It was fun while it lasted.

So instead of being a proud profiting business owner, I work another job and bend over on a regular basis for fear of losing that job and having to rely solely on my flailing business. What’s so wrong with kissing the ass of someone who is turning a decent profit and can afford to keep you fed?

Forget I said that. It could really be misinterpreted.


Has it ever been tough for you to just say no to your boss?