THE GOLF COURSE
The other day at the golf course, one of the regulars was celebrating a promotion and buying drinks for his friends. After beer, champagne, wine, vodka, and port, he felt it necessary to come talk to me where I was chatting with the bartender. "Jennifer," he said, "I think that all men who have known you - not known you in the biblical sense. All men who have known you have found you difficult." He went on to say that he liked me very much and that I added a lot to the atmosphere of the restaurant, but I am difficult.
Hmm, I didn't think I was that difficult. Any feedback on the ramblings of a drunk?
But the mayor and the radio announcer think I'm a nice girl.
I watch a lot of sports at work. I'm saddened by the end of the NHL playoffs partly because the Oilers lost and partly because that means I'll be watching more golf and baseball. Thank goodness for FIFA World Cup. I am not a huge football (as in Canadian football, not soccer) fan. But growing up, I remember one player who would do flips after touchdowns. Good old Gizmo.
I served him a ginger ale at the golf course this week. A celebrity I'd actually heard of.
BACK TO THE PORT
For three years of my life, I lived in the town of Caronport, beside the Trans-Canada highway in Saskatchewan while I attended Briercrest Bible College. My brothers and cousins followed me there, only to attend the high school. A few years ago, my aunt and uncle moved their house there. This year was Jonathan's turn to graduate so Gregg, Stef (Grant's girlfriend) and I piled into Gregg's overly loud T-Bird and headed for Saskatchewan.
It's already been four years since my college commencement. My sixteen year old cousin Michael told me that I'm old. But it didn't hit home until I started recognizing some of the various people I went to college with.
One of the trombonists from my time at Briercrest was there with his wife and son. His hairline was receding even back then, but now most of his upper scalp is exposed. It wouldn't look so bad if he didn't have a mushroom hair cut. It reminded me of Curly from the Three Stooges.
THE NEVER ENDING BEETLE SAGA
One of the cooks at work is stalking me. He reports to me every day where he's seen my car in the city. He even figured out where I live. Thankfully, he's happily married and not creepy so I don't have to worry. Just another example of the farting beetle's star calibre.
She has acquired yet another quirk. When I drive home at night with the headlights on and make a turn, the headlights alternate between bright and dim. So now I am forever flashing my headlights at whoever is unfortunate enough to be on the road with me.
FREE TIME
For some reason, everyone is dying ot know what I do in my free time. The answer is easy: I sleep.
