First Sunburn of the Summer
Today was stupid for a number of reasons.
Perhaps a better way to phrase this is that today I was stupid in a whole lot of situations.
So I'm working at the golf course. I'm supposed to be the one who knows what she's doing. So my co-worker and I are smushing dirt back into the ground after it had so rudely been pulled out by an aerator. Suddenly my phone rings. It's my boss (whom I can see just down the fairway). He asks me to grab him a hose, a something-something and a nozzle. If the something-something wasn't in the shop, check the clubhouse, it may be there. So I tell my co-worker that we're going on a little trip to the shop to grab some things, let's take a break from stomping sod back into place (which is a relief).
So we take the Club Car up to the shop, look for hoses, fail, check the lower shed, fail again, ask people in clubhouse if they have any so-and-so's, convince people we and our boss are crazy, fail, go back down to shop, consider taking shop hose, decide to call Nate, Nate doesn't answer, fail again. Nate calls back a few minutes later. I tell him we can't find the so-and-so's, he says they're in the PUMPhouse. I say, "OH, I thought you said CLUBhouse. Now I feel like an idiot." We go to the pumphouse, get the so-and-so, but still no hose. Suddenly Renae says, "Nate told me there are hoses in the old pumphouse if we ever need them." I looked at her and said, "You've known that this whole time?" Go to old pumphouse, it smells like twine, get hose, go back to fairway. Ask Nate what to do with hoses. "Just go set it by 6 green, I need to wash off the aerator." Fail again, for me. I thought we were going to be watering the fairways or something.
So I go by myself to set up the hose so he doesn't have to do it himself. I know what I'm doing. I start setting it up the way I was taught, the way I've always done it. Put the nozzle on the hose, put the so-and-so in the hooby-whatzit in the ground that connects to the water from the pond, connect hose to so-and-so. Turn so-and-so so that water starts flowing through to hose. Success. Water is flowing. But there is water spouting from the seam of the hose and the nozzle. I try to tighten it but it doesn't want to stop leaking. So I go to turn off the so-and-so. You are supposed to turn it the opposite way of the way you turned it on. Makes sense, right? So I'm turning it, rather slowly I thought, when suddenly this giant tidal wave of pond water comes up and splashes my face, chest, and somehow my right pant leg. I stood there, stunned, for about 10 seconds, partly from cold-water shock, partly to make sure no one had witnessed my embarrassing epic fail. No one had seen. Needless to say, I decided to leave the hose and the so-and-so for Nate to deal with.
I thought about maybe going back to the shop to get a towel to dry off, but all the towels up there are for wiping up grease and other gross secretions, and I didn't want to rub any grease and secretions on myself, so I nixed that idea. Maybe I could go home because of something like that? It was a bit chilly after all, maybe I could plead "impossible working conditions" and take the rest of the day off. But I didn't even do that the time I got hit by a golf ball last year, so I didn't think that something as measly as water was going to get me out of work. So I simply drive my wet ass back to the fairway where my co-workers were. As soon as Renae saw the dark areas on my clothes and my rat-like hair, she doubled over laughing.
"So, when shutting off the water from the ground, turn it slowly, so it does not spray back up at you," I said as I approached her. "This is not a good day for me."
As it reached 80 million degrees that afternoon, my shirt dried very quickly and I got a massive sunburn to boot.
---->
Last night I had an odd dream.
I was with a few people at an establishment that was clear to me in the dream but has left my memory now. We walked into a room where there were lots more people, some or most of which I recognized as friends or acquaintances, or people from my past with whom I have not spoken in ages. I realized quickly that it was some sort of religious gathering. "This is strange," I thought to myself, because I am not a particularly religious person, and neither were some of the people in the room. In fact, most of them were very anti-organized religion. Yet, there we were. I stood next to the people with whom I had come into the room, and a few other people that just make me laugh to think that they were even there. There was some sort of discussion being had, it was almost as if I had fallen asleep during the discussion and woken up midway and realized that the conversation had turned to the topic of the song "What a Piece of Work Is Man" from the musical HAIR, with which I am OBSESSED. Somehow it did not really phase me in the dream. What are the odds that we would be talking about my favorite musical at a religious gathering? "I should probably say something. How often will I have this opportunity to speak up?" I thought to myself. The people around me were talking about the song and how it had to do with dinner. (How it came to this conclusion, I will never know.)
Suddenly, I noticed that Gavin Creel was sitting a few people down from me, as if he had been sitting there the entire time but I had just not noticed. Again, I thought really nothing of it. He stretched his arms as if just waking up from a nap, and exclaimed very lazily, "We are being so young." My hand flew up immediately.
A few more people threw in their lame opinions when I was finally called on to speak. "I was just going to agree with Gavin," I said. "We're talking about one of the most interestingly beautiful songs of this show and we're talking about dinner, when the song is actually about self-worth."
Gavin, who had been sitting erect since he heard me say his name, shouted very excitedly, "YES!" He smiled at me as if he wanted to jump my bones. And so he did.
That last part was a lie. But he did look at me as if I were his new favorite person in the whole world.
But this just goes to show that even in my SLEEP I am analyzing and thinking about HAIR. And if I can't have Gavin Creel in real life, at least he is mine in my dreams. That is when I'm not dreaming about other people (/person).
Random thought of the day: (As if the last few paragraphs weren't random thoughts already...)
I was eating lunch in the clubhouse at work when the show The Drs. came on. I noticed that one of the hosts was a very attractive man dressed in blue scrubs. I just couldn't help but laugh at the fact that they need to dress these people up in hospital-wear to reassure the audience at home that yes, these people ARE actual doctors. Don't worry. They know what they're talking about.
Told you it was random.
I think that's all I've got for now.
Peace.
Molly
Perhaps a better way to phrase this is that today I was stupid in a whole lot of situations.
So I'm working at the golf course. I'm supposed to be the one who knows what she's doing. So my co-worker and I are smushing dirt back into the ground after it had so rudely been pulled out by an aerator. Suddenly my phone rings. It's my boss (whom I can see just down the fairway). He asks me to grab him a hose, a something-something and a nozzle. If the something-something wasn't in the shop, check the clubhouse, it may be there. So I tell my co-worker that we're going on a little trip to the shop to grab some things, let's take a break from stomping sod back into place (which is a relief).
So we take the Club Car up to the shop, look for hoses, fail, check the lower shed, fail again, ask people in clubhouse if they have any so-and-so's, convince people we and our boss are crazy, fail, go back down to shop, consider taking shop hose, decide to call Nate, Nate doesn't answer, fail again. Nate calls back a few minutes later. I tell him we can't find the so-and-so's, he says they're in the PUMPhouse. I say, "OH, I thought you said CLUBhouse. Now I feel like an idiot." We go to the pumphouse, get the so-and-so, but still no hose. Suddenly Renae says, "Nate told me there are hoses in the old pumphouse if we ever need them." I looked at her and said, "You've known that this whole time?" Go to old pumphouse, it smells like twine, get hose, go back to fairway. Ask Nate what to do with hoses. "Just go set it by 6 green, I need to wash off the aerator." Fail again, for me. I thought we were going to be watering the fairways or something.
So I go by myself to set up the hose so he doesn't have to do it himself. I know what I'm doing. I start setting it up the way I was taught, the way I've always done it. Put the nozzle on the hose, put the so-and-so in the hooby-whatzit in the ground that connects to the water from the pond, connect hose to so-and-so. Turn so-and-so so that water starts flowing through to hose. Success. Water is flowing. But there is water spouting from the seam of the hose and the nozzle. I try to tighten it but it doesn't want to stop leaking. So I go to turn off the so-and-so. You are supposed to turn it the opposite way of the way you turned it on. Makes sense, right? So I'm turning it, rather slowly I thought, when suddenly this giant tidal wave of pond water comes up and splashes my face, chest, and somehow my right pant leg. I stood there, stunned, for about 10 seconds, partly from cold-water shock, partly to make sure no one had witnessed my embarrassing epic fail. No one had seen. Needless to say, I decided to leave the hose and the so-and-so for Nate to deal with.
I thought about maybe going back to the shop to get a towel to dry off, but all the towels up there are for wiping up grease and other gross secretions, and I didn't want to rub any grease and secretions on myself, so I nixed that idea. Maybe I could go home because of something like that? It was a bit chilly after all, maybe I could plead "impossible working conditions" and take the rest of the day off. But I didn't even do that the time I got hit by a golf ball last year, so I didn't think that something as measly as water was going to get me out of work. So I simply drive my wet ass back to the fairway where my co-workers were. As soon as Renae saw the dark areas on my clothes and my rat-like hair, she doubled over laughing.
"So, when shutting off the water from the ground, turn it slowly, so it does not spray back up at you," I said as I approached her. "This is not a good day for me."
As it reached 80 million degrees that afternoon, my shirt dried very quickly and I got a massive sunburn to boot.
---->Subject change.
Last night I had an odd dream.
I was with a few people at an establishment that was clear to me in the dream but has left my memory now. We walked into a room where there were lots more people, some or most of which I recognized as friends or acquaintances, or people from my past with whom I have not spoken in ages. I realized quickly that it was some sort of religious gathering. "This is strange," I thought to myself, because I am not a particularly religious person, and neither were some of the people in the room. In fact, most of them were very anti-organized religion. Yet, there we were. I stood next to the people with whom I had come into the room, and a few other people that just make me laugh to think that they were even there. There was some sort of discussion being had, it was almost as if I had fallen asleep during the discussion and woken up midway and realized that the conversation had turned to the topic of the song "What a Piece of Work Is Man" from the musical HAIR, with which I am OBSESSED. Somehow it did not really phase me in the dream. What are the odds that we would be talking about my favorite musical at a religious gathering? "I should probably say something. How often will I have this opportunity to speak up?" I thought to myself. The people around me were talking about the song and how it had to do with dinner. (How it came to this conclusion, I will never know.)
Suddenly, I noticed that Gavin Creel was sitting a few people down from me, as if he had been sitting there the entire time but I had just not noticed. Again, I thought really nothing of it. He stretched his arms as if just waking up from a nap, and exclaimed very lazily, "We are being so young." My hand flew up immediately.
A few more people threw in their lame opinions when I was finally called on to speak. "I was just going to agree with Gavin," I said. "We're talking about one of the most interestingly beautiful songs of this show and we're talking about dinner, when the song is actually about self-worth."
Gavin, who had been sitting erect since he heard me say his name, shouted very excitedly, "YES!" He smiled at me as if he wanted to jump my bones. And so he did.
That last part was a lie. But he did look at me as if I were his new favorite person in the whole world.
But this just goes to show that even in my SLEEP I am analyzing and thinking about HAIR. And if I can't have Gavin Creel in real life, at least he is mine in my dreams. That is when I'm not dreaming about other people (/person).
Random thought of the day: (As if the last few paragraphs weren't random thoughts already...)
I was eating lunch in the clubhouse at work when the show The Drs. came on. I noticed that one of the hosts was a very attractive man dressed in blue scrubs. I just couldn't help but laugh at the fact that they need to dress these people up in hospital-wear to reassure the audience at home that yes, these people ARE actual doctors. Don't worry. They know what they're talking about.
Told you it was random.
I think that's all I've got for now.
Peace.
Molly
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