Okay, we are going from the ridulous to the siblime. The Masters, in a desperate attempt to keep their illustrious golf course women-free, is not going to have corporate sponsors or commercials next year? Exactly what point are they trying to make.

"We hate women, and to prove it, we won't let you watch any commercials!"

Where golf is concerned, there are two types of women. Women who play golf, and women who hate golf.

Care to guess which group I fall into?

I'll save you the hassle: I HATE golf. It is the most moronic sport on the planet. You hit a ball, then you chase it. When you catch it (or actually when it stops moving) you hit it again. If you are lucky, after 4, 5, or 10 tries, the ball falls into a hole. Then you do it all over again.

If I can't get my dog to wear a sweater and bring me a beer, then why would I want to put on a silly outfit and chase a ball on a oversized backyard? Golf is nothing but fetch for humans, and if my dog is too good to play the game, then I know I am too.

So to all you overwieght, tradition-clinging, irrational-thinking, southern-(fill in the blank with the bible thumping religion of your choice), bureautratic, not-a-clue-what-is-going-on-in-the-real-world-because-my-wife-with-too-much-time-on-her-hands-keeps-me-out-of-the-loop-cuz-I-like-it-that-way board members of the Augusta Golf Course can keep your little boys club just that. Suits me just fine.

###

Since the annual turning of the clocks last week, the weather has seemed to become much more enjoyable. The birds are chirping, things are turning green, and my lilacs are just in the beginning stages of blooming.

It's only a matter of time before I am trading my hat and gloves for a baseball cap and a box of tissues.

Allergies. I am allergic to everything. Typing the A-word gives me hives.

What makes it worse is that I am the only member of my family that has them. My daughter could stick a whole pollen-covered flower up her nose while shaving a cat and mowing the lawn and she would be just fine. Hubby is the same way.

Then there is me. I spend most of the end of April through the beginning of June in a constant allergic state. It's a pain in the ass really. Most people plan their activities around the weather report, ie is it going to rain, will it be warm...I check the pollen count. If it's above a certain amount, I don't leave the house. Of course, normally, if it's that bad, I don't need to check the pollen count. I already know.

What burns my you-know-what the most about it is that others profit from my misery. I was at the drug store earlier today and the pharmacist was smiling at me. So, I spoke to him

"Great weather we're having," he replied.

"Yes, it is lovely," I answered, browsing for deoderant. Hubby will only wear a certain kind and it's hard to find and expensive to bbot. Once I tried to fool him by buying a cheaper kind and swapping the label from an old bottle with the cheaper kind...I got busted. It wasn't pretty. Didn't smell pretty either. But I digress.

"The birds are singing, the sun in high in the sky and bright...and the flowers are beginning to bloom."

"Yes, they are," I answered debating between the "sproty" and "just showered" scents of the deoderant.

"The animals will begin to shed their winter coats, grass is going to need mowed. Yep, the pollen is gonna be flying. They say this could be a record year in our area!"

I turned to smile at him again, and I could have sworn I saw a single tear trickle down his face...and I think he was beginning to drool. I bade a hasty retreat, bought the deoderant (sproty scent) and fled the drug store.

It's not the guy standing on the corner that is trying to sell you crack that you need to worry about. It's perverts like the allegra peddling pharmacist that have you under thier thumb.
- posted by Kim @ 6:47 PM