There's no cell phone reception in my hotel. Yesterday, walking around the lobby, I looked as if I was testing for some sort of nuclear contamination as I watched the bars on my cell phone go from one to two to none. I searched aimlessly for detection. 'What if someone's trying to reach me?' Unlikely. Finally from the parking lot, with my back toward Winn Dixie, the phone at a 115.2 degree angle from my head and my other arm lifted 5.2 centimeters from the metal railing overlooking the man-made nature pond, I was able to get three bars. I called Phyllis.
"I'm a little bored and depressed."
"I read your blog. You're probably just experiencing the after effect of junk food digestion."
"Junk food digestion. Is that like a real disorder?"
She didn't answer. It was a rhetorical question anyway. She went on prompting what my feelings of despair were about.
I went into it. Caught her up to speed seeing that I hadn't really talked to her since itinerary 16b was put into place. I was now on 17d.
As my body moved, I couldn't hold that stance too long, her words became distorted: "Have fun...eat...men."
Not willing to detect more contamination, I let her go, took a nap and felt much better afterward.
Later my family and I went miniature golfing and then out to dinner at Olive Garden.
Why is it that pirates are a big theme for miniature golf courses? I don't recall Captain Hook putting on a green felt incline dodging cannons and anchors. Unless of course I missed that part of Peter Pan. Or maybe it was in the first Pirates of the Caribbean movie which I've yet to see. Was Johnny Depp aiming for a hole-in-one on a double-tiered trajectory that traverses through a waterfall? Regardless, the Tinkerbell in me did fairly well golfing last night. My sister beat me by two points but if you take out the 4 I got on hole 8 (I was distracted by a passing queer -- I didn't think they existed in these parts), I would have beat her.
I managed two hole-in-ones. Something I am very proud of. And, one of them I did on the hardest hole. Hole 16 was par 3. I walked up the small plank holding onto the rope for support, my sea legs were a little rusty. I eyed the course, planning my strategy. I felt a bit like a pirate 'ahoy maties' I said to myself. I didn't want my siblings to think I was really losing it; they already have their doubts. So I used my inside-head voice. I just imagined the crew cheering me on, me a cross between Tinkerbell and Johnny Depp yet with a streak of Tiger Woods. I placed my blue ball (it matched my shirt) on the little divot. It's hard to see the divots at this course. Maybe that's why it's so challenging. I was use to those little black mats with three pre-drilled holes in which to choose from. Here it was any pirates guess.
Anyway, the crew cheered me on. I could just see it: my mother in pirate hat; my brother with a wooden leg and my sister dressed in a beard with a parrot on her shoulder. "Hole in one! Hole in one! Hole in one!" they cheered. I felt the sway of the boat. I looked out across Route 1A, the ocean by my side. 'Ah ha! There's land ahoy!' I wasn't sure if I was phrasing it correctly I was never one to play pirates, I preferred Barbie dolls. Regardless, with blue ball on the quasi-divot I perfected the pro-golf stance. I channeled Tiger Woods or at least the images I saw of him when my Dad would watch him on television and with exquisite aim and just the right amount of force I hit my blue ball. It rolled down the fake grass, hitting a brick (I didn't know pirates had bricks on their ships), ricocheting off a fake rock. I knew it was fake by the hollow sound it made when my ball hit it. It then traveled down the course way lumping along the green felt. I got nervous, fingers in mouth. It went down to the lower level. Those damn tiered ones make me a nervous wreck. For a second I thought it was going to get hung up by the wooden pylons wrapped in plastic rope but no. It rolled right by coming centimeters from the hole. "Oh!" I heard my maties screech. We thought I missed it but, as fate would have it, it hit the back bricks (God those pirates were big on bricks) and bounced forward landing right in the hole.
Cheers erupted! "Ahoy maties!" I let my true-voice speak.
I was hoping the Daytona Beach news team would be at hand. The could have interviewed me at least. But they wouldn't take my calls. Besides my cell phone reception wasn't very good. I thought about racing back to the hotel to perfect my stance by the Holiday Inn man-made pond to get a hold of Channel 7 but my "maties" convinced me otherwise.
It was then off to Olive Garden for a "real" meal. I had two glasses of wine. I watched my mother eyeing me: 'Two glasses of wine! I hope my son's not turning into an alcoholic,' her glare said.
'Fuck it! I'm on vacation.' I thought slamming back Olive Garden's best Pinot Noir. Besides I just got a hole in one on the most difficult hole at Pirates of Adventure Miniature Golf. I was proud.
I ordered everything. It was going to be my treat. Tinkerbell was celebrating. And, fuck this wasn't McDonalds!