:Fore!:

My name is Sam, and for me, golf is kryptonite.

Of course, I should say that in all honesty, I've mostly only ever (how's that for 3rd-grade English?) played mini-golf...

...as in, I've only ever been real golfing once in my life. And it was only nine holes, at that. With clubs that were likely too short for me. And no official training whatsoever.

It was an interesting experience. We (my brother and I) played the back nine holes at a local course  with a couple of guys we knew, who were actually pretty big into golf. Ben and I had never (at that time anyway) cared much fore the sport (no pun intended)...in fact, you couldn't convince me at that point in my life that it actually was a sport, much like country music isn't music...

Wait, that's my 14-year-old self speaking.

Needless to say, things change over the years (don't worry, my definition of 'sport' and 'music' are much, much, much broader, now...)

So we decided to give it a shot (no pun intended) anyway, and see how it turned out.

I'm pretty sure I broke every golf rule there is that day. 

Being new, I had no clue the different tee-off spots were gender-specific (they may not be as tight about this everywhere, but at this particular place, it was a big faux-pas. So I teed off several times from the wrong place until I was corrected.

Then, I couldn't get the swing of (again, no pun intended) hitting with the driver (I found it awkward and didn't feel like I could get control of it properly), so I did all my driving with an 8-iron.

My drives were almost always good, and I'd usually make it to the green in two shots, unless there was a water feature on the hole...in which case, I always found the drink, rather than the green.

A fair ways (okay, okay, these puns are definitely intended) in, I realized that, aside from the water, what was hurting my score was my putting. Which seemed really ridiculous to me, since all I had ever done with a golf ball (aside from playing baseball with them) was mini-putting. Seemed to me I should have been pro at that part of the game. Apparently not.

By the end of the game, I hadn't really improved on my hole-to-hole score, and ended the nine holes with a score of 99. 

My only consolation? My brother scored 111 on the same nine holes.

I haven't been since then, partly because I don't think those two guys ever wanted to be seen on  by golf course with us again, and partly because I've never had the money to give it an honest try--it's a pretty pricey game.

Maybe one day. I'd imagine, that at the very least, I'd do better than I did that time. Then again, who knows?

My name is Sam, and for me, golf is kryptonite.

:Keys:

My name is Sam, and I have actually only done this once.

It was a complete "brain fart", as they say. I had been driving since three in the morning, on my way back to Alberta from Kelowna for my then-fiancee's (now wife) graduation from college. I was in Banff, Alberta, fueling up my little, red Dodge Colt for the second leg of the journey.

At the time, in typical late-nineties/early 2000's fashion (even though it was by now the mid-2000's), I kept my keys on a lanyard. It was an easy way for me to keep track of them, with what essentially amounted to a bright red ribbon hanging off of them. 

But one thing you need to know about me: I am anal when it comes to my keys, wallet, phone, etc. I always put them back in the same spot...they never leave my hand if they aren't either in my pocket, the ignition, or that spot...and I never ever lock my house or car without first checking that I've got my keys in my hand.

So, I got out of my car, started pumping gas, and went inside to pay (unlike in BC, Alberta still allowed post-pay at some places, rather than always being pre-pay). When I came out and attempted to get into my car, I found it locked.

No problem, self! I thought, reaching into my pocket for my keys. I'll have us out of here in a jiffy! (Though, why I was talking as if my self was several different people, and why one of them used the word 'jiffy' is still a mystery to me). But then, these thoughts were quickly followed by: Oh, no, self! We have a BIG problem!, along with all the heart-dropping-to-your-feet, stomach-roiling-like-a-hurricane sensations a roller coaster fanatic could ask for (please note: none of the aforementioned 'selves' are roller coaster fanatics).

For you see, unbeknownst to me until this moment, this particular time, I had failed to check that my keys were in my hands before locking the door. They were, therefore, hanging cheerily from my ignition without a care in the world, waiting for me patiently. They weren't in any hurry.

So I ran back into the kiosk, and asked the attendant if he had a slim jim or a coat hanger I could use to jimmy my lock...he had neither. So he directed me to the phone number for the only towing company in town.

Now, the thing is, when you are the only company who provides a service in a particular town, and the town in question is the only town for miles and miles in any direction, you can charge whatever you want for the services you offer. When I called the towing company, I expected the price it currently cost  to pop a lock in Kelowna, which was about $40 (I knew this because I worked at a dealership in town...not because this had happened before). As much as I hated the idea of spending $40 I didn't really have on something like this, it had to be done.

When the trucker arrived, he took out a small wedge (it looked like a door stop), shoved it between my window and the rubber seal, slipped a slim jim into the gap, popped the lock, and began writing up the invoice for his services.

Yes, it was that fast. I'm pretty sure you can't read that sentence faster than he popped the lock.

When he handed me the invoice, I just about fell over backwards.

$70.

Yes, $70 for thirty seconds of work. I'm in the wrong business.

I paid him (obviously), and went on my way. Needless to say, I haven't made that same mistake ever again since that day.

And I've since then always carried a spare, just on the off-chance...

My name is Sam, and I have actually only done this once. Thank goodness.

:Brave:

My name is Sam, and as I've said before, I may *sometimes* have a hard time working up the courage to say the things that need to be said.

The above could literally be true of me, were I to actually have a crush that I was interested in calling up to ask out on a date.

Of course, once upon a time, I did. Have a crush, that is. And yes, I had to work up the courage to tell her I liked her (which is a story I've already told here)... And I may have had to work up the courage for a couple other things, as well.

Like actually starting to date her. You see, once I had told (my now wife) that I liked her, I left the conversation at that. We went back to the coffee shop, and played a game of cards with a friend.

It was the week after by the time I finally realized that I should probably do something about this newfound affirmation that she liked me as well. So there ensued another (this time not quite so painfully cold or drawn-out) conversation on the subject of "now what?" (It took me some time to work up the guts to suggest anything).

But that wasn't the last time it took me a while to muster up the gumption to actually say or do something important.

Like the first time I held hands with my wife. We had been dating for a little while, and I was nervous somehow that I would still scare her off. We went on several walks a week, just to talk and get off campus and hang out for a while. On one of these walks, it took me almost an hour (the end of our walk) to finally just reach over and grab her hand. Apparently, I didn't scare her off!

Or the time I finally decided to tell her I loved her for the first time. I may have fumbled through this conversation even more so than the first one when I told her I liked her. And by "May have", I mean I definitely did. Even when I finally "got up the courage", what came out was: "Uh, so I think I....uh....might uh....know.....this guy....um...who kinda...well,...he might just...love you"

Ouch.

Yup, that's me. The king of romantic speech.

Which is funny, because I'm usually pretty good with my words. I guess it's just tough when it holds so much weight.

I mean, I still remember the first (and close to only) time (while still living at home) that I ever called my parents to task on something. It scared the spit out of me. And it took me forever to work up the courage to do. Not because my parents are scary people (or my wife, either, for that matter...)... But just because I have a tough time with this stuff.

Thankfully, I DID have the courage to tell my crush I liked her...and ask her out on a date... And hold her hand... And tell her I loved her... And ask her to marry me (which actually seemed easier at the time than the first few steps had seemed)...and here we are, 5 1/2 years later.

Now it's just a matter of working up the courage to ask someone to babysit our kids so we can have an evening alone from time to time... :-)

My name is Sam, and as I've said before, I may *sometimes* have a hard time working up the courage to say the things that need to be said.