Back in Baltimore.

8 weeks left. Maybe I should start counting days of class. Let's see...38 days of class. Yeah, baby.

While Jason and I were talking last night, he reminded me about a funny story about Sam Lau. So, instead of your ode, Sam, you get to hear this story.

One balmy California summer evening about 2 (or maybe 3) years ago, a group of 20 some young adults gathered in Castro Valley to play mini-golf (which some refer to as pee-wee golf and others call put-put). Since our group was too large, we broke up into smaller groups to play through the holes. We formed the fantastic team of Darrell, Noch, Sam, and myself. Why I was the only girl in this group is beyond me, but it is totally irrelevant to this story.

So what happened? Around hole 3, I think it was, we lined up for the first put. This hole is the one that has a vertical circular ramp. The golf ball must be hit so it travels around the inner face of the loop and comes out on the other side. Sam places his golf ball down, and takes a swing. The ball flies toward the metal ramp. The clunk of a golf bar against metal, followed by an "Ogh!" Darrell, Noch, and I turn, to see Sam rubbing his head. Next thing I know, Darrell is laughing so hard, he's curled up on the ground. So, Sam swung WAY too hard, the ball hit the ramp and bounced straight back hitting Sam on the head.

Poor Sam. Not only did he hit himself in the head with his own golf ball, but around hole 10 he lost his golf ball. No, he did not hit it into the water, but we were at the hole that looks like a big ski ball game. Sam takes a big swing, and his ball disappeared into la-la land.

So, as wonderful as you may be at laser tag, you suck at mini-golf.

Hahaha. I'm asking for it now.