Saturday was not my best day. I mean, there is all kind of shit going on in the world, and people have real problems, and all that. So if you have a real problem, and you don’t want to read about my whiny shit, that’s cool. But if you stick around, you might laugh at the end.

So I had a big golf match on Saturday morning. I played really well last week, and planned to win handily this week. Instead I couldn’t hit the broad side of a fucking barn and lost by four strokes. In sweltering heat. My tee shots looked like boomerangs. To add to the fun, I strained some muscle or tendon in my forearm, probably in part from weightlifting earlier in the week.

On the drive home I’m racing my friend on the turnpike at 105 mph, and I see this car ahead, so I figure I should change lanes. Well, I forgot that I was traveling 40 mph faster than the speed limit, so by the time I check my mirrors and blind spot for the lane change, I’m nearly on top of the car I intended to pass. I missed it by ten feet. Maybe less. That’s really smart. On the other hand, my car handled the 105-mph swerve better than I expected.

At home I decide to mow the lawn, and so I grab my iPod and newly-acquired fancy earphones that seal inside your ear to block outside noise. They’re really nice, but they only sound good if you seal them properly. Well, I couldn’t get the fucking things to stay in, so I kept stopping every five seconds to try and cram them back in, and they kept falling out, and by the end I very nearly took ’em out and smashed both of those earbuds with a ball peen hammer. It didn’t help that it was 102 degrees without a breath of wind. Fuck those fucking earphones.

Finally I finish the lawn and go back inside. I’m still furious about the golf swing. I always have a couple of clubs in my living room, because I have a twenty-foot vaulted ceiling, so I can swing freely without fear of hitting anything. Anyway, I decide to make some practice swings. I’ve done this roughly one million times before with no problems. I’m pretty good at golf, after all. But my forearm was really hurting, so I wasn’t exactly gripping the club properly. On top of that my hands were sweaty from the lawn mowing. You can probably guess what happened.

Yeah, the club came out of my hand at, oh, I don’t know, 90 miles an hour. Where it flew into the wall above my fireplace. Where the club head buried itself ten inches into the drywall and insulation. It sounded like someone shot a gun in the living room.

Then the club falls out of the wall (all of this happens in about three seconds while I stand there, frozen, speechless, still unsure of exactly what happened), tumbles onto the mantel, and breaks two picture frames (one of them glass) and knocks a thirty-six-inch wide mirror onto the ground. The mantel is almost six feet from the floor, and somehow that mirror didn’t break. I still don’t understand it.

Needless to say I made myself a stiff drink afterwards. Here’s a photo, which somehow doesn’t do justice to the damage. The hole is about five inches tall and four inches wide. Anybody good at repairing drywall?