El Guapo And The Spaniards

Now I would be doing myself and you, my followers, a disservice if I didn't tell you about some of my coworkers known simply as...The Spaniards. These gentlemen hail from Mexico, and everyone else at work refers to them as "Mexicans". For some reason I always felt this was a derogatory term towards these hard working individuals. They have assured me it is not. But, I work with three of these guys almost everyday, so I thought I would mix it up a little bit. Now when Dario, Alfonso, Eduardo and myself go out to get some work done. I let everyone know, "It's me and the Spaniards, not me and the Mexicans." I know, I know. Spaniard would normally mean someone from Spain. But how often do you actually cross paths with someone from Spain? Not too often. Now, how about someone that speaks Spanish? (Consider my current location) That answer would be everyday. And I am pretty sure Stache, The Fons, and Ed get a kick out of it. (Those are their nicknames, Stache is Dario, he has the thinnest, out or work porn star mustache I've ever seen. And I think the other two are self explanatory.) I'm a little closer to Stache than Fons and Ed, but that's because Stache speaks way more English than the other two thirds of the Spaniards. My nickname from the boys when I started was "Blondie", which they thought was hilarious. I convinced them to switch it to "El Guapo", which they still think is very funny, but I like that a lot more than "Blondie".

They've taught me a few phrases. Most of them being the bare essentials...What are you doing? Why are you doing that?...Stop doing that. And a few dirty ones, but I'll keep them to myself. This is a family oriented blog.

We enjoy ourselves. Actually they have all the fun by making jokes and laughing hysterically and I laugh along acting like I know what they're saying, but at least we're all laughing. A typical day for us would be, the Spaniards hop aboard their trusty mowers, and grab their handy weed eaters, and I follow them in my convenient cart, helping them whenever they need it...which is not very often. So I end up bouncing around the course helping out wherever needed. Then after a long day, we head back to the shop, they grab their things, I grab my clubs, ask them if they would like to play a quick round, and they say, "No, golf is for the white men." Then we all laugh (I don't know why I always laugh, just trying to fit in I suppose) and we go our separate ways.

So, when you wake up in the morning, go outside and breathe in that fresh air. Step back and think, El Guapo and The Spaniards are somewhere out there, showing Crenshaw Cliffside whose boss, one hole at a time.

A quick weather update, we are one day shy of breaking the all time record of 100 degree days. And there is not another one in sight. We have had a freakish amount of rain the last two weeks (14 inches a few miles from my course) and the temperature has finally dropped down to livable conditions. I'm a little upset. Don't get me wrong, I'll take this weather any day of the week. But after suffering for 66 days, I feel like I should be rewarded. And the only reward I could accept would have to be an all time record...and some sort of trophy or medal...and cash...or one, just one more friggin' day.