Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Stalking Michelle McGann

Back before I knocked up The Wife Unit (and knocked up is a technical term), and subsequently stole her sports car (one of the best roadsters ever made) and she regulated herself to the Mommy VanTM, I used to play golf.

Not exactly by choice. The Wife Unit was an avid golfer. We're talking golf club membership, golfing trips, the works. In order to be able to talk to The Wife Unit and her friends, I decided to take lessons and learn how to play.

Before starting to play, here's how conversations used to go. Picture, if you will, The Wife Unit and her golfing buddies, with me on the side:

Blah blah blah blah blah blah boobies blah blah blah.

And now, after golf lessons:

Blah blah golf blah golf blah boobies blah blah golf.

This was a huge improvement in my information intake.

But I digress. An interesting thing about golf is, it can be all consuming. One dry winter we played four days a week. It was awesome and the memories of smacking that stupid little ball around, feeding the wetlands with other stupid little balls, is something I treasure. And damn it all if I wasn't getting exercise in the bargain. And a cart would come periodically, in which you could purchase booze on your tab you would only have to see once a month. Beer. Liquor. You could even get a fucking martini.

Hell yeah, I was getting into to golf, big time.

But I digress again.

Back to the consuming part. I starting watching golf on TV. We signed up for the Golf Channel, and the Golf Channel was all about playing the Ladies Professional Golf Association tournaments when they were not on a network channel (which was rare).

So I'm sitting there actually watching a complete golf tournament on TV for the first time, and there on the screen was a tall blonde.

In cute little pink shorts.

Playing golf.

And she was hot.

"Who the hell is that?" I ask The Wife Unit.

"That's Michelle McGann. She's pretty, isn't she?"

"And young..."

"So gonna smack you for that one."

"Oh, sorry, did I say that out loud?"

"Pisht. I love her hats," The Wife Unit confesses.

"Mmmm... she's wearing a hat?"


Anyway, my interest in golf grew right then. Blonde Bombshells playing the same game I was playing just tickled me pink.

Then one year, Michelle McGann wrote a book, the The Complete Idiot's Guide to Golf. I loved that book. In clear language, it explained so many things that I was just not picking up in my martini fueled lessons. Then I found out she was going to be at the Safeco Classic, the same tournament my wife was going to be at, volunteering. I formulated a plan right then:

Michelle McGann was going to sign my book.

I've never met a book author, much less a professional golfer. I had signed books in my library, but not a book I personally had one sign. I decided I would attend the tournament on Saturday and Sunday, and have her sign my book on Saturday.

"What if she doesn't make the cut?" The Wife Unit asks when I tell her of my master plot.

"STOP. You are ruining my thirty-second fantasy-come-true meeting with Michelle McGann! Don't say things like that, it isn't nice."

"He he he."

Saturday rolls around. And, there, on the practice putting green, is Michelle McHottie.

Oh my God oh my God oh my God

Michelle is teeing off.

Oh my God oh my God oh my God

Michelle is at the second hole.

Oh my God oh my God oh my God

Michelle is taking a drink of water out of her water bottle.

Oh my God oh my God oh my God

Okay, around Hole #3 I notice these ladies move with a purpose. Smack that ball, move on. At a fast clip, with no pause and no break, and no audience interaction.

Wait... when is she going to sign my book?


I am not one to panic, but when the going gets tough, the tough head to the golfing tournament equivalent of a help desk. Only this is in a tent.

"Yes?" asks the older woman who looks like she has been playing golf for forty years.


"Is there something we can help you with?"

"Uh, I have a book, that, uh Michelle McGann wrote, and I was wondering when would be a good time to ask her to sign it."

The kindly woman giggles and gives me a wink.

Yeah, busted.

"Michelle signs autographs right after the 18th hole."

"Oh." Okay if my brain was actually thinking, I could have figured that one out.

"Is that your book?"

"Yes," I say, and hand it to her.

She smiles after she looks at it. "I think Michelle will be quite happy to sign her book. I haven't seen anyone here yet with it."

Her smile is infectious, and I return it. "Thank you very much!"

"It's a hot day out, don't forget to drink liquids."

Hueh. It's hot alright. It's Michelle McHottie hot!

I maneuver my way back to following Michelle all over the golf course. At the turn, I notice something that I should have noticed before. There are other people following Michelle. I can tell because they watch her every move.

Only, these people are all girls.

Young girls.

Teens and Tweeners, in fact. A few even look at me like I am intruding in their Michelle McGann watching.

And that's when it hits me.

I am a stalker.

I am stalking Michelle McGann.

Well, shoot. You girls can just go suck on eggs. I'm going to have my damn book signed!

After the last hole, Michelle does indeed pause to sign autographs. Only "pause" is a mild description, it was more like "held hostage by my rabid fans". A queue forms, and I am in it. In front of me, girls. I look behind me, more girls.

Oooookay. I'm not just a stalker, clearly, I have moved down to Uncle Pervy territory.

However, Uncle Pervy, while quite and reflective, is not shy, merely observant. I notice an interesting crowd vibe. These girls are in wide-eyed wonder at the exquisitely talented and beautiful Michelle McGann. They quietly hand her things to sign, Michelle signs them, and they quietly leave. It is a silent ritual of autographing.

Ha, sit down girls; let me show you how it's done.

And here I am. At Michelle.

Oh my God oh my God oh my God

I hand her my book and she beams a big smile. Instead of driving me down into a tongue-tied social abyss where all these girls are currently wallowing, I feel honest warmth coming from the woman, and it loosens me up.

"I wanted to thank you for writing your book, I found it very helpful," I say, looking her right in the eye.

"You are quite welcome! What is your name?"

Oh my God oh my God oh my God

Michelle is stunning in person, but now up close and personal, her voice, oh man. It was low and measured, one of those sexy women voices you encounter rarely, a voice of feminine sultriness mixed with brandy while nibbling on dark chocolate. That's what Michelle sounds like.

I suddenly realize I am mere seconds from looking like an idiot (just like it says on the cover) by not answering.


She writes something in the book, and hands it back to me.

"Thank you very much," I say.

"You're welcome," she purrs.

Oh my God oh my God oh my God

I beat feet away from the girl crowd, and I see I am actually getting glares from some for daring to speak to their Goddess.


Quickly I abscond behind a big cedar tree, and open my book to read what she wrote:


Swing for success!


It was the first book I had someone sign for me. I walked 18 Holes and braved the Teen/Tween Fan Club of Doom. And I talked to her. In person.

My library has many signed books, but this one is special to me. I don't play golf anymore (two kids shifted The Wife Units interests and we sold the golf membership). While not swinging for success, I was inspired in a different (non-stalking) way, to write something someone, anyone, would someday enjoy. I am doing my best to write for success.

And you Teen/Tweener girls? Yeah, I owned you. When confronted by the person you are stalking, be sure to say "please" and "thank you", and your Goddess may grace you with a smile, as long as you buy her book and read it.


  1. This story totally cracked me up : )

    Honestly, I am in a coffee shop, but I couldn't help but laugh out loud, especially on the line where you realize you are a stalker. Great stuff. Funniest story I've read for quite a while. Send it off somewhere and let me know how that goes.

  2. swing for success - great lesson wrapped up in that delightfully hilarious story... swing on!

  3. Anthony

    Thank you for including me in your blog!

    Best wishes,

    Michelle McGann

  4. HAH!

    I LOL'ed. Especially after the comments. :D


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