Everyone's an Olympian!

Happy Olympics everybody! In the midst of all this excitement, I started thinking, wow – I could never possibly do anything those people on the television in front of me are doing. Never, ever. And I couldn’t think of a single person I knew who could. Although I do know many talented people, (sorry little bro – there is no Olympic competition for farting), none of them could ever possibly compare to these crazy athletes!

And then I thought, wow, it must suck to be those kinds of athletes. You have no other life but that activity. However, maybe they like it. I don’t think I would.

Then I started thinking, everyone has GOT to be the best at something, even if they’re not internationally televised for it. Really, you all have something you do that is superbly above 8 billion other people out there. Even if it’s just, you know, sucking the most at doing something. You still are the best at being the worst. Really, that’s a good thing now.

However, if you have absolutely no talents or hobbies, which I hope is a rare occasion in any and all people, there is always one hobby that people can happily and easily enjoy on a regular basis. This hobby is deemed “People Watching”.

Today, even though I am proud to say I have a lot of things I like to do (such as many various old-lady activities like “yarn crafts” and “Weather Channel watching”), I was people watching.

The very best thing about this hobby is the critique you are allowed to do of absolute strangers from afar, without even knowing them! It’s great. It goes like this, “I don’t know you, I probably don’t want to know you (because of _____ which I have just observed about you), but I’m going to label you anyway.”

Today I want to talk about labeling people who wear big or long t-shirts with short shorts. Wow. Not a good combination.

I saw a lady wearing these articles of clothing today. What can we label her as? There are many things in fact: Maybe she has no fashion sense whatsoever. Maybe she likes the double-look reaction people give her as they check to see, if in fact, she is wearing pants; that would label her as attention seeking and therefore maybe sex-deprived, or even so far as a nymphomaniac. But honestly now, wearing that, I would not have any desire towards her. But that’s just me. On the upside, maybe it’s her laundry day and she had no other choice but to wear the last two items of clothing in her closet. The downside to giving her this advantage of optimistic and hopeful doubt is that we must conclude that she’s pretty much a dumb-dumb. Not like delicious and savory little bits of high-fructose corn syrup niblits on a stick. Like the kind of person who doesn’t know any better to NEVER GO OUTSIDE ON LAUNDRY DAY. But perhaps she was forced to do so, like she had an errand to be run ASAP. This, friends, is severely (and I cannot stress that enough) unfortunate.

If you even happen to be in her situation, it will suck for you. Friends, PLEASE PLAN for laundry day. Think about what you have to wear in comparison to what you must leave your house for.
If there is anyway possible to not leave your house wearing this outfit – do so. I mean ANY WAY POSSIBLE. Get someone else to run your errand if you are in this position – friend, relative, a kid you see out your window – I mean it. Put your bathrobe on, hang out your window, flag the kid down and give him a couple of bucks to do whatever it is you think is so brutally important that you must leave your house in your no-no outfit. In fact, if you absolutely must leave the house, just wear your big, fluffy bathrobe. I mean this.

But, she might be the best at going outside looking like she has no pants on. And maybe that’s what’s she’s going for. “I’m the best optical-illusion pants wearer in the world!” Think about it. Now don’t. It’s gross.

On another note, let’s talk about the REAL Olympics. And we’re NOT talking about any “China screwed up our national anthem on purpose” or “China’s only publicizing and endorsing Communism with their opening ceremony” rants. Why? Because those conversations are stupid.

So maybe China screwed up “our song” on purpose. Yeah, right. Whatever. If you think that, you’re dumb too. Why….would they do that? For what purpose? Think about it. None. So shut up.

And what’s so wrong with Communism anyway? Have any one of you people complaining about the opening ceremonies read the Communist Manifesto? I’ll bet you….What’s that? NO you say? That’s right. And Mainland China – The Republic of China – is not even communist. They’re a single-party socialist government. So have a problem with that and stop ripping on the reds. Go vacuum your trailer or something. AMERICA!!!

So ON with the Olympics! Michael Phelps… Wowzers. That pretty much summarizes that one up.

In the words of a person within close proximity to me at this moment, “He’s like a fish. He’s not even like a real person.”

He was 19 years old when he won his first six gold medals, four years ago at the last Olympics, as you all pretty much already know about I’m sure. So now… four years later he’s 23, born exactly two months before me. That makes him eligible. Of course I would NEVER leave my boyfriend for a rich, ripped, gold-medal winning Olympian. I can barely swim one lap, and our children would probably have gills. The first component makes me incompatible with him and the second component just weirds me out (like women running around who may or may not be wearing pants, who knows? You can’t really tell. Freaks me out.). Obviously, that’s not the only reason I would never leave ol’ shnuggy-puts. So don’t jump on me about my Phelps comment, boys. Your bud’s still safe.

Besides, Michael Phelps is like Cary Grant. Women want him, men want to be him, and heck, even men want him too. So how could you blame me? I’m only human.

So that raises my final question here… if my attraction to Cary Grant makes me “only human”, does that mean that my dog is no longer “only a dog” since he got ‘fixed’ yesterday and therefore shouldn’t be attracted to other dogs? Think about that one too.

Over and out. (I’m so dorky. I don’t even care.)