I think I may perhaps have a higher self-esteem than I thought; or maybe I have some grandiose and narcissistic tendencies I was previously unaware of. Now, in general, I’m definitely not a love-a of myself, but more of a hate-a. Holla!
I’ve been watching the Olympics, and for some reason I think I could do everything as good as these seasoned, disciplined athletes, or maybe even better. I was watching the women swim last night, and they seemed like they were going so s l o w. And I’m thinking to myself, Why didn’t they ask me to swim with them? I could totally beat all their toned asses. And then, for a brief moment, I realize that I have the lungs of an 80 year old woman who has smoked 17 packs a day for 79 years of her life. My asthma is so bad; I can barely walk from the bed to the couch lest I collapse in a coughing fit before turning on the TV. But still. I could win a gold medal. I bet.
And gymnastics? Don’t even get me started on it. I have the grace of an antelope.
I don’t think antelope is the animal I’m going for, but I do know I’m searching for some sort of breed of deer. What’s it called? Okay, hold on, I’m going to Wikipedia this shiz up.
[7 minutes later]
Well, Google and Wikipedia suck. I can’t find the word I’m looking for. Does anyone know what I’m talking about? Suffice it to say, my 37 inch stems are the deer-est of them all.
But I refuse to attempt beam. I seriously hold my breath for their entire routine when the gymnasts are performing, except for China, because they’re winning everything and I’m getting sick of it and would love to see a really awesome fall, but with no injuries, because that would just be plain awful. (But I do love seeing fun Asians everywhere!) I don’t understand why people think walking and flipping and gyrating (Ha, I wish!) and spinning on a 4 inch beam raised off the floor is sane. It’s not. It’s absolutely not.
And don’t get me started on the age controversy of the Chinese gymnasts. They’re practically still fetuses. Their blue eye shadow and sparkles (that really, are in bad taste and don't work at all with their skin tone) cannot disguise the fact they still have baby fat on their faces, and no fat (or breasticles) anywhere on their body. Wtf, man?
You know, people talk a lot about how they feel so sorry for these athletes, because they don’t have a life, and they’ve trained their whole lives and were home-schooled and are probably socially retarded and are breaking their bodies down, and probably have never tasted sugar or white flour in their life, but man. Is my life any better? I’ve wasted my entire life on anorexia, trained – if you will – for years, and I’m breaking my body down, and until recently, I didn’t have sugar or white flour, and I’m borderline socially retarded (or at least socially phobic).
This is so depressing, this realization: I don’t get a gold medal for my endeavors.
Maybe I should have shot for the Olympics instead.
EDIT: Ah! I just remebered the deer word I was going for: Gazelle. I have the grace of a gazelle!! I LOVE GAZELLES!!!