Because I laughed

Hysterically, so hard I cried, at this:

Creep

So, we're listening to Pandora Radio here at work and Stone Temple Pilots comes on.

Creep

and of course, I know I'm not the only one to imagine this song sung by a paraplegic but I did. And I admitted it. And therefore, I'm going to hell.

In keeping with the Olympic theme

The other night there was a post to Facebook from I don't know who. The post said something to the effect of:

"Why am I even watching the weightlifting competition"

to which I ALMOST replied:

"Because you're hoping to see an anal prolapse?"

which I totally could have said to Vickey if it had been her, but this was a person I don't know well.

Imagine my horrfied delight when there was news of a "Horrific Weightlifting Injury" on Yahoo news today. WITH PICTURES!

Imagine my disappointment when the guy just had a dislocated elbow.

I do hope he heals up quick and has lots of painkillers.

Olympic version

we were watching the Olympics last night and talking about raising future Olympians. My friend who has small children said that he doesn't want his kids to grow up to be uber jocks, he wants them to graduate from high school and go to college and be normal kids.

He pointed out that often, when a person's entire life is geared towards one thing that when that thing is over, they don't know what to do with themselves. To which i replied:

"Yeah, look at Greg Lougainis. He went gay and caught the AIDS!"

Heartless

Upon completion of the Sierra Recon course I said "Well it wasn't too bad-at least no one died".  Forgetting that someone did in fact die of heart failure or something.

Naughty Heathen

Apparently the wife and I have been very good over the past many months because we haven't been figuratively banishing ourselves to hell. Or at least not in memorable ways. Because I forgot them all.

But today. Today I am going to hell for talking all day to my coworker about whoopie pies. The kind that Bratty makes. Ok, I've only had Bratty's whoopie pies AND I didn't actually specify to my coworker what kind, but in my mental taste memory, I am totally imagining Bratty's whoopie pies.

Mostly, this is because I read a blog entry about mararons today and in my mind, they taste the same. Or the innards do. I would like to make mararons so that I can see what all the fuss is about. Not tonight though, I am busy.

Why does this make me evil? Why am I going to hell? Because my coworker gave up sweets for Lent and I had to admit, out loud this time, or, you know, via IM, that it's moments like those that I am glad I am a heathen.

That means I don't have to sacrifice anything or make promises to God and Jesus and therefore they won't be disappointed in me if I eat a whoopie pie.

or a whole damn box of Girl Scout Cookies.

Thankfully, I reminded her, if she does slip up, she will be forgiven.

My jeans are not as forgiving as God and Jesus. When my ass gets too big for my britches, they refuse to cover it and everyone sees my crack. I am NOT okay with that.