I Feel Vancouver in my Socks

Can you feel it in the air? It's coming....

I am not talking about anything other than the Winter Olympics. I am a huge fan, as you know, evidenced by the fact that I wanted to name my dog (Molly) Michelle Kwan because I adopted her (Molly) on the day MK dropped out of the Olympics four years ago. Sadly, the name was veto'ed by Robin who did not think it would be fucking hiLARious to be able to say to people, "oops, gotta crack open a window. I got Michelle Kwan in a kennel in the back of my car".

He's allowed his opinion, of course, but one of us works in sustainable energy and one of us writes a humor blog. I'm just saying.

I love Michelle Kwan and if she knew me she'd love me, too; I am certain of this. Well, I'd have to win her over first, of course, since I probably don't make the best first impression on athletes, what with my stealth muscles (hidden extremely successfully by my layers of fat, if I say so myself) and the glass of wine in my hand at most hours of the day. Plus, I don't exactly have that champion attitude. My attitude is more, say, Eyeore, than Tony the Tiger. But still, I think  Michelle could learn to love me. Especially if I got her stoned and read her my blog posts in funny accents. But not a Chinese one. Oh God, wouldn't that be horrible? There we'd be, getting along swimmingly, scarfing down our pot brownies, and suddenly I break into some offensive, old school "ah SO" Chinese accent. That would be just like me to do it, too, because once my brain fixates on "Don't do it", all my ears hear is the "Do it" part. Plus, then I'd probably have to tell her about the pot in the brownies, as well. You know, as my excuse for the racist accent. And she'd surely reach for her coat and triple lutz her way out of my house.

And then I'd have run after her and yell something self-loathingly anti-Semitic, like, "wait! Do you like my sweater? I totally jewed down those Schnozzolas at Nordstrom to get it half price" just to prove that I do not hate Chinese people; I merely lack appropriate boundaries.

Oh God, and then, I just know it, somehow my Mom would hear my Jew remark, even though she lives a thousand miles away, and I'd have to reassure her I am not a self-loathing Jew and repeat what I told MK about my having no appropriate boundaries. Of which, being a therapist and my mom, she is already quite keenly aware.

Well, that's all conjecture. Right now, I have bigger things to think about. The Olympics are but a few weeks away and you know what that means:

Sock Figure Skating in my bedroom.

My floor is polished and slippery, my socks are clean, furniture has been moved against the walls, I have been carbo loading for, oh, forty years or so; I am ready for my short program. 

Wait. Maybe just one more brownie. You know, strictly for creative purposes.

Stay tuned.

Oh, and btw, it only took me six fucking weeks and I had to give up coffee breaks, but I finally learned how to add the "share this" widget at the bottom of each post. So if you like me, if you care about me at all, if you have even a drop of the milk of human kindness in you and care that my people suffered at the hands of the Nazis, you can let your friends know about this blog. Much obliged.

Comments

[hoan]

Sock figure skating in your bedroom? Put it on youtube, Ann! We all want to see it!