Last post I was theorizing that I would win some sort of award at my running club's anniversary party. Well, I was right about that, although wrong about the award being for Worst Form. That would have only occurred in a rational universe. Absurdly, I won the award for the running group's "Best Male Athlete".
Let me state here and now, for all the Internet to see, that I am a horrible athlete. I run awkwardly. I lack motivation and mental strength and thus must rely on a group to keep me in line. Furthermore, I'm the only member of the running club that has dedicated himself to qualifying for the Boston Marathon and has failed at that effort.
So how do I qualify as Best Male Athlete? Attendance. I show up at these workouts more often than any other male in the club who gives a damn. Best Male Attendant with Crappy Form, that's what I should have won.
In other news, the Giants have broken my heart again. Somehow, at the end of a 162 game season, I'm left saying, "That's it?". Yesterday I watched the end of the game at my parents' house. The Giants went into the bottom of the 9th inning with a 3 run lead and promptly started putting men on base. My parents are unfamiliar with the concept of rooting for a sports team so they observed my worsening mood with some concern and alarm. My mother kept saying, "You're so nervous! Do you want some wine?!?!" I've never had my mother be quite so urgent about me consuming alcohol. I preferred to watch the atrocity sober though.
Today, the final nail went into the coffin. The Giants will not be going to the playoffs. Why do I care? I don't know, but I do. Tom Tolbert, a local sports broadcaster, equates rooting for a sports team with rooting for laundry. Since the players switch teams, if you keep rooting for the same team, you're essentially just rooting for the uniforms.
May the Dodgers' laundry be washed in too hot water and shrink.
On one final note, someone got to my blog by searching on MSN for busty + squirting + chicks. I suspect they were disappointed.