I shoulda been an Olympian

I had a request.
A dear pal of mine requested that I blog about my swim team days....

I was a natural born swimmer. As a baby, my babysitter was the bathtub. I had mastered underwater breathing before the age of 8 months and the breast stroke had been perfected by the age of 2. A baby pool was not in my vocabulary...I needed depth; I needed at least 12 feet of water before I could have fun. My mom enrolled me in swim team at the age of 8. As a youngster, I was in the bathtub one day when I perfected a perfect streamline stroke. My mom burst into tears and screamed, "Michael! Our baby is going to be an Olympian!"....Okay so maybe thats an exaggeration. It was more like my parents were annoyed with me and swim team was a great way to get me out of the house for an hour. I took the sport seriously. When we went to Swimwear Unlimited to pick up my regulation suit I peppered the saleswomen with questions,
Are these goggles resistant to fogging up? Do they have proper suction?
Does this swim cap allow for optimum speed?
It was no joke to me. I knew I had talent and I laughed at the other jack ass kids at swim team.
"Hellllooooooo, pretty sure free style consists of getting your arm completely out of the water Mitch.....idiot."
"Hey Danny, when was the last time you saw an Olympian doing the doggy style?"
"Nice swimsuit Patrick, I had no idea Tommy Bahama made regulation racing suits"

I was that kind of kid. So at our first meet, I was told that I was in the "exhibition" round. Exhibition? What the hell was that? I was informed that it was where you raced alone.......you know, to gain more points for your team.
Ooo, I get it. I'm so good that they don't want to subject the other kids to my talent. I gotcha. So I would pack my swim bag with Jello packets and pixie sticks. Right before it was my time to shine, I would rub my limbs furiously, "warming them up" and literally chug straight sugar from these Jello packets. I was a fucking lunatic. A force to reckoned with. I had my mom write things like "Eat my bubbles" and "Hurricane" on my back in permanent marker. I walked around the pool, heading to the starting blocks growling at little kids as I pumped myself up. Up on the blocks I got into tunnel vision mode. Winning was all I cared about. Then it dawned on me. Wait, why was no one else swimming against me again?
How was this going to gain points for the team?
Wait a minute..........Oh my god.
Oh my god!
I'm racing against myself!
My mom stood at the end of the pool with two thumbs up screaming "Go kitten!"
How embarrassing. I'm swimming against myself and my mom is referring to me as a cat.
On the blocks I use to get so excited that I constantly false started. I would wait for the gun shot, but the sugar rushing through my body was screaming "Go you maniac! Go!"
Splash
Damn. I also received like fuscia colored ribbons, which basically meant that I sucked so bad, that they ran out of proper colors. It always went something like this,
"And in our Exhibition round, Katie receives the teal ribbon"

Know Your Gangs

Moving past the periodic table and Shakespeare's sonnets, I feel like we have barely scratched the surface of knowledge.

Todays Lesson: Know Your Gangs

Kids, you may live in a city where not everyone is super "friendly". It's safe to assume that anyone who does not wave, or smile at you is in a gang. That's the easy part of today's lesson. Now, the challenge is to decipher what gang they might be a part of.

The bloods: One of my personal favorites. Members of the bloods typically wear red and contort their hands in a way that spells "blood". The color red is a source of power...nice job on selecting a color bloods. The hand symbol shows creativity and most likely a familiarity with sign language, therefore we can assume that there are good number of deaf bloods.

The Crips: Contrary to their rivals, the bloods, the Crips prefer the color blue. What does this say about the Crips? The color blue symbolizes trust and stability. Kids, if your parents kick you out of the house, kick it with the Crips. They will supplement your old lifestyle with a new, trusting and stable home. The Crips have also been known to rearrange words that contain the letter B, and replace them with the letter C, due to their rivalry with the bloods. This is a clear indication of intelligence and a familiarity with alphabet soup.

The Vice Lords: Clearly the most sophisticated of all gangs, the Vice Lords are a Chicago gang that are identified by a top hat, a cane and a martini glass. It's safe to say that if you see anyone, with any of these items, go ahead and assume that they are a part of the Vice Lords and start to run.

Well ,that concludes today's lesson. Take this knowledge, plant it and let it grow.

I heart Huckabee

I'm not a huge political fanatic. I don't Tivo debates, nor do I advocate flimsy yard signs. I understand the importance of the upcoming election, I really do. The one guy who has completely stumped me is this Huckabee character. He's this wide-eyed goofy looking guy with these chicklet teeth who is apparently convinced that he's got God in his pocket. I read today that this Huckabee character said,

"to amend the Constitution so it's in God's standards rather than try to change God's standards so it lines up with some contemporary view"

Finally, someone has recognized that the separation of church and state needs to be rid of. We are a melting pot my friends...a giant pot of fondue. We are a nation composed of bananas, oranges, strawberries and sponge cake that are to be dipped into the chocolate of christianity. We need to come together as a nation and wrap ourselves in the blanket known as God's love.
Fuck the bill of rights....the ten commandments were issued and chizzled by the hands of God, therefore we should adhere to His rules. For all we know George Washington is as false as that whole "landing on the moon" bull.
Immigration laws should be changed and re-worked. Line the border with kiddie pools filled with water. A quick little dunk and bam...you're baptized...welcome to the land of purple mountain majesties.
This nation needs a makeover....a Jesus makeover.

----This message has been approved by Huckabee

Man On Bus Hints at Normalcy

I take the bus. Go ahead and judge me. Public Transportation is all the rave here in the windy city for the simple fact that there's more poor people here, gas is exspensive and traffic sucks. The first time you take the bus you feel like a champion. You're slapping everyone on the knees, throwing casual winks ooing and ahhing at the fact that you don't have to buckle up. That honeymoon faded real quickly when I was stuck rubbing up against people who were missing teeth and my nose was having trouble identifying certain smells. Then there is this bull shit rule "If a senior citizen or handicapped person gets on, you must give up your seat." How about...No. First of all, handicapped people are already sitting down, and if a senior citizen cannot fend for themselves, then they should be put in a home. It's a tough squeeze on the bus during rush hour, but today a man hinted at normalcy. He had a briefcase, had gotten his hair cut in the last 6 months and was reading a newspaper. Bingo. I wanted to stand up and make an example of this man to the rest of the passengers. "See this man....you should all strive to be this bus passenger. That means not bringing your entire home on the bus with you and waiting to poop your pants until you get off the bus."

Mmmm Sorry?

Sometimes I am faced with moments where I feel like a giant ass hole. It's those Larry David moments where you just cannot believe you have stooped this low as a human being. That happened to me once in a Target. I will never forget it.

I roamed carelessly through the women's section, grabbing random crap that I consciously knew I would never wear. Ponchos, jean shorts, raincoats; I was on a shopping rampage determined to get everything I needed in one short trip. I walked into the dressing room and a row of dressing stalls lay before me completely empty. Excellent, I had the whole place to myself. Naturally, like any normal human being, I snagged the handicapped dressing room.
Bigger mirror and more room.
I feel cramped and claustrophobic in the smaller ones.
I had 8 items.
Like always, I was dissatisfied with everything.
I took my time climbing in and out of jeans, swapping t-shirts, spinning around to catch a glimpse of my back side in the raincoat.
Nope.
Don't need any of it.
So I take my time re-hanging all of the garments. I grab them in a heap and open the door.
Oh no.
Oh god. There was a handicapped girl waiting to get into the dressing room.
"Whoops, sorry"
But was sorry going to cut it? Absolutely not. While I could have easily changed in one of the other 25 stalls, I selfishly chose the handicapped one. This girl had been deprived of her right to try on clothes. I might as well have poked a blind person in the eye.