2016 Gold or Bust

I've never been able to do the splits, run very fast, or sport a swim cap well, but last night, over a bottle of wine, my roommate and I both decided we were gonna start training for the 2016 Olympics. Best I can tell, Olympians need several key components to go all the way. Let's review my long list of athletic qualifications: 

1) Must Be Team Player: 9 years of little league softball. BOOM.

2) Must Be Bad Ass: Ran an entire 1/2 marathon once and thought hard about maybe doing it again.

3) Must Have Passion: I can be found in my living room at least 3x a year cursing loudly at Jillian Michaels.

4) Must Be Willing To Sacrifice: A thing I definitely know about. One summer, when I was 12 years old, my friend and I hosted a diving contest in my backyard. We were the only competitors, (okay, and the only judges) but it was fierce. The final dive was on me, and I had to make it count. I brought out the big guns and prepared to perfectly execute the ever inspirational "Pocahontas Dive". With a running start, I flew off the diving board, arms spread eagle, and finished in perfect form with no splash. It was flawless. Only problem was, upon hitting the water, I lost my 2 front teeth to the bottom of the pool. But... I still won.

(See? Both of them are fake. The teeth, people, just the teeth.)

5) Must Possess Natural Talent: Cartwheels. Need I say more?

 

If that's not something to work with, I don't know what is. Here I come, America.

Reminiscing

I had a dream once I owned a pet baby elephant. As with most dreams, this didn't seem at all strange. But at some point, it occurred to me my baby elephant was going to grow into a giant, adult elephant and I would not have room for him. Suddenly, my sweet little dream turned into a terrible nightmare as I panicked over finding a new home for him. Naturally, I did what anyone would do in my position and visited the San Diego Wild Animal Park, pleading with them to make a new home for him. They must get requests like this all the time, because their policy was very strict. They demanded I show his official "African Lineage" papers. You can picture my horror when I couldn't remember where I put them. The baby elephant and I tried our luck at several other zoos, but we quickly realized we were blackballed without those papers. I woke up somewhere between soliciting Jason Bourne for his help and thrifting for Baby Elephant clothes. Relieved, I started my day knowing no baby elephants were in danger on account of me. 

As you might imagine, that dream was pretty traumatic for me. Being a bad caretaker of a baby elephant is a textbook recipe for years of counseling, so I try not to recall the dream too often. Until this morning... You see, I was searching for this:

But sooomehow, I found this:

All the repressed memories of my pet baby elephant came rushing back. I sure miss that little guy. 

(It should also go without saying how pissed I was at DirecTV when I found out this wasn't real:

)

Moral of the story: If being on drugs resembles my dreams in the slightest, I'm starting to really regret that D.A.R.E. pledge I signed in 6th grade.