The Olympics

Monday, July 30, 2012. London, England.

Grandma Jugs,

All the glorious excitement of present brings me to a time 4 years ago, when two unassuming girls sat together on the second day of college orientation equally skeptical of the entire experience ahead of them. Who knew that a mutual passion for Olympic sporting would bring them together as friends for the next 4 years. Thank god for another human appreciating the global competition, mild racism against overachieving countries, and queer sports like table tennis as much as I do. Cue the Olympic fanfare and a union of nonathletic sports enthusiasts.

I thought the London Olympics 2012 was clearly my chance to be a participant in some capacity, and so I ventured forth to my former stomping grounds in hopes of becoming the greatest gate crasher this world has ever seen. Unfortunately, after narrowly missing qualifying for any Olympic event ever, I had to settle for a walking tour of the area around Olympic Village (note: not even the Olypmic Village itself). This supposed “tour” yielded a bounty of photos, the best of which is sadly this one:

With the limited success of only seeing the Olympic loos, my best shot at reaching the Olympic dream was to find some Olympic athletes. During my shameful detour from my quest, during which I tasted the finer liquids of Britain, the gods bestowed upon me an ounce of luck, and I snapped this very skillful photo of an athlete who is completely unidentifiable to any sport or even country:

And later, in a moment of desperation, I stole this pic of a highly amateur soccer enthusiast from Thailand (pronounced Thighland) in attempts of potentially passing him off as a famous athlete also #smh:

In all, my Olympic dreams have now been relegated to the place that welcomes me in the warmest and most forgiving fashion – the couch. For the next two weeks, I am the best commentator, judge, and former athlete for all sports, including the riveting and highly under-rated shooting, billiards, and handball events. My VIP viewing box of a living room is a treasure trove of athlete bios, sport statistics, and tissues – obviously used to wipe my tears after each heart-wrenching story of poor and parentless struggling Olympians (further proof that Disney controls the world).

Eagerly awaiting your current life status.




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