MAYBE IT'S THE MOON....

I sure wish somebody would take a look inside my punky little head and tell me why my silly little brain works the way it does.

(But if you could do it without messing up my hairdo, that would be swell.  It took me a long time to get my Snookie bangs just the way I want them this morning.)

Synchronized swimming gives me the creeps, but I am sitting here totally transfixed by rhymic gymnastics.  As I just asked Misses Charlene and Jane...aren't they basically the same thing, but one has water and the other has sticks and hoops and stuff?

The whole Lochte/ND thug thing has turned me into one of the old man muppets, sitting in the balcony bitching about stuff.  I am muttering and stomping around like these guys did something to me personally.  Why?  What is it about these incidents that has my drawers in such a knot?

In the case of Lochte, I think it's because I keep thinking about the swimmer who was fleeing her country on a raft, and when the boat motor failed, she and her sister jumped into the water, tied the raft to themselves, and swam it to safety three miles away.  THAT is an Olympian.  

The ND jackasses just make me mad.   There are enough reasons on this planet to hate Notre Dame without these idiots piling on.  I am so weary of the "we were just blowing off steam" excuse.  You're twenty something.  You have no freaking idea what steam is.

All of this brings me full circle to the rant that I spewed to nobody in the Target parking lot.  Every year, I tell myself to stay the heck away from anywhere remotely related to a storage solutions aisle the weekend all of the college kids come back, and every year I inevitably find myself trapped behind  some pouty brat staring at SnapChat while their poor parents try to figure out if the $99 futon really is a good deal, and whether it will fit into the rental van parked outside.

I just want to shake the bejeesus outta these kids and tell them a few things...like, for instance, the world is more than the eighteen inches beyond the tip of your nose.  Put the damn cell phone down, wipe that puss off your face, and show a little gratitude to the parents who are sweating your tuition, have taken a third mortgage on your childhood home, and are watching their retirement savings complain that the wifi signal is "like so totally weak in here".

For the other ninety-seven percent of you who are coming to college to work hard, keep your noses clean, and incur enough debt to sink a battleship...I say welcome.  Suck up every single ounce of fun, knowledge, happiness, and heartbreak you can these next four years because...and I'm really sorry to be the one to tell you this...adulting absolutely positively sucks.

Speaking of adulting...I am going to get my act in gear today and prepare a few things for the week ahead if it kills me.  Stewey and Bosco and I are all just...off...somehow, but we made a pact to get it together this afternoon.  This will mean snoozy naps in the sun, some laundry, some planner time, and lots and lots of stitching.

Speaking of which...I'll leave you with the latest progress pic of Olympic Good Stuff: