Since the freaking Astros decided to drag this bitch out, I can’t go to the gym tonight because I’ll be watching the game. That means I have to work out during lunch, which is something I don’t particularly like doing. There’s a very specific breed of person who takes their lunch hour to work out, and frankly I don’t like fraternizing with that type of android. Those are the kinds of people who eat their salads dry, don’t drink alcohol and get colonics on a regular basis. Thanks, but no thanks.
Speaking of diets, there’s a space near the coffee maker at work where people leave food they want to share (or want to get rid of). This area happens to be by my desk, so I get to hear the reactions of people who are dieting but see that someone has left a mess of non-diet fare for public consumption. They walk by on their way to the bathroom (yes, I have prime real estate next to a window but also near the coffee machine and the bathroom) and see the offending food item and say, “Dammit, who brought these brownies?” or “Fuck, now I have to eat a donut.”
They act like someone just took a big dump in the middle of the floor and they have to clean it up. Hysterical.
Holy shit, Astroman! What a spanking. That game was amazing.
My friend Lisa, who is by far the biggest Astros fan I know, and I know a few, anyway, her theory about Oswalt is that he has a big, um, you know, uh, dick. That’s why he can throw the ball like he does. It’s the confidence factor.
I also think that perhaps his hanging to the left (or right – I’m not the one who’s been checking out his package – only Ensberg’s), so his hanging to the left or whatever makes his balance unusual and somehow that affects his pitching in a positive way. Not to say that baseball is all about people’s packages.
God, how sexist of me. I’m going to get back to my beer and get offline. We already know about me writing in my blog when I’ve been drinking…