Weirdos Should Not Be Allowed Access To The Internet

{Before I begin. I’ve started writing here. It’s a blog all about Nashville Predators hockey. All the time. So in short, what I’m saying is, most of my hockey obnoxiousness will be spewed there instead of here. Aren’t you happy? Unless you enjoyed that stuff. Then I guess click that link, and enjoy. And now onto the regularly scheduled program.}

I write about weird things. I’m not going to deny this. I’ve written posts ranging from an accusation of Fred Phelps being Michael Phelps estranged father, to brainstorming the current state of the Boy Meets World characters. So, it’s no surprise to me that occasionally some weird google searches link people to my blog. But sometimes, sometimes the phrases are even too weird for me and I can’t see how in a million, bajillion years that search term led to my blog. But I’m a people pleaser, so I’m here to help you big freaks who google really weird things. Next time you google your weird things, I’ll have an answer for you. You’re welcome.

“scared people swimming” – My best guess is that the person searching for scared people swimming was looking for a picture. So you know, I’m on it:

“everytime i wear my lucky hat i…” – have good luck! Yes. Nailed it.

“ow. stop it you.” – Oh. I’m sorry. Am I causing you pain with my sharp wit? (see what I did there?)

“what is michael phelps going to do now” – Simple. He’s going to marry me. Then we’re going to have babies. And he’s going to teach the babies to swim. Someone needs to be able to teach my future children not to drown, I can’t do that. He’ll probably have to teach me too.

“adam levine trenchcoat” – I have no idea what you were looking for here. But I googled it myself and the image results were nothing short of inappropriate. So I’m not doing this one for you, ya freak.

“recent sports events” – May I direct you to http://www.espn.com?

“i hate michael phelps” – GET OFF MY BLOG YOU TERRIBLE, TERRIBLE HUMAN.

“sparkly silver acoustic guitar” – Here you go buddy!

“alex ovechkin face” – First. Why would you want to find this? His face is mildly terrifying. Second. Here it is. Try not to have too many nightmares.

“i don’t care what you think of me i don’t think of you at all” – That’s just rude. I’m not talking to you.

“knock my head on table” – That sounds like a terrible idea. I would not highly recommend that. One time I bashed my head into the bottom of a cabinet and I immediately was able to smell sounds and taste color. I imagine knocking your head on a table would accomplish the same thing. So if that sounds pleasant, go for it.

“dustin brown la kings sexy” – I know for a fact I have NEVER stated this. I don’t know why this brought you here to my little corner of the internet, but he is not sexy. Have you seen him? His face is WAY asymmetrical and he looks like a weasel. But hey, if that’s your thing than go for it girl (or guy, I don’t want to pigeon-hole)

“hey, i just met you, and this is crazy, steve urkel” – Did you just meet me? Did you just meet Steve Urkel? Because if you just met me, well cool I guess. But I don’t know what’s so crazy. Maybe the fact that you have some sort of tourette’s that causes you to randomly say Steve Urkel. And if you think you just met Steve Urkel, well I’ve got news. He’s a fictional character.

There we go guys. Now your weird, curious minds can be fulfilled. But I’m just going to be real with myself. All I’ve probably accomplished is leading more weirdos to my blog. But it’s all about quantity not quality right? Guys? Right?

Now What Do You Propose I Do Michael Phelps?

Oh you! Stop being so adorable!

Dear Michael Phelps,

It’s been approximately 48 hours since I watched your last Olympic race. It’s probably been a few more than 48 since your actual last race happened, but I live in the US. NBC really enjoys tape delaying things here. But that’s not really important. The real issue here is that it’s been a mere 48 hours since you and your athletic prowess graced my presence and I’m already having serious withdrawals.

Because you are no longer an Olympic participant I’m currently sitting on my couch watching the men’s track cycling sprint. I don’t know if you’ve ever witnessed this event but it’s incredibly stupid. You see, these two men are on bikes at the starting line. But they’re apparently weenies because they can’t even balance the bikes themselves. They have little cronies who hold the bikes up for them. Then once the race starts they go real, real slow. I mean really slow. Like slow enough that I could walk faster than they are riding their bikes. And eventually they start going fast, but that’s the last 15 seconds of the race. I hate it Mike. I hate track cycling. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you this, but it’s no 100 meter butterfly. Do you see what you’re doing to me? By retiring from your Olympic career you are forcing me to watch stupid things.

You’re probably thinking to yourself, “But Amanda, I just stopped swimming. The actual event of swimming is still very much in existence. There are plenty of fantastic swimmers for you to latch on to. People like Ryan Lochte, Nathan Adrian or Matt Grevers. They are very talented. You can still watch swimming and not force yourself to watch stupid ‘sports’ that shouldn’t exist.”

And my response to that is a big fat PPPPPPBBBBBBBBBTTTTTTTTTT!!!!!!!!! No Michael. I can’t just latch onto them. While you’ve spent years becoming the most decorated Olympic athlete ever, I’ve spent years growing emotionally attached to you. Sure some people might say you’re a freak what with your gorilla-like arm to torso ratio and your size 900 flipper-feet and maybe you do kind of have a horse face, but I can see past all that and only see those adorable puppy-dog eyes.

I’m not saying that you have to come back and participate in the 2016 games in Rio, I’m just simply stating that you have pretty much ruined the Olympics for me. No swimmer is ever going to be better than you let alone compare to you. You’ve broken all the records. They all belong to you. I really have nothing to live for anymore. Your Olympic career is over, therefore, my Olympic career is over. It’s like you just broke up with me after a 12 year relationship. It’s hurts Mike. It hurts bad.

I mean, I guess it’s cool that you want to have a life outside of swimming and stuff, but could you at least take me with you? I don’t really know what to do with myself now that you’re no longer going to be on my TV.

I guess if I can get past the bonnets, I could switch my obsession over to water polo. It won’t be the same, what with the proportional bodies and such, but I’ll make do I suppose.

Have a great retirement Michael. And don’t worry about me, you’ve only ruined my life a lot. I’ll get over my sadness in a few years….maybe.

Sincerely,

Amanda

Where Is Michael Phelps’ Dad? The World Wants To Know!

[I made absolutely every part of this up. Except for the quote from wikipedia. That part was true. The rest is all a lie. I apparently get my jollies from making up horrible facts about famous people. Sorry. Please don’t leave any angry comments telling me I’m an idiot for making up lies. Those hurt my feelings. Thanks]

 

Despite having spent 17 of my 23 years in education there are still many things that I do not know the answer to.  Why is the sky blue? why do women have to shave their legs, what is silly putty made of and where in the heck is Michael Phelps‘ father? I know the guy has a father. I won’t get into it but science says there must be a woman AND a man present to make a child. Unless you’re going with the stork theory, which could explain Michael’s extremely large wingspan. But because I don’t believe in the stork, I know this man has to have a father.

I’ve watched a lot of Olympics in my day. When a 15-year-old Michael Phelps showed up on the radar during the 2000 games in Sydney, no one knew what a star he was going to be. And no one knew how many sleepless nights I would have because of his apparent absentee father. I’ve quite literally agonized over this for years. You see clip after clip of his overbearing mother, Debbie Phelps, but not once has Michael Fred Phelps Jr. been shown rooting for his son, the human fish.

And because I am an inquisitive person, I did a little digging on the man. And of course I went to the best research place on the world wide web, wikipedia. According the pedia of wiki’s “Michael Phelps (the father), is a retired Maryland state trooper who played football in high school and college and tried out for the Washington Redskins in the 1970s. Phelps’ parents divorced in 1994, and his father remarried in 2000.” Through a little more research I discovered that the man was not in Beijing when Michael Phelps (the son) had a record-breaking week, stating that he preferred to watch from home. Other than that, there is nothing about the guy. He’s well-hidden from the spotlight and is a mystery to me and the rest of the world.

Now even if I had an estranged relationship with my child, I would still be there rooting for their success. Sure I probably wouldn’t sit with my former spouse, but I would still be present in the building. Well, that is if I wasn’t one of the most hated people in America.

Michael Phelps (the son) has a middle name of Fred. Fred Phelps. Ring any bells? You know, Fred Phelps, the dummy who is the leader of Westboro Baptist Church. The group of idiots who find a reason to protest absolutely everything. Those guys.

If that was my estranged father I wouldn’t allow him to follow me to the Olympics either. And I certainly don’t blame his mother for ending that marriage and cutting ties. That guy is a terrible person. Plus on the other side of it, if I was the most hated guy ever, I wouldn’t sit in a crowd of 1000’s of people who wanted to punch me in the face. That would not be an enjoyable experience.

I support Michael Phelps’ decision to keep the identity of his father a secret. I would definitely not let anyone know I was related to him. Plus, now I understand a little more about how Ryan Lochte could possibly hate Michael and his puppy dog eyes. It’s obviously because he knows the truth behind Phelps’ family tree.

This guy…

Pastor Fred Phelps

The world’s most hated Phelps

is this guy’s secret father

English: President George W. Bush poses for a ...

The world’s most favorite Phelps. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Mystery solved. Case closed.

 

More Sparkle Spray STAT!

 

Olympian Aly Raisman sheds tears because of the tautness of her ponytail while teammate Gabby Douglass looks on and laughs

This may surprise you guys but I love the Olympics.

When the Olympics come around I watch sports that I’ve never heard of with the focus of someone who could themselves, be an Olympian. Handball, water polo, field hockey, white water kayaking, I’ve watched it all. And one thing I’ve noticed through my rigorous studies is that all of these Olympians are happy. They have joy on their faces, as if they don’t care if they win, they’re just glad they made it to the Olympics. Well, that is all athletes except the gymnasts.

Yesterday as I watched the gymnasts flip, spin and jump around, I noticed that they all looked as if someone had murdered their dog and they were seeking it’s vengeance. I would expect anger out of a gymnast from China. I’m pretty sure if Chinese gymnasts don’t win gold, they get their legs cut off, but even the US gymnasts had anger and hatred in their eyes. Last I checked Béla Károlyi didn’t chop off legs.

Normally you think of gymnasts as happy and bubbly, but not these ones. These ones frightened me, until I discovered the source of their anger: their ponytails.

When I wear a ponytail, it’s simply to keep my hair out of my face, I just pull back the excess hair, wrap a scrunchee around it and BAM! pony tail. These gymnasts ponytails were blood seeking vessels. I’ve never seen a tighter ponytail on someone’s head then the ones I saw last night on NBC. Maybe a this hairstyle makes a better gymnast. I’m not scientist so I did a little bit of research. (The things I do for you guys. I’m just a real giver.)

Luckily, last night the US gymnastics team was mic’d up and I found the hidden footage* and dictated it all so I would have proof that their ponytails were incredibly tight and I wasn’t just crazy.

Coach John Geddert: “If your hair is wispy you will lose points! Slick it back!”

Olympic Gymnast Jordan Weiber “It’s already in a ponytail coach. What else do you want me to do?”

Geddert: “Slick it back more. Tighter. NO TIGHTER. UNTIL YOU LOOK SURPRISED.”

Weiber: “But coach, I can’t feel my face anymore. If I move my eyebrow 100 hairs rip out of my scalp.”

Geddert: “That just means you need more hair spray. And not that boring stuff. The stuff with sparkles. YOU NEED TO SHINE! More sparkles spray STAT!”

Weiber: “Well, okay, you’re the coach…..”

Obviously if your face feels like it may rip off because your hair is pulled back so tight, it’s going to be difficult to show any emotion. Gold medals before full heads of hair and comfort, that’s what I always say. Plus who wants to see someone happy when they succeed anyway.

If having no fly-aways wins you a medal, then I say, go ahead ladies, just grease those suckers back. Plus if your hair is pulled back super tight maybe you can jump higher and spin faster….like a windup toy.

*Nope.

 

 

Related articles

 

Amanda, The Olympian

No big deal, just me and Michael Phelps hanging out in Beijing.

Every 4 years the entire world comes together as one unit. The best athletes from all over the world converge on one city for one purpose: to beat the crap out of every other country and prove your country is number one at everything.

And every 4 years, I decide that I’m fully capable of being an Olympic athlete.

I’ve been doing a little soul-searching today, mostly because I grounded myself from the internet so I wouldn’t get any spoilers about how Michael Phelps wasn’t even going to place in his first event. I love Michael Phelps. I’m still weeping about this. But back to my soul-searching. I’ve been doing some soul-searching to see what event I should focus on to reach my Olympic dreams. I have several options obviously, because I’m incredibly versatile:

Gymnastics: I’m older than 16 and I’ve passed puberty. No go-on the gymnastics.

Swimming: I can tread water for a whole minute. This is a possibility. But most likely I would get halfway across the pool and get a cramp thus causing me to drown. But then Michael Phelps could dive in a save me with mouth-to-mouth. No gold medal, but Michael Phelps. Lose-win situation there.

Handball: I have no clue how this game works. But I can throw balls into nets.

Rowing: Zero upper body strength. I would not win. Unless I got to be the person at the from yelling at the other rowers. I’m a great yeller.

Cycling: This would probably lead me to have another leg cramp, then I would fall of my bike and get run over. But I have big calve muscles, so I could go pretty fast.

Fencing: I’m GREAT at poking people with long sticks. But I’m not very formal. That seems like a sport for formal people. I can lift my pinky while I poke.

Volleyball: I was never allowed to play volleyball as a teen. MOstly because of my lack of hand/eye coordination, but I don’t really see this as a problem.

The options are endless you guys. I’m a really talented athlete. I don’t know how I’ll decide. I’m 23, so my prime Olympic years are behind me. By my best estimation I’ve got one shot at being an Olympian, so I’m going to have to do them all at once. This is obviously the most logical choice, because not being an Olympian is NOT an option.

So I’ll see you guys in 4 years. Until then I’ll be busy training to become the first septuple sport athlete in Rio 2016!

An Open Letter to the International Olympic Committee

Dear IOC,

Friday, July 27, 2012. To some this may be a regular Friday. Just another day spent complaining about the humidity and the heat. Just a day in July.

Well, not for me. Friday, July 27, 2012 is a day I have waited 4 years for. A day that begins the most joyful weeks of my summer.

July 27, 2012 is the first day of the summer Olympic games in London, England, as I’m sure you are aware. I live my life Olympics to Olympics. Winter, Summer I don’t care. Nothing brings me as much joy as watching nation compete against nation for a small metal disc on a ribbon. I do mean nothing. If I could, I would sit at home for those two weeks, on my couch, and never move so that I could watch every event. In fact, maybe I’ll stop my job search right now just to make sure I have those two weeks off. (I probably won’t do that.) But let’s be honest. Some events are more exciting than others. For instance, I enjoy watching Michael “Albatross Arms” Phelps swim really fast, way more than I enjoy equestrian events. I have taken some creative liberties and made a few minor adjustments to make some sports more enjoyable to the viewer.

Let’s start with rowing. By itself, it’s sort of like watching your camp buddies canoe.  Awesome for two minutes and then you’re over it. And shooting, well that’s just not really exciting for me at all. “But what if we combined them?”, you say. Well that’s exactly what I did.

X-Treme Rowing (The main reason for the unorthodox spelling of extreme is because if you’re flipping through your TV guide and you see X-Treme as compared to extreme, you’re picking the X. It’s just our nature)
Picture this. A team of muscled young men rowing in rhythm down a nice happy river. But what’s this I hear? Gun shots? OH NO. The shooters are on one side of the river with their targets on the other. Oh and they’re on moving platforms?! Going the same way as the rowers?! But, if the rowers don’t row fast enough the shooters will catch up to them and they’ll get shot! X-Treme Rowing!

Now you ask, “What about that boring sailing? Why is that even an Olympic sport?”, you say. Well, how do you feel about Sailminton. “Sailminton? that sounds like a cross between badminton and sailing?” You’re smart! That’s exactly what it is!

Sailminton
4 men. Two paddles. One birdie. A vast ocean, their mistress. Two sailboats traveling parallel to one another. One man serves the birdie to the other boat, they bat that little thing back and forth as the ocean sways them to and fro. Suddenly a giant wave pops up. This does not stop the sailminton. Lose the birdie in the sea, you lose the medal for your country. What once was viewed as a leisure activity has now become the most riveting event in the Olympics. Some go for hours, others only minutes. Only the sea knows when she will rock the boat just so. Nation against nation trying to keep their birdie in the air.

“Can’t we just get rid of fencing altogether?”, you ask. We could. Or maybe…

Fencing-Polo
Water polo has been called an aquatic version of rugby. But what if, just maybe, the athletes were given sabers as well? The ball goes into the other teams net, the point doesn’t count…unless you can win a sword fight. A representative from each team emerges from the pool to have an impromptu pool-side fencing match. But, here’s the kicker, the swords are sharpened. You shed blood, you’re out of the game. The last to leave the pool goes back to their country with a medal and their head held high.

Now I know what you’re thinking, “These sports seem a little violent.” Not at all. They merely give more urgency to winning. So maybe an athlete leaves London with less limbs then they came there with. Well I guess they should have worked harder. (Plus if they’re stupid enough to participate in those events they might deserve to lose a hand)

I realize it may be too late for these events to begin in 2012, but I was hoping they could make their debuts in Rio for the 2016 games. Just let me know if these examples weren’t discriptive enought. I can draw some diagrams if you need, or give a sample of the event itself if you can provide me some athletes.

I look forward to hearing from you soon!

Sincerely,
Amanda

P.S. Michael Phelps is unaware I have given him the nickname Albatross Arms. If you run into Michael Phelps and call him by this nickname, do not tell him you heard it from me. I don’t want him to think I’m a weirdo, ok.