In case you don't read the comments, your old pal June, here, weighed in at Weight Watchers and is 3.8 pounds less of the man she used to be. I guess that week of being
HUNGRY
ALL
THE
TIME
paid off. Today the first thing I did was eat the giant chocolate-chip cookie Ned had at his house. I felt guilty but GODDAMMIT it was good. Maybe it's because I have kwashirkor and have consumed 8 calories all week, but that was the best cookie moment I've ever had.
Does it strike you as sad that I have, you know, cookie moments from which to pull?
In other news, I joined the Ping-Pong tournament at work, and shut up. You know I have as many Ping-Pong moments as I do cookie moments on which to dwell. To make things even more interesting at work--or ridiculous, you decide--they actually created brackets for everyone to fill out, so you can bet on who's going to beat whom. I am initially playing my skinny hot coworker Alex #3475658, the one I went with to that gay musical about being gay, and really, isn't "gay musical" pretty redundant?
My point is, as I gandered at everyone's brackets, a trend started becoming apparent. Everyone was voting for me to lose. Do you "vote" when you fill out brackets? Maybe the part where I don't know this is one of the reasons everyone assumed Ima lose to Alex #3475658, BUT WHATEVER WITH THESE PEOPLE. God!
"Everyone's betting on me to lose at Ping-Pong," I emailed Ned, who is supposed to love me. "Who is your first opponent?" he asked. When I told him, he wrote back promptly. "Oh, you're totally gonna lose to her," he said.
GOD! I stood up yesterday in my open office space. "I just want you all to know I am quite the athlete and you're all gonna be sorry you voted against me," I began. "I am a regular...Olga Korbut."
That was the only athletic woman I could come up with. Olga Korbut. She was a gymnast at the 1742 Olympics. She was not what you'd call attractive. Olga Korbut. Geez, I hope she doesn't Google herself and see that I said that about her. If she does, I invite her to come here and try to match wits with me on the Ping-Pong court. Because I am going to score many goals on that court.
So that's where my life is at the moment. Everyone underestimating my stunning athletic skillz, and 3.8 pounds lighter. Other than that cookie. Which probably piled it all back on.
I'm off to buy a bra, and this time I swear I'm not gonna throw it in the dryer, which is what I always do, and then I break a hook, and then I try to wear the bra anyway and spend my days getting teensy spinal taps, which let me assure you is less fun than it sounds. Sometimes it even detracts from my concentration on my Ping-Pong training. And I gotta stay focused.
"Be the ball, June," Ned told me. I feel like maybe he was less than sincere about his support of my new game. Wait till I show him and everyone.
"I was the Ping-Pong champion at Camp Cheerio in seventh grade," said Ned, who has to rely on his glory days of going to cereal camp, whereas my glory days are still ahead of me. "You can train me, then!" I said, growing enthused.
"Yes," said Ned. "Maybe we could make a video montage of me training you, and set it to Highway to the Danger Zone. There's no way you can lose if you have a video montage set to that."
It saddens me that the commercial before they let you watch this video--with nothing on it other than a still photo of Kenny Loggins' glorious blown-back hair--is for Miller Lite in the can. What does that tell you about Kenny Loggins? It tells you his glory days are back in seventh grade camp, that's what it tells you.
Talk at you tomorrow. We're going to Marty Martin's for an Academy Awards party tomorrow, so I will report on my red carpet outfit, which will likely involve my Ping-Pong Forever tshirt. As usual.
June. Lobbing the ball.
