Bloggy McBloggerson

Oh look, I hath returned to Ye Olde Blog. If I had as much motivation to write mindless tripe in other areas of my life, I would be quite successful.

For some reason, I've been dorking out and following the Olympics as much as possible. I hardly know anything about hockey, but I've even watched that. What I know about hockey comes from my scant knowledge of polo. Yes, polo on a horse, not water polo, to clarify. Now there's a sport I'd like to do -- polo, not hockey, let's be serious. Then again, I don't exactly have the polo rider physique (or even hunter/jumper physique, woops). What I'd really need is much more upper body strength, and if you take a look at my arms you'll notice they resemble those of a T Rex (i.e. scrawny). I've had the chance to tinker with polo before, namely during my first job when I was 15 and I took care of a bajillionaire's polo horses. And the barn where I rode, at the time, had a rep for polo teams using the facilities. One of our outdoor rings was even referred to as the polo field because the gates were high enough for the ball to smack into it at high speeds. I also got to exercise some polo horses on the side, and those animals are totally different from the frou frou of hunter/jumper show horses. For one, they're tiny, powerful, have no mane and a cropped tail, and they stop and turn on a dime. They also have less of a spook, generally. Oh, and polo is one of the most expensive sports you can do probably right up there with yacht racing. Yeah.

Anyway, what caused that tangent? Who knows. My mind is a mystery to me.

Speaking of horse endeavors, it's going...yeah. It's going. This weekend's show will be filed under "a learning experience" (groan). I get all worked up about my nerves, patchy show experience in the past decade, nonexistent memory, and then having to work at training a green animal and wondering if I'm even qualified for something like that. Whatever, I do my thang. Luckily the horse I'm riding is totally game and brave, jumping from any distance imaginable and putting in an absurd effort to clear a jump that you'd think must be on fire for him to be clearing it so high. So what he lacks in experience is compensated by willingness to do whatever. Well, mostly...And when I start to get frustrated with all the aforementioned things, then I'll get seethingly jealous when another trainer inquires about Z being for sale. I get all indignant that I've done so much work and it'll all be meaningless. Back when I had my own horse it was always awesome if another trainer would compliment the animal that carted me around, now I dread hearing anything. I know, I know, grow a pair and get over it. It's a business, yadda yadda. I just need to complain.

What else? Oh, y'know, life is fab. My daily perusal of the news is hampering my desire to plunge ahead in the job search, when you hear about home foreclosures and how writing jobs are nonexistent. I guess that's the case with any of those right-brained, creativity-driven jobs though, even in a bangin' economy. People always seem to revel in telling you you'll never make it as a ____ because of the competition. Well, those people can shove it. Ain't nothin' gonna break my style, ain't nothin' gonna hold me down, oh no, I got to keep on movin'.

Other: my knee is still out of whack, hyperextended. It pops sometimes when I walk. Who knows what that's about, but let me tell you that it's not the most pleasant feeling when you stretch in the morning and your knee gives out a shriek of pain. I will continue to complain about this situation until this ends.

OK I am now off like a prom dress. Bye bye for now, blog.