yup, STILL not over it.
I said at work several times last night that I could watch that relay every day for the rest of my life and not tire of it. I maintain that still, damn.
Speaking of work last night; "You know what's funny, I can't even swim like that,"
"Yeah and then it's awkward because people are like 'Oh you have a motorcycle?!' and I'm like, um no....my bicycle," spot-on caricature-of-himself Tucker impressions ("curtain call, was that meant to be a play on words?"), "But you didn't go on a date with him, like Michael Phelps, so you couldn't judge," men's gymnastics with the sound down and "free faaaalling" turned way up, Jimmy finalizes his transition from assholey cook to full-on GEM, the best damn garlic grilled cheese since bonnaroo (and for a dollar less!) reaffirmation that I can never, ever, sit at the bar and carry out plans to just have one beer, the darling, broken-Spanish-talking, card-and-email-address giving Judge Howe, and so much more (ie, see whit's version which makes my stomach ache from laughter and my heart soar). We live at the Dive and I have no apologies or complaints. It's the polar opposite of my pre-Buffalo summer in the best way. And with a risky, but ultimately "great success"-style That's What She Said as Perry cleaned the bar beneath us and shut off the lights (while we continued to stand there talking in the dark), I've officially, happily become part of the fam.
(Also, evolutionists rejoice: Between Phelps' immediate reaction and all these fucking close-ups of Bush at every. goddamn. event, it's astonishingly clear lately just what species we evolved from.)