(Warning: Language)

For some reason, I've got Astronaut Jones on the brain. I don't mind. I really don't. Let's get on with the shibby now, shall we?

---

In sports, there is such a thing as Killer Instinct.

I know that I don't have it. I sorely lack the killer instinct. As a matter of fact, when I involve my brain with whichever sport I'm playing, I'll completely suck. When I just do things, I'll do well. Bowling, golfing, basketball, etc. When I just play, I'm good. When I think about it, I completely tank. It's such a mindfuck.

Last weekend, Lindsay and I went to Iowa City, to visit friends. The friends that we were visiting are getting married on June 1 this year, so Lins and the bride-to-be have bridal shower girly girly time crap to attend. The groom-to-be's dad is in town because his wife was going to the bridal shower girly girly time crap thing, too. His dad wants to golf. They invite me, as well. I go. The first few holes, I do pretty well. Bogey bogey bogey. Then the wheels fell off, as I start to think about what I am doing. Then I try to not think about thinking about what I'm doing -- which just makes things that much worse, really. The next hole, I get a 8 over par 12. Ick. I ended up shooting roughly 50 over par for the 18 holes. I had some nice shots, I putted fairly well... there are little nuggets of goodness in my golf game. Then there's the whole glaringly horrible inconsistency thing to deal with, too. I'm thinking of maybe getting some nice used clubs and playing a few rounds on my own or something. Someday I feel like I can be good at golf.

Then again, maybe not, too.

To continue on with the I'm best when not using my brain theme, later that night, the soon-to-be married couple, another old friend of Lindsay's, Lindsay and I all go bowling. Through the first 6 frames, I'm kicking ass and politely taking names. I'm just being goofy, using the perfectly comedic bowling technique. Perfect approach, overly overly exaggerated follow through -- and hold it. So I'm basically going out for laughs, but I'm getting marks every time. Strike or spare. I'm bowling out of my head -- and then I start to think about it. Gutter and gutter. Ouch. Then I think about not thinking about it and I pull a 1 and a 3. Ha. I ended up with a 120 or something sad like that. I think I got a 90 or so on the next round. Oh well.

The smartest thing we did during our weekend trip to Iowa City? On the way back, we stopped at the Krispy Kreme in Cedar Rapids and picked up a dozen. Oh. My. God. Krispy Kreme donuts are so fucking good. Yum yum yum yum yum yum. And you know what? A new one, not far from Lindsay's work just opened up in Minnesota. Oh. Yeah.

---

In scientifically nerdy news: I tested my typing abilities -- because I'm a dork. Since I'm so dorky, I took the typing test 10 times, so as to calculate a meaningful mean. My low score was 47wpm and high score was 68wpm. The mean Words Per Minute for the 10 trials? 58.4

That's mean, yo.

As you can likely tell, I took probability and statistics in high school. It was either that or trigonometry. No fricking way I'm taking that.

Wanna see how many words per minute you type? Want to see how you stack up against me? Then go here, friends, go!

---

With that, I bid you, good friends, adieu for now.
Eric