Snapshots from Rio: Monday

I went with a lovely boxed wine from Target tonight. In case you were keeping up with the Olympics of my liquor cabinet.

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(Right up there with making mug cakes in terms of my awesome events.)

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In an effort to up the shock value and keep people interested for longer than six seconds (It’s the Snapchat era, you guys. Work with me.), NBC has basically shoved Michael Phelps and Guy that Beat Him in 2012 in the same training area and there was major testosterone comparing and basically they were practically peeing on the walls to claim their territory.

And in this shot, Michael Phelps looks like he’s gonna straight up MURDER this guy. And they haven’t even started swimming yet.

Imma get some popcorn.

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ANGRY SWIMMING.

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Okay so Phelps didn’t win the semi, but he did beat Guy Who Beat Him.

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“What were you thinking when that guy was being ridiculous in front of you?”

“Um. Nothing.”

Really? Really tho? Because I’m pretty sure you were. Just like that lady last night was looking at your Olympic Behind.

Just say  you were thinking about your super hot girlfriend and her patriotic Ergo carrier and the most Olympic infant hip dysplasia ever.

We’d all understand that.

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Okay I missed a little bit because I stopped to watch this awesome video about the nuns who make communion hosts.

I know. It’s a little random. But it was super good.

(I’ve got a kid approaching First Communion. It’s not that weird.)

I think these are girls now? Pretty sure. Honestly, they’re all pretty much built the same.

(And by the same I mean, better than me.)

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Oh look. It’s a bunch of people who gave birth like six minutes ago bouncing around in bikinis and being talented at something. My favorite.

Hang on. Imma get more wine.

And maybe run around the block.

(My husband just said, “They’re so…bronzed.” Yes. Yes dear, they are. But you’re stuck with…freckled.)

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This is how I feel about women’s beach volleyball.

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This is an oddly specific daily schedule for someone whom we don’t know in real life.

Also, hey! I took a nap today too! I’m basically an Olympian.

(Buzz: How are they not covered in sand? Me: Because it just slides off the sexiness.)

Oooh, Walsh Jennings was five weeks pregnant when she won gold oooh pssh whatever. At five weeks pregnant I was ordering a BellaBand on amazon for super fast shipping because none of my clothes fit and discovering how many different places you can puke at your kid’s music class. (A lot. Just FYI.)

Show off.

I could also win a medal in morning sickness. Mug cakes, alcohol, and morning sickness. Guys. I’m kind of a triathlete.

 

 

 

 

Snapshots from Rio: Sunday

(And by Rio, I mean my television while I sit on my couch on my chubby American behind and contemplate my nails or something.)

(Essie Gel Setter? Not sure it’s worth it.)

 

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Meanwhile, my kids are attempting to do each and every sport. Which is difficult given that we’re in our suburban living room and they lack talent at anything other than being adorable and whining at volumes only discernible to dogs. So basically they’re jumping, falling, running, and then stopping and putting their arms up in the air. It’s actually hilarious.

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Okay. Dude. All these “push to the limit of human possibility” commercials are very insulting to those of us who are sitting here in our leggings blogging and trying to decide whether or not we should go with the rum drink or just gin and tonic and should we do brie and crackers tonight? Or just mug cakes. Guys. The only thing I’m out of this world good at is making mug cakes.

Mug cakes is my event.

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Can we talk for a minute about Simone Biles? And how apparently she was a foster kid on top of being amazeballs at like everything she’s every done? Seriously? Some kids were mean to me when I as four and frankly, I’m still a little upset about it and yes it’s been 24 years and I’m married with two children and they just called me stupid, not abandoned me because of drugs, but you know what? IT HURT AND IT’S PROBABLY WHY I QUIT THE GYMANSTICS TEAM.

*woe*

See, I was a gymnast. I was good. Well, I mean, not like this. But like pretty good for an nine-year-old in the midwest at a gym that only had a regional team. However, I eventually realized that you were expected to have a modicum of grace (which I don’t) and an exceptional dedication to doing things other than sitting at home by yourself and reading Saddle Club books (also no.) And thus died my Olympic dreams.

So this? This cuts deep, you guys.

I’m going to have to go with the gin. I’m not fooling around tonight.

That’s just the kind of commitment to excellence I bring to all my…ahem…sports.

Like mug cake making.

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Okay. I can’t do literally anything else this lady is doing. But I could help her blend out her eyeliner. Call me, Simone.

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WHAT IS WITH THESE LADIES GIVING BIRTH AND THEN PLAYING BEACH/WATER SPORTS???? Looking better than I have ever looked in my entire life and certainly better than I looked FIFTEEN (hell, 36) MONTHS AFTER GIVING BIRTH TO A CHILD FROM MY OWN VAGINAL CANAL.

IT IS ANNOYING AND I HATE THEM.

END RANT.

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I went with a lovely tropical rum drink, in case anyone was super interested in that.

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Okay, these little backwards races? I could not do.

(Stop laughing. Yes, I know I couldn’t do literally anything else in these Olympics.)

(Also yes that is cake on the table in the foreground.)

(Go USA.)

But the starting backwards? Would be very difficult. I think I would throw my back out or something. And just like perching there? Ugh. So many muscles you have to use.

Nope.

Not worth it.

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That Olympic official lady on the right is UNABASHEDLY ogling the entire US relay team. And she is my new hero. It’s like Twitter¬†sent a reporter to the games and they infiltrated the pool.

I’m dying. This is hilarious.

That lady deserves a medal.