Thank you Olympics for just over two weeks of guaranteed television watching. Thank you for instilling a sense of Canadian pride in this English born, not usually very patriotic, non sports fan (besides my TFC boys). I admit it. I watched you all the time. It started with an innocent opening ceremony, shared with many people on Twitter. Then suddenly I realized that I was becoming addicted. When I checked my feed on the days that followed, I wanted to watch what people were writing about. It became a drug.
Just like the internet gave Obama a presidential vote boost, it also added a great sense of sharing as we all nerded out and annoyed our followers (sorry everyone) by tweeting about Canada’s glitches, and eventually Canada’s golds. Watching events together though apart in our separate living rooms and bars across the country was seriously, nerdily awesome. Emphasis on nerdily, but also on awesome.
So thank you to those that enjoyed it with us, you rock.
But here’s where I complain, mostly to and about myself.
Becoming obsessed with the Olympics zapped my sex drive. My vagina forgot it existed, and I forgot what it was like to be sexual. At one point I didn’t have an orgasm for at least 5 days. FIVE days. And for what? To watch men dance around on ice wearing sequins and mesh?
Really??
As Steph put it one night as we lay in bed, not doing it … “You just can’t NOT watch it!”. Sure, when you’re out you don’t need to. That’s what the Vancouver 2010 iPhone app was for of course; but when at home? We couldn’t turn it off. There were so many moments that made us proud to be Canadian, that it was all our brains could focus on. Instead of daydreaming during the day about my lovers giving me sexual energy for the night (I am very much sexually motivated by my dirty thoughts, to help explain this), I thought about CTV Olympic montages that kept showing the same moments in different orders.
Really??
This past weekend I said enough is enough. I had a shower, watched some porn to speed along the process of getting turned on and then told the husband to fuck me. So he did. Suddenly I remembered that my vagina existed. Suddenly the sexual being that I am woke up, my sexy friends visited me and I spent the rest of the weekend flirting with them and thinking dirtier thoughts than I knew my brain understood. (Thanks in part to Sexapalooza and my new white leather collar that Don suggested I buy and Kitty and Steph helped me choose.)
So thank you Olympics. Thank you for making me brush my teeth to the Canadian anthem this morning without realizing. Thank you for making my husband and I cry over ice dancing and be nerds together.
But most of all? And I mean this with great love and respect …
Thank you for ending.
