Let the Games begin

I love sports. LOVE. But I'm tiny and really only participate in individual sports. This is why I love swimming and skiing so much, as every little improvement seems like a big victory and gives me a chance to dance like this:

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Seriously, I was kind of doing this when I hit 1,550 yards in the pool without dying last week.

Perhaps this is why I get so ungodly excited about the Olympics. Thousands of athletes all looking to perform at their absolute best, and the whole world gets to watch and cheer. It should come as no surprise that I'd rather watch individual events than team events in the games (with the exception of Winter Olympic ice hockey). And I'd rather watch timed events because there's a clear-cut winner. Subjectively scored events are great -- they're entertaining and it's kind of fun to critique performances (you know, when you are oh-so-qualified to say anything about the technicalities of gymnastics), but the subjectivity makes me a little nervous. When it comes to summer Olympics, swimming is my sport -- always has been. Swimmers are crazy fast, and it doesn't hurt that you have people that look like this, this, and this (amirite, ladies?). I'm not ashamed to admit how excited I got watching the Olympic trials and how some of those finishes made me nail-bitingly nervous. Lord knows what'll happen when they throw some Australians into the mix and a medal is on the line.

Aside from swimming, what else am I looking forward to during these Olympics? Stunning shots of London, a city I love. The Opening Ceremonies and the cultural aspects of Britain that will be highlighted (OMG, will they recreate Stonehenge in the middle of the arena? Please, for the love of God, somebody make that happen). Will the Duchess of Cambridge be there, and will we spend two weeks critiquing her outfits? (Please, let's make that happen, too.) Medal counts. Bob Costas. Getting much more excited about football (erm, I'm sorry America -- soccer) teams from around the world than the US men's basketball team. Trampoline. Diving. Water polo. A little track & field. National anthems. Announcers yelling. Requisite shots of London cabs and Parliament. Foreign accents.

I know not everybody gets into the Olympics. The athletes aren't perfect (but you know they'd be fun to hang out with and seriously, that's one of the best reads I've had in a while). Neither is the USOC/IOC (meh, not so fun to hang out with). It's two weeks of camping out in front of the television and yelling, or going to bars and cheering/chanting/drinking with strangers. There are lots of tears, both of joy and heartache, and there is an abundance of overly-dramatic music (thanks, NBC Sports). And it's two weeks of supporting the athletes, and not necessarily a country, and all of their achievements because they just accomplished something you and I could never even come close to. Like this:

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Go Ryan Lochte. Go Michael Phelps. Go USA. Go London2012 volunteers. Go athletes everywhere. Go find the nearest television and cheer your heart out.

Tricks of the Trade

I was a subscriber to Real Simple for years. Loved it. In fact, look in any floor baskets in my house and you'll still find copies from who-knows-when. My favorite issues were always the November and December ones because I love the holidays and especially holiday baking. But I think my biggest draw to the magazine was all the little tips it provided, like the new uses for everyday household items. You would read them and immediately wonder why you didn't come up with the idea yourself because it was so...simple.

Right.

I've felt like my life in the past 24 hours has been an issue of Real Simple, as two "tricks" saved me from totally losing it.

Case Study 1: Sunday. Laundry. Gently washing a HOT white and navy striped dress I wore in the sweltering heat. During the course of wearing said HOT white and navy striped dress, I rubbed my disgusting, sweaty face against the shoulder, leaving my makeup right where you could see it. I washed it twice (and even treated it) and you could still see my Clinique-#2-mineral-powdered-stupidity right where I left it. The Husband suggested olive oil and a toothbrush. Huh?! So, I olive oiled the spot, scrubbed it with his toothbrush (yes, his -- shush, he has a new one), then treated it again with detergent and continued scrubbing, this time in a sink full of cold water. Threw it back in the machine (on the hand wash cycle, naturally) for the third time and HELLO, GORGEOUS! I can now comfortably go back to being the Kate Middleton-inspired Nautical Princess I was always meant to be.

(Basically, if you have an oil-based stain, treat it with more oil...it's that whole "fight fire with fire" concept. And since olive oil is good for everything, that's what I recommend.)

Case Study 2: Apparently you can still get hiccups even when you're 30 but somewhere along they way they've lost their humor and are just annoying. I tried holding my breath. I tried staring at a doorknob, thinking of nothing else. I tried holding my breath while staring at the doorknob. **hiccup** So, I went back to the tried-and-true method from my mother which absolutely works, but you need somebody nearby to help you out. Get a glass of water, hold your nose, close your eyes, and have somebody plug your ears (you know, somebody who doesn't mind actually plugging your ears). Chug the water. Hiccups gone. It's that easy.

So now, if someone could return the awesome favor and tell me how to get dry erase marker off my hands, that would be great, because it looks like I've shaken hands with a family of Smurfs.