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Hi.

Our thumbs are basically numb from texting back and forth 24/7 about everything we love (AND HATE) that's happening on our televisions, iPads, and eye glasses (hi, we think we're funny) and we thought WHY NOT SHARE THIS JOY WITH THE WORLD?!  

WELCOME TO THE HEAUXLYMPICS, HEAUXS

WELCOME TO THE HEAUXLYMPICS, HEAUXS

Why do I love the Olympics so much? Let me count the ways.

One: I truly enjoy the heart-warming fellowship and international bonding where all of these people come together, at least literally if not metaphorically, for a few weeks. It’s a start.

Two: I’m all about a good dramatic suspense plot, and sport is full of dramatic suspense. These athletes have one chance to do their best stuff ever, and a lot of things can go wrong. Sure, there are some obviously one-sided matchups in competitive sports. But I don’t necessarily know how to spot them, so bully for me and my suspense.

Three: I love the stupid parts. All of them. The video packages where we learn (if we can stop crying long enough to hear) that athletes overcome wicked obstacles like having to practice a lot to get really good. The local commercials that put your favorite Kia salesman in a luge onesie because he’s hip to the moment. The gas station footage of a U.S. swimmer committing vandalism. I love the snark, the politics, the doping scandals, the cheesiness, and the spandex.

I love the Olympics so much I have hosted viewing parties with costumes and themed appetizers encouraged, and my friends have really followed through by wearing sweatbands and making a cheese ball shaped like a curling stone. (Shout out to Sarah.) This year, this is my party, and you’re all invited.

So, to begin with, who won the opening ceremony? That’s not a competition, you may be thinking. You are incorrect. We’re all watching, and we’re all judging, and there are winners and losers.

Oh, the opening ceremony. That beautiful craft project where a country answers the age-old question, “How can we best represent our rich heritage with performance art designed by committee?” This year’s ceremony was no exception, with a delightful amount of group drumming, a slightly puzzling version of John Lennon’s “Imagine,” and a giant flaming corkscrew to finish lighting the torch. Yes please and thank you.

My top winner was a tough choice. I give two honorable mentions-- one to the Tongan athlete who apparently learned how to ski because he had so much fun getting oiled up and shirtless in the summer Olympics, he wanted to do it again. That’s pretty baller. The other is to the man who ran onto the field to crash the ceremony, because I’m so unclear, based on his body language, if he’s enjoying it or not. Also quite baller. However, the gold medal goes to the team in the Parade of Nations who really nailed the outfit: Mexico.

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Look at the headgear. The ladies’ flower wreaths are legit gorgeous, and I’m so delighted to see a sombrero in an alpine context. I cannot wait for it to fill up with snow. It’ll look like one of those sombrero-shaped platters full of nacho cheese.

So that’s the opening act, and the real sporty analysis is yet to come. You may be wondering what makes me qualified to write about sports. Well, for one thing, my friends in high school agreed that if we were the Spice Girls, I would be Sporty Spice. If you want more proof than that, I’m happy to provide it. I’ve had many adventures in sport. For instance, here I am doing gymnastics:

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I’m the one *not* pointing her toes.

Once, I put my height and weight into an internet machine that calculated which Olympic athlete I most physically resembled, and the results were: a male gymnast. I have never felt so seen and known by an internet quiz. Yes, I do have the stature and density of a male gymnast! Yes, I would much rather wear the little shorts than the leotard! (See above.) Yes, the pommel horse! I heard that the pommel horse is derived from realistic horse models that men used to practice their saddle moves in ye olde times, and old pommel horses had little heads and tails at either end. What are we even doing?! Why did we allow the pommel horse to mutate over the generations and lose it’s end parts? You don’t need them...but don’t you? In the next two years before the summer Olympics, I hope you’ll join me in a concerted grassroots effort to #BringBackThePommelEndParts, for the love of sport.

But I digress. Let’s all be kind to each other today, the same way the coach in the picture above is kindly suppressing her laughter deep in her muscular core.

MAKE YOUR OWN BEYONCE BATH SALTS FOR VALENTINE'S DAY

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ASK MYRNA: THERAPY, VALENTINE'S DAY, AND MYRNA NEEDS A DRINK

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