Not everyone gets to experience the Olympics live, and even fewer do so their own country, but I was lucky enough to have that experience this past week. My friend and roommate from University is a hardcore Olympics fan, and we went to Vancouver, B.C. to take in the event that showcases the best athletes in the world. While Buddy Bella, as I will dub my friend, went to take in the action and the sports, I had a decidedly different agenda: to meet one of the athletes and get him to fall in love with me in a week. I didn’t think that it would be so difficult. I mean, I’m pretty awesome. While my sights were set on Sidney Crosby, I wasn’t too picky on which athlete fell in love with me.
We arrived in Vancouver on a rainy Saturday morning and were greeted by Buddy Bella’s cousin and his girlfriend, both of whom quickly became two of my favourite people and two of my best friends in Vancouver (I have a lot). Not wanting to waste any time, Buddy Bella and I set out with her cousin’s girlfriend to take in the sights (many people, many Asians), sounds (fucking cowbells), and smells (beer) of the Olympics in Vancouver.
I quickly realized that not only was I going to have some serious competition from women from all over the world vying for my future husband’s attention, but also that I had a pick of some really good looking male athletes (most of whom were displayed on the side of the Bay). I began to seriously reconsider my wardrobe options for the coming week, as most of my clothes were either stretchy (to allow for copious amounts of chocolate and wine) or extremely modest in the boobular area. Luckily, I packed a few pairs of jeans and a couple of decidedly low cut tops. Thank God.
Fast forward to Monday, the day of the Molson Canadian Hockey House. Buddy Bella wanted to see the Olympic medals at the Royal Canadian Mint. Sure, I thought, that might be fun. It was not. We stood in line for FOUR HOURS. In my heels. And for what? To hold the medal in my hand. I couldn’t even put it around my neck (I know because I asked the guy twice and he said no twice). Apparently, you can’t do anything with the medals that would insinuate that you won them. I assumed that also meant inappropriate gestures.
What is the fun if you can’t pretend to win the medal? All I got was a stupid glove that said “I touched a gold medal.” Or something. It was in French. It’s like one of those horrible t-shirts that people get their friends for souvenirs that say “My [blank] went to [blank] and I all I got was this stupid t-shirt” (I do not mean for that to sound suggestive). “I went to the Royal Canadian Mint and all I got was this stupid glove.”
After that excruciating wait, I was one moody bitch (and that’s saying something, as even my best moods are usually accompanied by some sort of pessimism or irritability), especially having to walk 800 miles to get to the Molson Hockey House. In her excitement (and her normal person walking pace), Buddy Bella was 50 feet ahead of me the entire walk. I, however, was limping along in my “sexy” shoes that made me look like a numpty.
Finally arriving at the Hockey House, we were greeted by a bevy of Molson Hockey Girls. You know, the ones in little white dresses, with perfect hair and perfect bodies. Extremely aware of my gigantor self and the amount of sweat pouring down my face, I was ready to beat them up. Luckily, wine was readily available and I drank until I felt better about myself. One of the Molson Girls told me I was beautiful, and she became my best friend.
It was at the Hockey House where we (okay, I) met who we now refer to as Creeper Jason, a 34 year old accountant that, after taking my (fake) number, texted me as I was sitting across the table from him. Things became awkward as he asked if I got his text and I tried not so smoothly to tell him that I have him my old number (not true). I asked what the text said, and his response was to smile, wink, and say, “it said, ‘You’re cute, thanks for hanging out with me’”. What? Who does that? I was RIGHT THERE. You know he’s insecure when he has to text me to check if my number works (which is what I can only assume is what he was doing). Dude, you’re 34. Please act like it. However, if you were to replace Creeper Jason with Crush Bella (that means the guy I LIKE like), then I would be a very happy girl. I mean woman. But that is not the case.
Anyway, Buddy Bella and I spent the next event trying to avoid him at every possible turn. It was kind of like being in a movie chase, except it was very real and he wasn’t exactly chasing us, though I wouldn’t put it past him.
I met all sorts of people, from Texans (so nice) and Russians (not so nice) to really young people (17 months) and really old ones (dude with gray/balding hair and who looked really old). I had the most fun when meeting and talking to people, and I know they benefited from my intellectual witticisms. Take, for example, my conversation with a man on the street dressed entirely in Russian clothing:
Me: Are you from Russia? (Not the smartest question, in hindsight)
Russian Dude: Yeah. (Clearly unimpressed)
Me: Oh. Cool. I’m not.
See what I mean? Brilliant. However, while my words get me a lot of things (my boobage does the rest), neither one got me into the Athlete’s Village. I tried to explain to the security guard that he “had to let me in, because my future husband is in there and I have to meet him first”. He explained that I was not allowed in but perhaps they would come out the entrance. Sensing the improbability of this, I asked him if they didn’t let people into the village because of creepers like me. His answer was a resounding yes. Maybe wise, but still disappointing. By this point, I am beginning to realize that meeting an athlete (that is, Sidney Crosby) is a lot more difficult than I initially thought.
See, I knew I could count out Alex Bilodeau because, despite my complete confidence that he would fall in love with me at first sight (or at least after making him laugh hysterically, because I am that funny), the fact that he now has a gold medal severely limits my access to him. That, and supermodels will now be all over him, and while I may be overconfident to the point of arrogance, I know I can’t compete with THOSE women. Bitches.
Sidney is so guarded that I don’t think I get through his bodyguards even if I looked like Megan Fox, and the other hot athletes from around the world all stayed hidden. Very disappointing, and I failed at my attempt to get anyone to fall in love with me (except Creeper Jason, but I didn’t even try to get him to fall in love with me, he just did, unfortunately).
I realize that this post was hardly a recap of my week at the Olympics, but if any of my three readers have a question, please do not hesitate to post one in the comments section. I will be checking back for them every 15 minutes.
Until next time, Sidney Crosby.
Love,
Bella
