I watched the ice dancers do no jumps and wear outfits that even my preschoolers would turn down.
I watched 53 McDonald’s commercials and truly attempted to work its Olympic champion sweet chili sauce into every meal.
I watched the beautiful and inspiring Canadian Joannie Rochette somehow win the bronze in ice skating after the devastating death of her mother.
I watched the American men win gold in the Nordic Combined for the first time ever yet still, I could not explain Nordic Combined if you offered me a year of free babysitting. Ditto for curling.
I watched the aerialists somehow defy gravity, doing crazy stunts in the air as their mothers cheered them on. I would be begging my child to take on another sport. Like curling.
I watched Apollo Anton Ono try to bring back the bandana for the third Olympics in a row. You can’t say the guy doesn’t have perseverance. And if he and Bret Michaels can’t do it, then we all have to accept that no one can.
I listened to the announcers say things like, “That one mistake is going to haunt him forever” and “That was the performance of her life” and my personally fave, “He left it all on the ice” 432 times each.
I watched Dick Button as a commentator and really tried to imagine him as a svelte figure skater in 1948. I think I failed.
I watched skier Julia Mancuso prove that even Olympic champions wear tiaras.
I loved the Olympics.
But I have never been so happy to see the closing ceremonies. Because I am tired, people. And cranky. Apparently the Olympics was on for 2 weeks. Can we all agree that it was more like 2 months?
I need my life back. I no longer want to be up at midnight, teary-eyed over a medal ceremony. I want “Gossip Girl,” “Project Way” and “Modern Family.” I no longer wish to be inspired by television, but only somewhat entertained. I want to sit on my couch and not second guess my decision as a kid to hang out with my friends in the local pizza place after school instead of pursuing Olympic dreams at the ice rink. I just want to be mediocre. And happy.
So let me off the hook for 880 days. And then I’ll embrace the summer games in London. Because who doesn’t love the Brits and gymnastics? It’ll be bloody brilliant.