Arctic madness (also known as "It's bloody cold and I'm losing my sh*t.")

Do you know what a long, cold winter (think like, -40C with wind chill for like, a few weeks in a row) does to a person? It f*cks your shit up. I think I may have read somewhere that there's a disorder in the Arctic that makes people act crazy, like taking an ax to your blow-up doll and making broccoli explode.

I kicked off 2014 by doing some alpine skiing in Vermont in -20C weather with a bad cold, something only powerful pharmaceuticals make possible. Was this a harbinger of the year to come?

I came back to work sick after our Christmas vacation, then I felt better for a couple weeks, then this crazy ass frigid weather hit again, and my cold came back for an encore. If this is global warming, I don't like it anymore. Warm weather when it should be winter = totally acceptable. Weather that only belongs in either the North or South poles = unacceptable.

Now I'm supposed to be all excited about the Olympics. The figure skating is fixed. NHL-player stacked teams make Olympic men's hockey a joke. Only the Dutch seem to be winning speed skating events. (Don't get me wrong, I love the Dutch, but is this the '72 East German women's swim team all over again?) And they keep showing those "How we raised an Olympian" montages with sappy, Hallmark movie of the week background music that gets me every time. Damn you national broadcasters and your emotional manipulation!

It's only mid-February and I'm exhausted. I sensed 2014 would be a year of "growth". Sure, growth can be good but it usually doesn't feel good and you have to go through stuff that "stretches" you, metaphorically speaking, and keeps you perpetually uncomfortable with your "status quo self". I'm starting to think growth is overrated. What's wrong with ignorance and a bottle of wine to numb those pesky emotions? Growth and maturity are for suckers.

On a bright note, I got a mystery Valentine at the office with a picture of Dwayne Johnson (a.k.a. The Rock) with the caption "You Rock".  #totallyawesome

Olympic Fever

I was one of the infidels, the non-believers. Leading up to the start of the Olympic Games, I had about as much enthusiasm as a bag of rusty nails. I was more concerned about The Bachelor being preempted due to Olympic coverage. Sad, yes. Depraved even. 

My boyfriend and I tried to watch the opening ceremonies on Friday night. We lasted about 20 minutes. Then we couldn't take it anymore. The cheese factor was too high. 

Although, we were informed afterwards that K.D. Lang's performance kicked ass and brought down the house. I believe it, and I'm sad I missed it. Of course, in this day and age, I can always YouTube it. 

My boyfriend mentioned that Robert Lepage should have directed the opening ceremonies. I enthusiastically concurred. Had it been in Lepage's hands, I suspect the show would have been truly unforgettable. Alas, it was not meant to be, and according to my informants, apart from a few choice moments, the opening ceremonies were a succession of Canadian clichés. Yawn.

Following our abandonment of the official start of the games, I was firmly entrenched in my anti-Olympic attitude, a rogue citizen. Then, it happened. On Saturday night, as we watched the women's moguls final. I caught the Olympic fever. I was glued to the TV, entranced by these superb athletes. 

I skied down a moguls run at Mont-Tremblant in Quebec a couple weeks ago, and I use the term "skied" loosely. What took these athletes less than 30 seconds to descend took me at least 30 minutes, minus the aerial acrobatics. Although I'm sure it was entertaining for any skiers who happened to be around me as I attempted to negotiate these numerous, tiny hills. 

Then on Sunday night, we witnessed Olympic history being made as Alexandre Bilodeau won the gold medal in the men's moguls final. The cobwebs were dusted off my dormant patriotism as we watched the event unfold until the very end when yes, indeed, the Canadian had won the gold. The first one on home soil EVER. We cheered, our hearts filled with glee.

Then it was on to figure skating, luge, biathlon, cross-country skiing... I got sucked in. There's no escaping now. The Olympics are like the Corleone family: "Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in."