Fail

Well this is disappointing news.

*sniff*

6 Medals Later...

Operaboy and I just watched Michael Phelps win his sixth gold medal (in the 200m Individual Medley in case you're keeping track). He's looking really tired, and who can blame him? It's something like his 15th of 17 swims? I think that one of the announcers said that he's going to have swum approximately 2 miles, total during these Olympics. That's just unbelievable to me.

So we were just discussing the medal ceremonies as we watched Ryan Lochte (also drool-worthy) and Rebecca Soni winning their medals, and had the following conversation:

Me: "I think that after the first, I dunno, 3 gold medals, I'd probably start just trying to learn all the other parts besides the melody of the Star-Spangled Banner."

Operaboy: "Yeah well I doubt that Michael Phelps is doing that."

I guess I'm the only one who is that nerdy. :)

No words

This story is just horrible.

A plane crashing in the parking lot of a grocery store is tragic enough. Not only is it a horrible thing to have happened, but it must've been incredibly traumatizing for those who saw it happen in front of their own eyes, knowing there was nothing that they could do.

But then to hear the newscaster announce that the passengers were a cancer patient and his wife, simply on their way to Boston's Dana Farber institute for treatment via Angel Flight New England? Yeesh.

Our thoughts and prayers go out to the families of the passengers and the pilot. What a sick twist of irony.... ugh.

Phelps Phever

Currently Watching: Flipping between Summer Olympics and Red Sox/Rangers baseball

Between the wedding, the Move, and the Olympics....I'll be getting no sleep at all for the next two weeks.

Ever since Friday night's controversial* opening ceremonies, our television has been on and tuned into NBC for as much coverage as we can possibly stay awake for.

I love the Summer Olympics. Love love love them. I was in my first year of college during the 2000 Olympics in Sydney (spare me the typical "you're such a baby!" comments, please), and my roommate and I watched them nonstop.

Our favorite? Swimming.

Why? May I point your attention please, to Exhibit A:



I'll give you a moment to take that in. Yummo.

Now before you start in on me about being a(n) (almost) married woman, please keep in mind that Natalie Coughlin (also of swimming fame) and several beach volleyball players provide plenty of eye candy for Operaboy. He knows about my love of Michael Phelps.

Anyway, I digress (very much).

What was I saying? Oh, right. I love the Olympics.

There's something just so amazing about watching people with whom I really have nothing in common (save a mutual love and loyalty to these United States of course), pushing their bodies to the absolute limits, and for what? A medal? Perhaps. National pride? Maybe. But I think it's more than that. I think that I just respect these athletes so much because they set such incredible goals for themselves and they love the pain that comes from muscles screaming towards the finish line so that you can finish one one-hundredth of a second before France (ahem, a-thank you , men's 4x100 relay team).

I also love watching the gold medalists stand, bodies spent, on the top platform and fight back tears as they mouth the words to their own national anthems. Americans or no, I always enjoy watching the medal ceremonies.

Speaking of medal ceremonies, finally we come full circle, to the beginning of this blog. The reason I didn't sleep last night (other than a few hours of packing/excavating the apartment and cutting out hundreds of monograms to put on wedding favors) was that I got myself all riled up watching the men's gymnastics fight for the bronze (and even have a chance at the silver for a few minutes). My dreams, once I slept, were filled with men with strong upper bodies swimming in pool lanes decorated with our new monogram.

Hmm.

Perhaps I should get some sleep after all.





*I say controversial not necessarily because of anything in the media, especially over the last couple of days (fake fireworks, children picked to lip-synch words sung by a not-as-attractive child, etc), but because of just the general ominous feeling I got from the opening ceremonies....like China itself is a tank that is an unstoppable force. But that's another blog for another day perhaps.

New Blog, New Start

Operaboy and I are 2 weeks away from leaving Boston after an amazing three years here, and we're 4 weeks (FOUR WEEKS!!) away from getting married, after an equally amazing 13 months of planning and scheming.

I'm not gonna lie, it's a strange feeling. As much as we know that we're making the right decision, it's a very tough one (which further intensifies my knowledge that it is the right thing. Since when has doing the right thing always been easy?).

Boston is just an amazing city, and the past three years, while difficult and lonely at times, have just been invaluable to our careers, to our individual growth, and most importantly perhaps, to our relationship. We've learned that if we don't hold on to each other during the hard times, we won't make it. We've had only each other for most of these three years, and we've grown closer than I thought was possible. I hope that this is a sign of things to come in our marriage.

We've also had some amazing opportunities. We've been to New York City together once, and I've been four times without him for work (and the occasional "girls weekend out"). We've seen operas at the Metropolitan Opera and the Boston Lyric Opera. We've had artisic opportunities (his on the stage, mine behind the scenes). We've seen the Red Sox play at Fenway Park four times (once, drunkenly, from a luxury box during a Yankees game). We watched the Patriots survive an amazing season only to LOSE the biggest game of the year (woo hoo!). We've sung with Armenians in Watertown. We've watched the Fourth of July fireworks in one of the birthplaces of our country.

And we've been cold. Colder than I've ever been in my life. We've shoveled snow, fallen down on the icy sidewalks, and had our (well at least my own) first "white Christmas."

In two weeks, Operaboy and his brother will drive the Budget truck out of the city, and I'll be leavin on a jet plane out of Boston for who knows how long. And it'll be very hard.

However, we're nothing if not nomadic. We aren't ready to plant firm, permanent roots just yet, so I have a feeling that this is neither the first nor the last "goodbye to _______" post I'll write in our lifetime together. And I'm grateful for that, because we're building memories I'll never lose. We'll have stories to tell our children, and pictures to show them of their mommy and daddy in front of the Empire State building, on top of the Sears Tower, and hopefully a few landmarks on the West Coast as well.

So, off we go into the wild blue yonder...to settle down near family and friends.

At least for now.