At a costume party last year, I ran into my ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend who was dressed like a slutty cowgirl, and I showed up dressed like a meatball.
It wasn’t Halloween, it was the Beer Olympics, and we were representing our chosen countries.
Like the Winter Olympic Games, the Beer Olympics was filled with victories, defeats, comebacks, upsets and…
The Beer Olympics is actually quite a hilarious game, where teams compete in beer-inspired events (beer pong, sag nuts, quarters, flip cup) and whichever team wins the most number of “events” wins gold. It was a nice little Saturday.
Team Sweden started out as a good idea. The three of us were blonde and thought our hair color would be costume enough. And we’d put little Swedish flags on our shirts like nametags.
Then, our teammate suggested that we take it a step further and dress as Swedish meatballs.
“How funny would that be??” she said.
Representing the Motherland
As you can see, we ended up looking more ridiculous than funny, especially since the two guys we recruited for our team were also instructed to dress as blonde Swedish meatballs.
We didn’t care that people thought we were pregnant, rather than meatbally, and we all laughed when our team name got unofficially changed to the “Slutty Sweeds.”
Oh, yes, it was all fun and games until we played Team Canada.
Team Canada consisted of my ex-boyfriend, his new girlfriend and a few others who were all wearing “Canadian tuxedos” of all blue jeans.
The new girlfriend was wearing very tight jeans, with a plaid shirt tied up so you could see her (not pregnant or meatbally) stomach and cowboy boots. Perfect.
She and I came face to face during flip cup, each guzzling a small amount of beer and then balancing the cup on the edge of the table and flipping it over until it lands upright.
She was very nice —and so is he for that matter, and it had been several years since we dated — but, really, couldn’t we have been team Brazil and wore bikinis? I mean, I was dressed as a meatball. A meatball!!!
It felt really good to beat team Canada.
“What, are y’all supposed to be pregnant or something?” my ex-boyfriend asked, after the match was over.
The next event we signed up for was quarters, where you bounce change into a bowl at a small, intimate table.
Joy, my twin sister, requested that we play Team Canada again.
“Please!” I begged. “No more playing team Canada!”
“But, they’re the nicest team!” she pointed out.
Team Jamaica was not nice. They were very competitive and were sore winners and sore losers.
We played them in a relay race to suck beer out of ice cube trays using a crazy straw.
We won, but they pouted because we had a few drops of beer in the last tray and “they had sucked up every last bit of their beer.”
We settled on a tie.
Yeah, we won.
The rest of my team ignored my Team Canada protests, and we ended up playing them in several other events.
“We’re better than them!” Joy reasoned.
She was right; we needed to increase our number of wins in order to be in medal position.
Many of the remaining events required me to stand right next to the cowgirl. The “over under” event was a relay to pass a cup of beer over one teammate’s head and then under the following teammates’ legs to the back of the line, without spilling a drop.
The last person had to run to the front of the line, guzzle the beer and then start the relay again.
Sweden vs. Canada. Nice cleavage over there.
We did not medal at the Beer Olympics. The winners were Japan, Jamaica (cheaters!) and some made-up country like “DonkeyKongville.” (I’ll explain what that means later, mom).
I know it's childish, but I was pleased about the results. I was NOT pulling for team Canada.
I’ve been thinking about the Beer Olympics lately, as I’ve been watching the Winter Olympic Games nonstop.
My ears perked up when the announcers discussed the overall rivalry between team USA and Canada. I mean, I could relate.
I saw team Canada win gold in the couple’s free ice skate this week, beating out the Americans. Ugh, and they were so annoyingly sweet weren’t they? Just smiling and happy and couple-y. They were much nicer than the Russians.
There really is no reason to hate them.
Except that they had better outfits.