T.V. Love

Maybe this explains why I’ve always loved fish ‘n chips

I really can’t express how much I would rather eat a chocolate chip cookie than the orange I’m about to eat. In fact, I think I’m starting to have chocolate chip cookie hallucinations. The other night I saw a small Ziploc full of Quaker Oat Squares and for a moment it looked like a large cookie sitting on the kitchen counter. I almost pounced on it in my excitement. But it was Quaker Oat Squares.

And so I ate an orange.

And now I’m about to eat another orange.

I’ve eaten so many oranges over the last week that you may want to buy stock in some sort of Florida Orange Grower’s business. Not that such a thing even necessarily exists. I’m just trying to make a point. Get off me, I’m starving.

In the moments where I can hear my brain over my stomach I’m actually pretty pleased with my accomplishments. There were a few moments this weekend that tested my resolve, but I managed to meet my friend Melissa at a Mexican restaurant and only ate a handful of chips as opposed to the the two bowls I normally eat all by myself. And I ordered ceviche for my meal and only thought about taking off my boot and throwing it at the woman eating a bowl of queso at the next table a few times. That feels like a victory.

And then Saturday night Caroline and I went to eat Italian food with Mimi and Bops and I ordered the fish. Generally the only time I order fish is in the drive-thru at Long John Silver’s (Don’t judge me. Two piece fish and fries with malt vinegar sauce has been my weakness since the days when I still ate it while wearing one of those pirate hats made out of cardboard.) but fish seemed like a decent choice and I managed to stay away from the pasta. Sure, I cried bitter tears on the way home but I avoided the excessive carbs. I didn’t want to spend the night full of pasta and regret.

Last night I made a veggie frittata that my people and I actually really enjoyed. It was flavorful and easy and I may want to eat it every night from now on. Because what I’ve discovered is it’s so much easier to eat healthy when I’m at home and not at a restaurant hating people I’ve never met for all the delicious food they’re enjoying while I take small bites of my fish to make it last longer. Fish that has not been battered and deep fried and soaked in malt vinegar sauce the way God intended.

Caroline and I went over to Gulley’s on Saturday (P was hunting. I know this is shocking.) and Gulley and I talked at length about our healthy choices and eating apples and oranges. At one point her husband walked through the living room and said, “It’s like I don’t even know who y’all are.” And honestly, we don’t know who we are either, but having someone to commiserate with makes the whole experience so much better. Friends don’t let friends give up chocolate chip cookies alone.

The good news is I only have one more week that I’ll be this strict and then I’ll lighten up just a little bit. Maybe have a potato. Or six Cheetos. I haven’t really decided yet.

In other weekend news that is really much more interesting and exciting than my hunger pains, Caroline had a friend over on Saturday night. That’s not really the exciting part. But I made Caroline and her friend go watch T.V. in my bed because I could no longer ignore all the raves I keep hearing about the show Downton Abbey and was so excited to see it was on Netflix. (We can only watch Netflix in the living room. You don’t need to know this, but it explains why I wrote the sentence about the girls watching T.V. in my bed. In hindsight it probably would have been easier to just delete that sentence.)

As much as I’d heard about the show, I had no idea what it was about. In fact, I thought the name of the show was Downtown Abbey and assumed it must be about a group of nuns living in the big city. And given that preconceived notion, I was a little shocked that everyone loves it so much. I figured maybe it was like a modern day Mary Tyler Moore show, but with wacky, fun-loving nuns that were going to make it on their own in Chicago or something.

Well, it is not about nuns or a big city at all. It’s Downton Abbey and you really need to pronounce it with a proper British accent. Fortunately people compliment me on my British accent ALL THE TIME.

In case you’re like me and haven’t made the time to watch a show about nuns in the city, I’ll just tell you it’s actually a show about the wealthy Crawley family and their servants. And it’s set in England in 1912. That is very different than what I imagined.

But, y’all, it is so good. It took me a while to understand what they were saying because I don’t generally speak to many British aristocrats on a daily basis. I kept turning the volume up trying to hear better and thought about turning on the subtitles feature. Don’t get me wrong, the British accents are lovely. And I am not throwing stones at accents that are hard to understand, especially considering I once met a group of people who thought my younger sister’s name was “Jaime”(say that in your head like the Hispanic pronunciation) because they didn’t understand the way I pronounced “Amy”.

Anyway, I was hooked after the first episode and before I knew it I was on the fourth episode and it was way past my bedtime. But it made me so happy because there are few things I enjoy more than obsessively getting caught up with a newfound television love. (i.e. the summer I watched the entire first season of Alias in two days or last fall when I watched all of Veronica Mars in about a week or a month ago when I watched Army Wives without ceasing.)

So I’m on Episode 5 of Downton Abbey. The writing is brilliant and Maggie Smith as the Dowager Countess is unbelievable. And, best of all, Season two started Sunday night on PBS. That’s right. PBS. And when I set my DVR to record it, I was delighted to see that it’s actually under the heading “Masterpiece Theater”.

And somewhere in my head that makes me feel like I’m making up for all the brain cells I’ve lost watching various seasons of the Real Housewives.

I also may have wanted to be Laverne DeFazio

Just when I thought it might be a waste to have over two hundred television channels, P and I discovered a show called Truth Behind the Sitcom Scandals on the Bio channel. We have spent the last hour learning that George and Weezie Jefferson learned their show was cancelled when they read it in the paper and Pinky Tuscadero was arrested last year for shooting out the windows of two cars in her neighborhood. I also had the opportunity to impress P with the fact that I know all the words to the theme song from One Day At A Time.

(This is it. This is life, the one you get, so go and have a ball.)

(I may have had a small crush on Schneider the handyman.)

(Let’s not think about how disturbing it is that I had a crush on a mustachioed handyman that wore a denim vest.)

Anyway, I think it’s obvious that there isn’t much on T.V. right now and P has watched all his recorded episodes of Uncle Ted’s Spirit of the Wild. Of course I still haven’t had a chance to watch The Bachelor but I’d rather saw off my right arm than watch it with P in the same room.

And speaking of T.V., I have finally managed to suck Caroline in to the world of Little House on the Prairie. This has been a goal of mine for, oh, the last twenty years when I didn’t even know if I’d have a child but if I did I wanted to make sure she’d watch what I believe to be one of the greatest shows ever.

It has not been an easy achievement, but I happened to see the “Blizzard” episode was on the other day. Remember the episode where Miss Beetle sends all the kids home from school early on Christmas Eve because it’s snowing and a terrible blizzard blows in and the men have to go out in search of the kids while the womenfolk and Doc Baker stay in the schoolhouse and give the children brandy to help with the frostbite? The whole thing just fascinated me as a kid and I spent hours pretending that my bedroom was the schoolhouse and there was a terrible blizzard going on outside.

(I understand if this revelation, along with my crush on Schneider, makes you have questions about what I was like as a kid.)

Anyway, I recorded the episode on the DVR in the hopes that Caroline would find it as appealing as I did when I was her age. And it TOTALLY WORKED. She’s watched it at least five times in the last few days and has requested that I record other episodes of the show. Unfortunately, I’d blocked out the part where Mr. McGinnis dies of frostbite and Pa Ingalls finds him in the snow. I’ve had to assure her that we live in South Texas and the odds of succumbing to frostbite are pretty much nonexistent unless you stick yourself in the freezer.

(Although I am pretty cold right now sitting on my couch and the fleece blanket doesn’t seem to be helping. Of course that might be because I grab a sweater to ward off the chill if the temperatures drop below 75. Clearly I wouldn’t have cut it in Walnut Grove.)

Now that Project Watch Little House on the Prairie has been achieved, my new goal is to eventually introduce her to the wonder that is Happy Days.

But I won’t let her know about Pinky Tuscadero and the car window incident. There are some things in life you’d rather not know.

Like that Mr. McGinnis died of frostbite.

A post about television because I have nothing to say

You might think I’m exaggerating when I tell you that my mind is a total blank right now. But I’m not. I am not exaggerating. Because I NEVER exaggerate.

I think the problem lies with the Benadryl I took earlier in the day. And, yes, I know there are other medications I can take for allergies but they all make me feel like a slightly better version than death so I might as well dance with the one that brung me.

I don’t even know what that means.

And there’s also the option of taking Sudafed but it causes me to be all hyped up and, frankly, if I have a choice between being overly excited or completely lethargic, I’ll take completely lethargic for $100, Alex. At least that way I can just sit on the couch and try to work my way through all the new shows filling up my DVR.

Speaking of new shows, I’d love for you to share your thoughts on the new T.V. season. Are there any new shows that you’re adding to your rotation? Any must see T.V. that I need to know about?

So far I’ve recorded Undercovers and then deleted it before I ever watched it because it didn’t get great reviews and I felt that it might be an hour of my life I’d never get back. I also recorded My Generation on ABC and watched it the other day. It has a good premise but OH MY WORD the acting is horrendous and the whole thing made me want to bury my head in a pillow several times. Which means I’ll definitely watch it again this week. And every week from now until its almost certain cancellation.

I can always be counted on to pick the absolute dog of the new season. Several years ago I even managed to get Gulley hooked on a show called Reunion (apparently I am very drawn to shows about people who have known each other since high school and all find themselves back together in a big quagmire of drama) and it was cancelled after about eight shows and we never found out who killed one of the other characters. It was a heartbreaker.

The other new show I meant to try, but forgot to record, is Blue Bloods with Tom Selleck because MAGNUM P.I. Plus it comes on Friday nights and I could use a Friday night show to get my weekend started.

The words you’re looking for are pathetic and sad.

And, also, ragweed sufferer. Which has nothing to do with T.V. but everything to do with Benadryl.

Other than that, I can’t think of anything else I’m interested in adding to my weekly watching schedule. Am I missing anything good?

It all started with the singing telegram

Yesterday morning after I dropped Caroline off at VBS (It is Crocodile Dock for those of y’all who knew what she was talking about when she referred to Skeeter and skunk spray. Well done. I am impressed with your VBS knowledge.) I drove straight to Target. Ever since the Target moved an extra seven minutes and three stoplights away, I feel as though I must plan my trips to ensure maximum productivity, especially now that the big oil and gas companies have started their annual tradition of summer thievery at the gas pumps.

I went to Target with four goals in mind:

1. Purchase birthday gifts for the 342 birthday parties that Caroline is invited to during the next two weeks.
2. Find a set of travel-sized hot rollers because I am tired of sacrificing maximum hair volume for room in my suitcase. (Yes, I still use hot rollers. It’s how I roll.) (I apologize for the pun. I couldn’t resist.)
3. Attempt to find some self-tanner for my face because I keep it totally covered in sunscreen and it no longer matches my body.
4. To spend less than $100.00 and not get suckered in to buying any Mossimo goods or Balinese-inspired tschotkes.

I am proud to say that I achieved all of those goals, although there was a close call with a swimsuit coverup and the verdict is still out on the self-tanner because for all I know it might make me look like I’m going through puberty by tomorrow.

Unfortunately, my pride in my Target success was short lived. Gulley called while I was at Starbucks buying myself a congratulatory Venti Green Iced Tea (I’ll take that with two Splendas and lacking in the deliciousness that is Diet Coke, please) and mentioned that she was in Target looking at Father’s Day cards.

Dang.

Father’s Day cards. I knew I was forgetting something.

I certainly wasn’t going to drive all the way back to Target because I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it but the Target moved and it’s now approximately too far away for repeat trips. I told Gulley that I was just going to go to Hallmark and look for cards there. She told me that she’d thought about Hallmark but didn’t go there because she believes they have some big conspiracy going on involving a lack of traditional cards and a surplus of cards that talk or sing or tap dance out of the room when you open them and they charge $6.00 a card.

Because you can’t put a price on being totally annoyed by a greeting card with singing hamsters.

I kind of thought she was exaggerating even though I should have known better because Gulley and I never exaggerate or over-dramatize anything unless it’s our disappointment at Ed leaving “The Bachelorette” to go back to his job as a consultant in Chicago. But who can blame us because his departure RUINED the whole show and there is no way Jillian is going to find lasting love with any of the guys who are left. Breakdance instructors are fun to date but you don’t want to marry one because there’s a good chance he might do the caterpillar at your wedding reception and there are some wounds that are too deep to overcome.

Anyway, I went into Hallmark and it was just as she predicted. There were a handful of traditional cards to choose from and then rows and rows of singing cards. Where are we as a society that we can’t just hand our fathers a simple piece of folded paper that says “Happy Father’s Day”? Will it add to my dad’s enjoyment to have a card that features Kool and the Gang singing “Celebrate”?

Well, maybe. I mean it is Kool and the Gang.

But I know for a fact that if I bought P a card with singing hamsters there’s a good chance we’d start our Father’s Day with mild profanity and homemade pancakes.

I left the store empty-handed, then went home because it was past 10:45 a.m. which means it was time to get inside in the air-conditioning before the heat caused me to spontaneously combust.

When I walked inside I was feeling a little irritable from the heat and the singing cards, but then I got the mail and my whole day changed. One little postcard made me feel as if I’d just won some sort of lottery. I wish I’d remembered to take a picture of the card but unfortunately I didn’t think about it until it was three layers deep in the kitchen trash.

Do you know what it was?

A card from the people at Nielsen informing me that my household has been selected to participate in the Nielsen ratings. They’ll be calling me this week to let me know more about it. I feel as if I’ve just been given the keys to a magical kingdom. In fact, I’m seriously thinking about purchasing some graph paper and colored pencils to properly chart my T.V. viewing.

I’ve always looked at the Nielsen ratings and wondered “Who are these people and why do they not like all the same shows I like? What’s wrong with them?” But now, NOW, the viewing tables have been turned and I have a voice in what I want to see on T.V. Frankly, I am a little drunk with the power.

Just know that if all of a sudden you see a drastic upswing in the ratings for “Tori and Dean”, “The Bachelorette”, and virtually any programming on BravoTV, you have me to thank for it.

Well, and the folks at Nielsen for their brilliant choice in selecting my household completely at random.

I’m just so glad they didn’t send me a singing postcard to let me know.

Also, I just realized we’ll probably have to record P’s television habits as well. Good news for Uncle Ted and Ultimate Fighting!

Nielsen has no idea what they’ve just unleashed.

I’m resisting the urge to use the word “aboot”, eh?

Today I’d like to give a huge shout out to my DVR. There was a dark time in the not so distant past that it would have been practically impossible for me to watch four hours of television shows in one evening, but the DVR makes it all possible. Especially considering that a two hour “Bachelorette” only lasts about twenty minutes when you fast forward through all the commercials and Chris Harrison saying, “Coming up next on The Bachelorette…”.

Dude, the show has been on for thirty-two years. We all know what’s coming up next.

However, in all fairness, nothing prepared me for the dance-off. The last time I saw moves like that was at a YMCA dance in 8th grade when a couple of boys wearing parachute pants and Vans broke it down. They even carried their own cardboard to better facilitate their spinning efforts.

It’s just hard to believe that anyone can actually make a living as a break dance instructor. I mean, is it the fulfillment of a lifelong dream or do you just wake up one day and say “I can’t work for the man anymore. I’ve got to start poppin’ for a living.”?

Of course in this economy it’s probably a better career path than becoming a stockbroker or even a monkey trainer because who can afford the upkeep on a monkey these days?

As I watched all those guys get out of the limo last night, I had two thoughts:

1. Jillian looked lovely in her white dress (tricky, tricky undergarments that I never could figure out) but it was unfortunate that ABC hosed down the driveway for effect because the hem of her dress was filthy by the time it was over. It’s going to take some serious OxyClean to get that out.

2. The large majority of the guys were a walking public service announcement for what can go wrong when twenty-five single straight men are allowed to dress themselves. I’ve never seen so many unfortunate ties in one place.

After last season’s “Bachelor”, I halfheartedly vowed that I would never watch again, but I knew it would lure me back in because I don’t watch with the hopes of two people finding long-lasting love in the course of six weeks. I watch because where else can you watch one man kick a water bottle off another man’s head other than at my next family reunion?

The bottom line is that even if Jillian finds the perfect guy for her (please don’t let it be weird foot fetish guy with the elfin ears), there will come a day that she will hypothetically spend the afternoon at her best friend’s house only to come home and discover that her soul mate has done this to her beloved home.

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Then when she goes inside, she’ll discover this.

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Perhaps, finally, she’ll notice that he was nice enough to clean up his mess.

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Only to leave it in a pile in the middle of the hallway where it’s apparently awaiting pickup by the fairies that magically clean the house.

But she’ll love him anyway because there will come a moment later in the evening where he’ll walk in the room while she’s watching “The Bachelorette” and pretend like he’s doing a break dance move as he accepts his imaginary rose.

That moment beats jumping off a cliff in Hawaii every single time.

And it definitely beats the ending of the “24” season finale which I won’t discuss in case you haven’t watched yet.

And so I’ve been reduced to this

Well since I already admitted to watching Beverly Hills 90210 on Saturday morning, I’d say it’s a safe bet that our weekend didn’t really involve anything that would qualify as exciting.

Basically it was a whole lot of nothing. But I’m not complaining because other than having nothing to write about, non-eventful weekends aren’t a bad thing.

I know y’all will be relieved to know that P was able to save his cellular phone. It’s not quite the phone it used to be, but it’s functional and that’s all that matters. I find it fascinating that his phone was fully submerged in a bucket of water and survived, while I once had a phone that was ruined because I let Caroline teethe on it when she was a baby. Maybe it was the mixture of drool and Gerber teething biscuits that did it in.

It also warmed my heart to know there are many fellow 90210 fans out there. I feel an extra bond knowing we all share a love of a show with some of the best acting and writing in the history of television. I mean when Brenda found out about Dylan and Kelly, I felt her pain even as I sat and ate Double Chocolate Milanos in my dorm room.

And when Donna and David finally got married? I wept real tears. Even though I was twenty-six years old and should have known better.

Speaking of bad T.V., I have another confession to make. But before I do, let me just say that I blame the writers for being on strike. Actually that’s not true, I don’t blame the writers. I blame the hotshots who won’t give in to their demands. GIVE THEM WHAT THEY WANT. WE NEED TELEVISION. I NEED TO KNOW WHAT IS GOING ON AT DUNDER-MIFFLIN. HOW IS THE BEET FARM? HOW IS MOSE?

I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m desperate. How desperate you may ask? (and even if you don’t care, I’m about to tell you)

Desperate enough that I found myself watching the U.S. MEN’S Figure Skating Championships last night.

(Hangs head in shame and humiliation)

I wasn’t going to watch. I vowed the first time I flipped by it on the T.V. that I wouldn’t watch. Then I made a crucial error. I stopped on NBC while I folded some laundry and it sucked me into the vortex that is male figure skating.

Actually, Bob Costas sucked me in. He was discussing the huge rivalry between boy skater #1 and boy skater #2. Apparently there is a lot of trash talking that goes on and from that moment on all I could do was continue folding Caroline’s shirts while pondering what figure skating trash talk sounds like between two men.

“Dude, my mama does a better triple toe loop than you.”

“Nice sequined rose on your costume. Did you get it from your sister?”

And that’s about all I could imagine. Really I imagined more but I’ll spare you the details. Maybe I’m just holding on to some lingering issues with the male figure skating “sport” because we tried to get P on the circuit for years and he never made it.

Oh I kid. P only tried to get on the male figure skating circuit for one year and then gave it up for his love of hunting and watching Ultimate Fighting.

Anyway, the competition last night was very intense. It seems that boy skater #2 beat boy skater #1 last year to become the new champion. There was much on the line according to Bob Costas and y’all know he is never one to overdramatize anything.

It came down to the final skate. Boy #2 was in the lead and it was time for Boy #1. He was amazing and he even did the quadruple whatever, which he’d never done in competition. I was on the edge of the couch and even stopped folding shirts for a half-millisecond.

Then, it was time for the judges to release their scores. THEY ENDED UP WITH THE EXACT SAME SCORE DOWN TO A TENTH OF A POINT. However, boy #2 won because he had a higher score in the free skate competition and I guess that’s written in some rule book somewhere.

The tying scores were UNPRECEDENTED. Scott Hamilton and Bob Costas were in shock and awe and made pointless analogies about the odds of this happening. According to them, people will be talking about this FOR YEARS.

Who are these people? I don’t believe I know them.

You know who I know? Michael Scott, Jim, Pam, Dwight Schrute. Please WRITERS and EXECUTIVES, let’s all make nice and get some better T.V. going and SOON.

Between 90210 and men’s ice skating, I’ve forgotten what well-written drama looks like.

Well, except for the ongoing all new episodes of Friday Night Lights. But that’s a whole other subject.