T.V. Love

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.

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.