Listen here, interwebs. I didn’t watch Gilmore Girls when it was on TV. I think my mom did, which probably explains why I didn’t. (The only things I can remember watching with her were Diagnosis Murder and Touched by an Angel. I’m not as embarrassed by that as I should be.)
But now it’s on Netflix. I’ve ranked it right next to Californication and West Wing as the-most-binge-worthy shows ever. The writing is addicting. The wit and intelligence and quirk are out of this world.
“I’m deep in a Charlie Parker gloomy.” -Lane
Holy shit! I got so I-can’t-sleep-so-I’ll-just-admit-that-I-hate-being-perpetually-single-especially-with-three-weddings-looming that I almost entirely forgot to get my men into this year. And this year was definitely one for the Brits.
#5 TIE: Tom Quinn, Dimitri Levendis MI-5
Good enough guys as characters, but I hardly remember much about them except they’re both so damn hot.
#4 Shawn Spencer Psych
I just adore Shawn. He’s cute enough, he’s goofy, he’s loyal, he’s a smart ass, and his friendship with Gus is adorable.
#3 Lancelot Merlin
Oh. My. God. Look at that man. He’s FINE. Plus, a stellar fucking guy. Loyal friend to all. Excellent swordsman.
#2 Adam Carter MI-5
A good guy. A family guy. A tough guy. A rules-breaking guy. A make-you-want-adopt-nudist-colony-ideals guy.
#1 Lucas North MI-5
When don’t I find Richard Armitage sexy? Certainly not when he’s a spy with tattoos, a tortured soul (and body) and a broken heart.
Jerry: Sorry, Dave, but boobs aren’t free, you know that.
Dave: What I’m saying is I’m sick of spending so much money on them.
So get a girlfriend.
Look, if you’re not going to talk sensibly I don’t even want to discuss it.
Dave, girlfriends let you see their boobs for free. I’ve been told.
Dude, that’s the oldest lie in the book.
There’s a book?
Yes, Jerry, it’s called the book of lies. The first chapter is: “If you get a girlfriend you get to see her boobs for free.”
Wait, you don’t?
Hello no, dude. Girlfriends make you pay in emotional costs. You may not have to fork over money but you gotta ask them questions like, um, “How are you?” and “What you’re doing?” and “Does this hurt?” and “Did you forget to take your pill?” and stuff like that. It’s horrible.
I’m unsure if this is better (worse?) than the start to last semester, but I’ll take it.
After a hefty day of Netflixin’ on Saturday, my watch history was looking like a sci-fi nerd’s dream (episodes of Stargate Atlantis and Firefly, plus the movies Serenity and Star Trek). So, on Sunday I decided to shake things up with a little Iowa-based American Pickers. In two episodes, my heart was aching for Iowa and the good old days on my family’s farms. I can remember chopping wood, catching bugs next to the corn crib, picking vegetables behind the barn, and–my favorite–trying to break foot-long chunks of ice off the buildings that had snow drifts large enough to climb to the roof. I remember being terrified of a rabid raccoon in a beat-down barn, stepping through bat poop in the attic of the “Mc Mansion” and climbing through hay and mounds of feed corn. These days it doesn’t quite trip my trigger, but the bug-dirt-outdoor-loving little Kristina couldn’t get enough.
Except when it came time to unload the wood when we got home. I hated that–no other 10-year-old in my school was subjected to that cruel labor.
Being home has sucked all the drive out of me. Working on my freelance stories (I have three out right now) is impossible. Part of this is because the house is an absolute disaster and I always prefer cleaning and organizing to any kind of important work. The other problem is that I’m trying to work in my giant queen bed–a place where I would much rather be reading, sleeping, or watching the insane amount of Netflix that I’ve consumed since moving back to SUX.
I had dreams of waking up today and teaching productivity a thing or two. I was going to plug in, earbud up, and tickle the laptop keys–in unison with the tunes on Pandora’s Frank Sinatra radio (a writer’s block favorite of mine)–as long as it’d take me to accomplish a solid chunk of work. Or, at least, make some headway on the work and manage a decent blog update.
This was, until, I realized the city is nothing like Des Moines and I can’t show up at the local library or coffee shop and have that burst of inspiration. Hell, I can’t even really show up at a local shop at all, because they’re small and don’t have the room for an all-afternoon patron.
Instead, I’m switching between the dining room table and the sun-drenched deck, totally distracted by things like my nonexistent tan, the dead mouse in the laundry room, and the 500 Barnes & Noble boxes I’m anxiously waiting to show up at my front door.
Even at home, though, I can’t shake my alliteration-loving writing style. “With a satin nickel finish, it can be a fun and functional centerpiece or simply a stylish storage solution.” God I hope that gets published.
I have none. Zip. Zilch. Zero.
I don’t know what I’ve done with my life this week (month?). I’ve watched some Netflix, but not that much. I’ve worked, but I HAVE to do that. I’ve played maybe 20 minutes of Playstation. I’ve only read one book on the before-grad-school reading list. I’ve blogged about nothing of substance. I haven’t even burned the CDs that I need to send to a couple friends.
I think I need more structure in my life. I think I’m ready for homework. I think I’m ready for a life that isn’t conducive to sleeping in and taking naps. I know I should be reveling in the freedom of college applications and test studying. I should be scrapbooking the shit out of my Drake years. Creating my own website. Learning ten ways to cook asparagus. Maybe working out, writing more, or at least seriously considering housing in Lubbock. But I’m not.
So, unless you have some magical motivation elixir, I’m just going to go take my laundry out of the dryer, not fold it for a couple days, and start watching Bond films in preparation for my last Bond post. And in a month, when I get that done, I’ll have at least accomplished something.
I can’t believe I missed my own birthday/anniversary! Today as I sat at the sorority house while some of my sisters were getting ready to go out, I realized that I had started blogging this time last year.
I’d say a lot has happened in that year. I graduated. I got a part-time job, more gigs in the mag world, and into grad school. I learned to cook more things than just cheese tortillas (boiling water for pasta was a big step). I became addicted to Netflix. I had a random guy ask me for my number for the first time. I visited Boston. I saw some amazing concerts and signed my first apartment lease. I did some things I had always wanted, and definitely discovered some new things about myself.
I wasn’t ready for a lot of it. I’m not as ‘disheveled’ as I was in my first post– although I’m still quite uncertain. But it’s cool. I like where I’m at, who I’m with, and where I’m going. And there are a lot more unexpected things to come.
“My guilty pleasures have been outweighing my good health.” – Robin Thicke
Inspired by this lyric from the incredibly sexy album Sex Therapy: The Session, I’ve pondered my own delinquent delights. In no particular order…
1. Falling asleep while reading.
Virtue: Waking up refreshed. Vice: Not reading.
Virtue: Good texting. Vice: Bad texting.
3. Spontaneous Car Rides and/or Road Trips
Virtue: Cheap pizza at 3 am. Vice: Gas money.
4. Processing at PB
Virtue: Visible progress. Vice: Impossible to accomplish.
5. Quick Trip (QT)
Virtue: Endless drink dispensers. Vice: It’s a gas station.
Virtue: Everything. Vice: Everything.
Virtue: On my computer. Vice: Will watch at any hour of the day.
8. Playstation 2
Virtue: Single player entertainment. Vice: Back pain.
9. Baking/Cooking Magazines/Books
Virtue: Recipes. Vice: Recipes I can’t make.
10. Writing Utensils
Virtue: Useful. Vice: Always have too many.
11. Donuts and Processed Cheese
Virtue: Delicious. Vice: Socially unacceptable to like them as much as I do.