well. it's been 8 months since I last wrote anything for this blog.
definition of the word "blog" : A Web site on which an individual or group of users record opinions, information, etc. on a regular basis
the word to note here is "regular" like the size of McDonalds meal nobody ever orders, or how you want your period to be every month when "accidentally" having unprotected sex. when put in context of me being regular with updating this I have failed.
miserably
and you all know how much I hate to lose....
anyway, this time I have decided to share some rather embarrassing thoughts with you about TV. well, more precisely, American DVD Box sets and my slight obsession with them...
last night I had the weirdest dream, I have spent the last few months watching Lost from the start and am now 3 episodes from the end. I'm so excited I might wet myself yet there's this looming dark cloud lurking right at the corner of my vision... it gets closer every time I watch an episode. soon it will be right over me. ill finish watching the last episode and, "Bang!" (firework? gun? head on wall?) that's it. back to my normal life. no more thinking that every time my phone does something funny it's because I'm suddenly living in an electro magnetised cottage, or if I see one of the numbers 4 8 15 16 23 42 anywhere I immediately believe I'm one of the chosen ones. like when you come out of the cinema after watching a horror movie, then go to the loo and nobody else is in there. we all pretend like were in that movie and sit on the loo thinking that someone's climbing the walls or we can hear noises. and we all speak with an stupid American accent in our heads. don't lie. I know it's not just me.
for the last 3 months I've lived and breathed this blasted TV show. I remember when I did the same with 24 and for months I thought I was actually working for CTU, I would cross the road quicker in case a blacked out vehicle came and kidnapped me. I would pretend I had a gun in my trousers (I was pleased to see everyone) and run around corners then stop and wait. it was pathetic. I even found myself in my own bathroom (when alone..I fear Alistair would finish it if he ever heard me doing this) talking to myself in that crap American accent about a new secret mission I had been assigned. honestly, my life became like a low budget, pants episode of 24.
and then I watched sex and the city. now, the one thing in my favour here is that EVEY girl that has ever watched the show has pretended they are one of the characters and sat in a bar with a cocktail or a drink thinking they are Carrie, or Samantha, or Charlotte, or the other one. (ahh who am I kidding, on all the "which character are you" quizzes I was always Miranda - my sarcastic humour is attractive - apparently) and that men are instantly more attracted to us because we pretend we don't know they are there when actually all were doing is trying harder to ignore them than we would normally and we sit there talking about our sex lives and which toys we've tried recently (again, in our heads this is all done in a crap American accent) but it doesn't quite work when sat in an O'Neill's in the middle of Northampton with a slightly cloudy glass of some shite sauvignon - especially when the men don't play the part we want them too. where are the men's in suits? where are the men who like their steaks "red" and send over champagne? where are the men from new York...!? well, duh, they're hardly hanging in Northampton.
the funny thing is, when I was consumed by my SATC (that's abbreviated for the true "fans") addiction I got angry at my boyfriend for not behaving like the men in the show. how pathetic is that. as if my wonderful HUMAN REAL boyfriend was a failure because he wasn't behaving how some scripted, FAKE man on the tele was. it's the same with rom-coms. we have a right tizz on when our men don't whisk us onto some yacht after finding out our favourite childhood book character, proposing with our dead grandmas ring they asked our mum for then spending the evening dancing to Michael Buble (because they know how much we love him) nope..we get men trying to drink as much wine as us, which because they aren't used to it, means they get twice as pissed as us, make idiots of themselves and invariably are sick/angry or both. and the minute a bit of Buble comes on in a restaurant, the moaning commences.
anyway, back to Lost. so I know the end is nigh. I know I have about 12 hours of bonus features I can watch to drag it out a bit longer but there's only so many bloopers you can watch where they are clearly faking the laughter because they know it's going on the blooper reel. seriously...saying a word wrong is never THAT funny guys, no matter how famous or American you are.
when it ends I will just be plain old me, no being slightly late leaving for work because you have to finish the last few minutes of an episode, no enemies lurking, no magnets, no numbers, no more drinking cocktails I hate and will never drink again but it makes me look so sophisticated to drink it sat at this table with 3 other girlfriends. (but darn it, why are 2 of us brunette.. that's not how it goes, there's meant to be ONE brown, one red head and 2 blondes. someone is going to have to change their hair), no buying ridiculous sex toys because I think they make me more of a conversationalist (note to self... it's better to be quiet and have a great sex life than spout about it all the time and clearly just be lying) no more thinking I could be the president of the United States (West Wing, never really did get further than series 1 of that though) no more wearing ridiculous hats with shorts, a gold jumper and high heels just to pop to the shops because I live in NORTHAMPTON NOT NEW YORK. no more living in a little fantasy world, no more starting to think Hurley is mildly attractive because he's funny (yes really) no more thinking that I would blatantly choose Sawyer over Jack (Kate - you pleb) - basically for about a week my life will cease to exist.
just me.. and my terrible American accent which NOBODY will ever hear (unless you're in my bathroom in the mornings that is...)
well...until the new series of Dexter starts that is. then my serial killer dubious thoughts resume and I start collecting blood samples on glass slides and wishing I had a fan duct on my wall I could hide them in...
abso-fuckin-lutley
emms
x
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