Off Tangent

“I WANT HIS SPERM.”

Oh Private Practice. You were oh-so-dead on arrival, from the time “Addison” (because was this really the same character we loved on Grey’s Anatomy? WHO IS THIS ADDISON?) started dancing in her apartment naked, but seriously, the second that woman turned in a laughably melodramatic performance by announcing “I want his sperm” in the hospital, I actually turned it off.

“I want his sperm.” Jesus. She might as well have tried to use the words “labia majora” in some kind of mature context that doesn’t involve surreptitious giggling and snorfling, because neither one of those statements belong in any sort of television that we’re supposed to take remotely seriously.

Thus far, by the way, I have found but one show from the new season that I actually like: Journeyman. I don’t care if it’s Quantum Leap recycled (it totally is), it was refreshingly entertaining without being either a) a cop drama or b) an emotional suckfest designed to pull us into some sort of insane love triangle for years and years. (Hi, Grey’s Anatomy! LOVE YOU!)

And hey, does anyone watch ER any more? I just wish it would flatline already (har!), because it’s been far too long, Stanley Tucci or no.

Enough TV! Sunny’s back to eating poop again, and it was a contentious few moments when Adam warned me she’d had a fecalicious snack so hey, don’t let her kiss you, when I announced that oh, right! That was a habit she’d started yesterday! You know, right before she kissed you all over your face! For real. Everyone is thrilled.

Anyway, for the third time since the Weight Watchers journey (like The Bachelor!), a coworker noticed that I lost weight during a most inopportune time: when I was bending over the crisper drawer of our office refrigerator. Don’t get me wrong — none of the comments were in any was salacious or inappropriate, it’s just that it’s hard to muster more than a “Oh! Gee, um, thanks!” with the realization that it is your diminished derriere in their face that prompted the compliment, especially while digging through a bottom drawer of what might be lettuce, might be old meat, does anyone really know? Side note: About a week ago, I reached into a grocery store bag in the fridge that I was SURE was mine, and oh my God, it wasn’t. It was a bag of raw pork spareribs. In our office fridge. And do you know how gross that is? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA?

I hope you have a great weekend. Adam just pretended — quite convincingly — that the TiVo actually broke in a horrible, melty accident so as to avoid actually having to suffer through Grey’s Anatomy. And by “suffering,” I mean that I am very likely including my own, because the comments! The neverending snarky comments! They cause me pain. (Adam, on Dr. Torres: “Oh my God, she’s just … a beast. A beast! A frightening beast!” OH SOMEONE SAVE ME.)

*Gecko. So Vista included all of these incredibly irritating musical vignettes with my new laptop, and is there anything more irritating then cruising along on a nice run when BAM! a song that you neither ripped nor downloaded, and worse, it’s all jazzy and ridiculous and not at all what you like? That’s right, I don’t like jazz. No! I don’t like jazz! Not even a little! And I don’t care what that says about me!

**Update: Um, for real? FOR FREAKING REAL? More Mer-Der drama? A BREAK-UP AT THE GET-GO THEN MORE ROUND AND ROUND WE GO JUST STAY ON OR GET OFF STAY ON OR GET OFF OMG!111!!!1

22 comments September 27th, 2007