Smoke Gets In Your Eyes
Look, here’s the truth: I’m not sure if I can REALLY give up Big Love. Oh, I know I SAID I was, and I will admit, I half-watched this entire season, because it was a strangely repellent mixture of incredibly boring and incredibly far-fetched. All the things that made it wonderful in the first few seasons — the delicate nuances of the wives’ personalities as they danced around the (horrible) center of their universe, Douchebag Bill; the impact it had on their children who, for the most part, were expected to live normal lives without ever letting anyone in on their secret; the unforeseen challenges of being a husband, three times over.
All of that was replaced by bombastic fireworks with little substance. Murder! Mayhem! Closeted gays! Arm-slicing! A bizarre eugenics experiment that went entirely unexplained! And it was all so poorly written and … oh, what the HELL, people?
But you know what, I said the same thing about Grey’s Anatomy somewhere in the range of FIVE THOUSAND TIMES, and umpteen MEELLION years later, here I am, TiVoing the shiznit outta that show and relieved, week after week, that they’ve refrained from torturing us with MerDer dramzzz.
I’m a sheep, however. I can’t stop.
***
Whenever my dog is behaving oddly — like, say, this evening, when she busted into Sam’s bedroom during our nighttime routine no fewer than three times — I have a tendency to suddenly assign a great deal of meaning to her actions, like she’s somehow channeling Lassie and trying to tell us something Very Important. “Is there a fire, girl? Do I smell different? DO I HAVE CANCER, SUNNY ROOBS?”
All this portentous behavior ascribed to a dog who can’t effectively communicate that she needs to go outside to go to the BATHROOM.
***
Here’s a sad fact: I quit smoking at least five years ago, probably longer — I can’t even remember anymore, maybe 2003? — and the truth is, I miss it every day. Every. Day. When I find out someone I know smokes, my reaction is almost never one of revulsion, although I AM repulsed by the smell of smoke, but instead is, OH YOU ARE SO LUCKY. I miss smoking terribly, you guys. TERRIBLY. Everything about it just screams “RECKLESS YOUTH!” to me, from taking too-long smoke breaks at my first job to bond with coworkers, a la Rachel in “Friends,” to Adam and me, in the throes of our early days, buying two packs apiece on a Friday night and wondering if it would be enough to last until Saturday morning (!!).
I’ll never smoke again, especially now that I have a daughter, but I don’t think there will ever be a day where I look back on it with anything but fondness.
However, that doesn’t stop me from being a totally judgmental douchebag when I see anyone climb into a car with little kids (in their CAR SEATS, even!) and light up. And if you have the windows rolled up? There’s a chance I’ll flip your ass off. I don’t care if you smoke, but their little lungs are all FRESH AND PINK and you have no right to sully them, biznatch.
And finally, a baby in a barrette, made by Metalia:
Happy Wednesday!
*The Platters. Yes, THE PLATTERS. From DECADES AGO. I have a thing for The Platters, for reasons that have to do with my mom and me singing them while baking cookies.
29 comments March 16th, 2010