TV on the brain

I’d almost forgotten how fantastic it was to have a total heartbreaking crush on Jordan Catalano.

I’m most definitely enjoying this new series of Dr. Who. Words cannot truly express how much I’m enjoying it. It’s just a load of fun and then some. I’d almost forgotten how fantastic a good scifi show could really be. Not to mention that any scifi show cheeky enough to feature Soft Cell’s “Tainted Love” as a futuristic relic of Earth music long since passed really warrants my eternal love and respect (although I really MUST take exception to the use of Britney Spears…I mean really. Is this Dr. Who or is it Top of the fucking Pops?!).

It’s really going to be distressing when the good Doctor kicks it at the end of the season. *sigh* Ange, I’m trying to steel myself against this, but I’m pretty sure I’ll need your shoulder to sob on.

I must add…I love Zöe Wannamaker’s voice. Even when she’s only onscreen as a transparent sheet of skin with a puckered face and apathetic demeanor.

I’ve spent every night for the past two weeks with a wicked case of heartburn. Oh how I love genetics. This is a common ailment on my dad’s side of the family. The fun caveat being that no specific thing seems to set it off. Spicy foods do fine one minute and then wreak havoc the next. Same thing with sodium, caffeine, dairy, meat, vegetables, fruits, small children, Volkswagen Beetles, Jay-Z albums, and the occasional sideways rant from Michael Savage.

Eating Tums has become habitual. I’ve got enough calcium in me to build a second endoskeleton. The thing that frustrates me is not knowing when or how the heartburn will strike. I once spent the better part of a month in total agony because my morning cups of coffee had suddenly turned my esophagus into reflux central. Of course, I never once actually stopped drinking said coffee…I just kinda hoped it would all go away. And it did. And hasn’t returned, much to my delight.

If I really wanted to be a head-case about it, I’d go to my doctor and beg him for some answers and possibly a prescription. But considering my doctor thinks I’m a loon simply because I wanted a good old-fashioned non-vagina checkup during my last visit, I will most likely refrain. (And really, what’s so damn weird about wanting a checkup?! Don’t they always whine about how the American public doesn’t get enough regular checkups? So what’s the deal? I think my doctor has been staring at too many elderly puckers…)

Some day I will start a list of all the things I find physicallyappallingg about myself so that I can go into therapy and blame stuff on my folks, considering that to date the only things they’ve done to scar me were denying me both an Easy Bake Oven and a little sister. Hmph! And really, what kind of human being would I be if I couldn’t blame at least something on my parents, right?(really, I had such a normal, non-traumatic childhood, I definitely feel both blessed and guilty most of the time)