After a crazy week of work—actually, several weeks of work, or months, if I’m honest—I finally had a chance to come up for air this weekend. There was still a few things to worry about, some pins and needles to wait on, that kind of stuff, but at least I wasn’t pulling eight-hour writing days fueled by coffee and desperation. It was a nice change. And now, it’s Sunday, and we’re getting ready for a hot dog party. Not exactly an Impromptu Hot Dog Party, a la Adam and Wallace from Along for the Ride, although they do have some things in common. Such as, well, hot dogs. And cole slaw. And good friends. No food fights, though, at least I hope not. My house is messy enough as it is.
Before I can enjoy my meal, though, I have to eat a little crow. A few weeks back, in this very space, I announced that I was giving up on Grey’s Anatomy, a show I once LOVED, and deleting all future episodes from my DVR. Basically, I broke up with Mer and Der and everyone at Seattle Grace, having decided they just weren’t worth watching anymore. But then, I somehow managed to only record a couple of minutes of the Modern Family finale and so had to go to Hulu to find it. We’re sitting there, watching it on our Mac, and the TV is still on mute in the living room. It happens to be on ABC, where the finale is just beginning. And even though Modern Family is fantastic, it was so intense that my attention kept going back to it. So, the next day, the FIRST day I wasn’t working in the afternoon in recent memory, I decided to see if it was on Hulu. It was. I started part one and an hour later, I was totally agog. Due to a busy weekend, I couldn’t get to part two until today, and I just finished it. SOB! SNIFFLE! YIKES. It was really, really good. Okay, over dramatic, but then Grey’s never pulled punches when it came to that. Plus, it had Mandy Moore. With a colostomy bag! I mean, come on. So if you, like me, broke up with Grey’s this season and have, you know, about eighty minutes to spare, go on over to Hulu and hunker down. You will laugh, you will cry. You will cry. And I will now be going back to watch all the eps I skipped. When I’m wrong, at least I admit it. That makes it okay, right?
Also, as of today I have exactly two weeks left of my thirties. Which means, I figure, I have fourteen days to do everything I want to be able to say I did during that decade. I mean, if I get a tattoo, wouldn’t it be better to do so in my thirties than forties? And what about bungee jumping? Isn’t that more of a thirties thing? Okay, you’re right. I’m not going to do either of those things. My friends have enough tattoos for all of us and I hate heights. But if your teen years are about driving and high school, and your twenties are for getting legal, finishing college and entering the Real World (whatever that is) then the thirties, at least for me, were about marriage and family. And, um, writing. Lots of writing. So what have I NOT done in my thirties that I should have? Well, I would have liked to travel more. And I kind of wish I’d spent less time thinking about work and more time with the people I love. It’s kind of last minute to jet off to Paris, though, and I think my friends and family are honestly a little sick of me right now. So what? I have fourteen (or, really, thirteen) days to figure it out. Hmmmmmm.
Finally, tonight is the finale of Lost, and I think I am the only person who will not be watching. I know people who are fanatical to almost religious levels about this show, and considering how I feel about FNL and Gilmore Girls and Veronica Mars, I can totally understand. But it has just never appealed to me, even though my favorite magazine, EW, has been obsessed since day one. I’m so used to being part of whatever TV phenomenon is happening—Idol and Survivor, in the old days, for instance—that it’s weird to have absolutely no investment in such a moment in pop culture. Maybe THAT’S what my forties will be about: less TV. What a concept. I guess we’ll find out in fourteen or thirteen days.