Category: Complaints

I have a slew of shows that I refuse to watch on the grounds that I may someday want to watch them from the beginning. Mad Men. Game of Thrones. The Wire. Good Wife. Justified. Scandal. I actually started watching Scandal but it stressed me out too much so I stopped. Rome. Friday Night Lights. Also started watching that, got almost all the way through the first season, but Lyla Garrity just killed me in a combination where I hated her and felt so sad every time I saw her pretty, sad face. 90210. My So-Called Life. Lost. Seinfeld.

Haha just kidding.

Some of these shows I really want to watch but won’t let myself because then they’ll be over. Some of them I want to watch but I can’t because they’re super stressful and they’re still on the air and so there is no end in sight, no clear point of closure, and I just can’t enter into it without an idea of how long I’ll be tortured. This is actually why Joss Whedon is great for me, because all his shows get cancelled.

But for real, the good news is, I don’t care if you accidentally say spoilers in front of me, because a) that’d be ridiculous, some of those shows have been over for like 30 years, b) if I haven’t been watching, those character names mean nothing to me, c) I read way too much celebrity gossip to not find out when actors enter/exit shows, d) the joy of most tv shows is not actually finding out what happens—but in becoming way too invested in fictional characters for years on end in a shared cultural delusion where these people exist and their lives affect yours in an intimate way.

(I can never figure out whether to use affect or effect and then I remember if you can substitute a verb—their lives eat yours—then it’s affect. But their lives eat yours is probably an even better statement. I still think about the finale of Dawson’s Creek. I mean, seriously, Pacey.)

My mom tries to set my sister K up with IT guys. When K was single, it was pretty blatant–

“The new IT guy at my work is so cute. He’s this kind of goofy-looking guy with a huge smile. I’m going to look to see if he has a wedding ring on. By the way, did you want to come have lunch with me at work this week?”

Now that K’s been with her boyfriend for a few years, things have gotten more subtle. We’ll all be having dinner together– K’s bf included– and my mom’ll say something like–

“Well if you don’t want to help me with my computer, I’ll just ask the IT guy at work. He’s very smart. And nice. I’m surprised he hasn’t been snatched up already.”

Like I said, super subtle. “IT Guy” has become something of a code word in our house.

“Well, if you were dating an IT Guy, K, you wouldn’t have this problem of not knowing how to fix your computer.”

“Well, if I could just find a nice IT Guy to settle down with….” 

For most of my life, my mom has resisted the urge to try to set me up (the exception). I wasn’t sure why this was, but like most privileged people, I accepted my good fortune blindly and tried not to ask too many questions.

Now I know that it was just because I wasn’t living in the same city as my mother for the past few years (and prior to that I was in college). I moved away for grad school. I’m back now. She apparently thinks matchmaking is appropriate only post-higher education. 21st century, y’all!

And I don’t want to be melodramatic, but…..it’s started. And it’s terrible, horrible, no-good, very-bad.

Pretty sure my eyes are still stuck in the back of my head from last week.

My sister gets IT Guy. I get…Produce Guy.

“M, you know who’s really pretty cute?” my mom says like she’s just discovered a fabulous secret. “The produce guys down at Met Market!”

“You’re kidding, right?” I say. “You want me to date a produce guy?“

“From Met Market,” my mom says like that explains everything.

“….” I say.

“Met Market! Their produce is really good. I think they probably know a lot. They’re sort of experts,” my mom says. 

“Oh. Well then,” I say.

“Fine,” she says. “But don’t say I didn’t tell you.”

“….”

Five minutes later, she says, “I just think you should look is all.”

The next day, she says, “Oh, could you run down to the grocery store and pick up some bread? …Are you going to change out of your sweatpants?”

I don’t think it’s going to work. When I’m in the grocery store, I either look royally pissed off or on the verge of total panic. 

But as my mom said when I told her what this morning’s post was about, “In my defense, you do really like produce.”