So messed up, right? But isn't there a piece in all of us that loves TV because it a) gives us an opportunity to ignore other responsibilities in our life, b) helps those of us who thrive on routine add to that compulsion, c) in a safe and not-real way support people we like and actively, vocally, enthusiastically watch the demise of those we can't stand? (Like Jamie Lauren. The day I eat at Absinthe is the day Eater or Tablehopper delivers the news that they have a new chef. Ouch.)
No? Ok, I guess it's just me. And now my true colors are painted all over this very public (but never read) blog.
My Better Half covered the highlights of this week's Bachelor reject and Top Chef's bottom chef so I'll leave that content to him. I'll limit myself to an ebmarrasing, self-indulgent, psychoanalytical post. And as always I'll wonder, "what would Dr. Drew say to me?"
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