I'm always behind by a year or two on television viewing. Unless it's a Blackhawks game, I can't be bothered to watch it when it's on, so I wait for it to come to DVD...and then I keep waiting until the show is over. By the time all is said and done, everyone is about two light years ahead of me in T.V. viewing.
We got it to watch movies since The Husbinator and I are big fans of snuggling, and not such big fans of remembering what I did with the DVD we wanted to watch while we snuggled. Anyway, most of our Netflix viewing is television shows we never bothered to watch while they were on the air.
So, I finally started Lost in December. What better way to avoid cramming for exams than to visit the Island o' Crazy Stuff, right? Ha! The show infuriated me. It wasn't the mystery that made me mad. That was fine by me. It was everything else that pissed me off. They made it all the way to season six before they ever explained exactly why the heck all of these people were "coincidentally" connected to one another, which made the entire thing unbelievable to me. On top of that, Shannon died, Charlie died, the Kwon's died, Claire went crazy, but freaking Miles made it to the season finale alive and sane. Meh.
The only redeeming thing about the show was Sawyer in all his bad-boy, I-live-on-an-island-and-I-don't-give-a-damn-hotness. For instance:
Despite having no love for the show, I couldn't stop watching it. Why? Because I'm an avid appreciator of sexy men. I lack the willpower to look away. It's just one of those things that makes me the crazy author you'll all soon know and love. I. Can't. Resist. The. Sexy. Ever.
At any rate, I finally finished my month and a half long Sawyer-a-thon the other night and thought, "Woohoo! Now I can get some reading done!"
It's a hot boy conspiracy, y'all.
Lead Me Not Into Temptation (for I have not the willpower to resist),