and now for another drunk blog...
I am NOT surly.
I am many things. Surly, as it turns out, is not one of them. I am, I must admit, a hopeless fan of TV that should be reserved only for 17-year-old girls.
And I'm not just talking about the OC because, let's be honest, that's in the vein of Dawson's Creek: that excusable sort of bad. The self-referential "wink wink, nudge nudge we're laughing at ourselves as you're laughing at ourselves so we're laughing at you" cyclical humor that makes you want to puke from motion sickness, but doesn't stop you from lining up around the block just to get to the Boalt showing of the first epeisode (Welcome to the premiere, bitches). I'm a fan of One Tree Hill and plan to be an avid viewer of the new show that looks bad enough to be good, The Reuion. Not to mention my lingering longing for the deceased Buffy. So it goes.
But I'm not surly. I'm not. So get off my back already. I'm tired. And I think Surreal Life is about to come on.
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