Things I've also deemed a really "good" idea in the moment: buying, and subsequently wearing, a John Deer baby-tee at the age of 20; going blonde; not wearing sunscreen in Arizona while laying out for 8 hours because "I don't tan"; deciding that Apple Care is for hippies and billionaires; getting an eyebrow piercing at 24 because I had feelings; topping off the large meal I ate at Anna's goodbye BBQ last month with a sausage link and a bloody mary (and not in that order, by the way; simultaneously.) And what do all of these things have in common? They all seemed like a good idea at the time, but were horrible, horrible, horrible decisions in the end. My little Nip/Tuck marathon was no exception.
Not only did it scare the shit out of me because the majority of episodes in seasons 2 and 3 are about a serial killer who viciously rapes and disfigures his victims, it's also addictive as crack and I could not stop watching. And the thing is (and no offense, Mr. Murphy. You gave the world Mr. Schuester and the tale of an effeminate, football playing twink who Mike O'Malley finally learned to accept. You pretty much get a free pass at this point.), you wouldn't think I'd be so addicted to Nip/Tuck. I mean, it's a great show, don't get me wrong, but every time I watch it, I'm distracted by the fact that Julia's always crying and Matt a.) has a vagina or my name isn't Meghan C. McBlogger (....oh) and b.) is the most irritating character in FX programming history. But despite this, I was addicted. I couldn't stop watching. I ended up watching 3 seasons in 2 days and have burn marks on my thighs from my charging laptop sitting in my lap for so many hours. (And when it got too hot, I'd take a break and move it to my stomach. So good day to you, chances of conceiving.)
When I started this whole mishegoss, I just wanted to see The Carver episodes and for some reason thought they would be spread out over like, 4 episodes, tops. So, I got emotionally invested and and vowed to ride it out to the end. But I didn't know the end would be two seasons later. And by that time, I just couldn't stop watching until I knew who The Carver was. And Christ! I never thought I'd say this, but I'm actually sick of TV. I kind of want to eat a celery stalk and toss a ball around. Outside.
Now, I know you're thinking that I could have just stopped and looked up who The Carver turned out to be on The Google, but don't you get it?—That would have been cheating. I got myself into this mess and it was up to me to get myself out. Honorably. And I did. By watching 43 episodes of Nip/Tuck back-to-back until The Carver's big reveal. And let me tell you, watching 43 episodes of anything is enough to drive you insane.
Speaking which, I would like to apologize to those of you who follow me on Twitter for accidentally live-tweeting the end of season 3 tonight. I realize my thoughts on those episodes probably would have been slightly more interesting in 2006, but in 2006 I was watching a lot of 1980's Degrassi Junior High and Clone High DVDs. And frankly, I have no regrets. I'd also like to thank Alan Zilberman, the movie reviewer at Brightest Young Things, who I don't actually know, but did briefly serve as a helpful sounding board for my Carver theories. And to Teresa's boyfriend, Dave, who stepped in at the last minute and told me which episode the big reveal was so I knew when I'd be getting my life back. Aaaaaand to everyone who didn't unfollow me for manically tweeting about 4-year-old episodes of Nip/Tuck. Because that did happen.
But this little Nip/Tuck-a-thon gave as well as it took. True, I lost some followers because of a spike in my usual Twitter obnoxiousness, but I learned some very important lessons as well. Lessons, which I will gladly share with you now:
What I Learned From 43 Episodes of Nip/Tuck:
1.) Dame Helen Mirren really has the market on hot-older-distinguished-Lady cornered, but in my opinion, Vanessa Redgrave deserves an amen. Because, I said god damn:
2.) VANESSA REDGRAVE IS NATASHA RICHARDSON (R.I.P.)'S MOTHER AND JULIA'S REAL MOM!
Actually, I think my mom repeatedly told me that when Natasha Richardson died last year as a little, "Oh did you know...?" fun fact, but it went in one ear and out the other because I couldn't visualize who Vanessa Redgrave was and kept picturing Robert Redford, which then made me think of Katharine Hepburn and I was like, didn't Katharine Hepburn die six years ago? I don't know. Writing this blog has taught me a lot about myself; specifically that I'm not that smart.
3.) I am never getting surgery. Ever. According to popular medical opinion, I currently need three procedures: a tonsillectomy, wisdom teeth extraction and a breast reduction. And to those three surgeries, I have three words: No. Fucking. Way. Why? Because there's an episode in Season 3 where The Carver screws with the anesthesia so the patient seems under, but can feel the entire procedure! And when I expressed concern about this to Tulane Chris tonight, he calmly said, "Oh. Well, that happens." WHAT?!?! Dropping your popcorn at the movies happens. Bad cell reception happens. Spotting during pregnancy happens. Being paralyzed while you feel the agonizing pain of surgery can't just happen. Christ. So big tonsils, big teeth and big booths, ahoy! I'm like a walking cubist painting.
4.) Similarly, I'm never flying again. Ever. Thanks to an incredibly graphic episode about the aftermath of a plane crash in which Mac's mom from It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia gets burnt like a pop-tart and Julia has to slice her dead back flesh off to wrap around other burnt survivors who have a chance of making it and I. SAID. GOOD. DAY.
5.) Oh holy mother of god—I will lock my apartment door from now on. OH MY GOD, I KNOW, I KNOW. IT'S HORRIBLE! I LIVE ALONE IN THE ONCE MURDER CAPITAL OF THE UNITED STATES AND I DON'T LOCK MY DOOR! I'M SORRY! It's my dirty little secret. In fact, I think Andrew was recently like, "Did you know that X% of people in this city don't lock their doors?" and I judged them just like everybody else did, when secretly that X% is 100% ME! My mother is reading this and having a small heart attack right now somewhere. I'm sorry. It all started in college when I developed an intense phobia of locking myself out of my dorm room when I went to take a shower. You have to understand! I didn't want to prance around the dorm in my robe looking like a wet cat. THERE WERE MEN FROM TEXAS THERE. MEN FROM TEXAS.
Anyway, one day sophomore year, I went out to meet my parents for dinner and actually did remember to lock the door behind me. When I got back from dinner, the entire floor was a-buzz that somebody had broken into my room and stolen a bunch of shit. BUT GET THIS! The robber stole my roommate's laptop, TI-83 calculator and phone but didn't touch anything of mine (despite totally having shit worth stealing, thank you very much.) I was like, YES, HORNBERGER!!! And from then on, I took that as a sign that I'm invincible to break-ins; doors locked or otherwise.
So now sometimes if I'm lying in bed and see that my front door is unlocked, I'll be like, "Meh. I live in an apartment building. We have front desk security. I live on the 4th floor. Someone will hear me scream. I took kick-boxing for a semester in college. Five feet is so far. NIGHT!" roll over and go to bed.
BUT NOT ANY MORE! Because I'm like a juicy Thanksgiving turkey just sitting on the dining room table, begging to be carved. So from now on, I promise to lock my door at all times. (Oh my god, I never locked the door when I lived in Brooklyn either. Diane, I am so, so sorry.) (And I never used conditioner until I got to college and realized it was weird that I didn't. WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME?!)
6.) I owe Anna and apology. Anna's a huge Nip/Tuck fan and she was the one always telling me how good The Carver episodes were. Well, one time we were staying in this random hostel in Bruges (because we're both white, upper middle-class and east coast college educated, so of course that sentence just happened,) and I walked past the hall bathroom and saw Anna bent over washing her face in the sink. As a goof, I snuck up, stood in the doorway behind her and stared at her in the mirror, so when she looked back up she'd see me and have a little...scare. BECAUSE THAT'S FUNNY! We were in Bruges. Well, apparently it was not funny. She looked up, saw me, literally froze in fear and said, "GAH." But like, G-A-H. GAH! It's the only noise that she could produce. It was so perfect; it was like a cartoon. I thought an anvil was going to fall on her next. I never understood why she was so pissed at me for doing that UNTIL I saw the episode where Sean is washing his face and when he looks back up in the mirror, THE CARVER is staring back at him. Jesus. I've been cleaning my face like a cat for two nights now. So Anna, I humbly apologize. But if it's any consolation, my paws hurt.
7.) I thoroughly enjoy the sound of someone putting latex gloves on and snapping them off. I realize I'm standing backwards on the slippery slope that is, "Meg has a latex fetish!", but it's just honestly an incredibly satisfying sound. There's nothing sexual about it. It's like tires driving over gravel or sassy black women snapping their gum at the post office—it just sounds good. And yes, those of you personally know me know that there's a blatant latex cat mask hanging up in my closet, but it was an ironic prop for a photo shoot. BUT NOT THAT KIND OF A PHOTO SHOOT. It was for Washingtonian magazine. But we didn't end up going with those pictures. But the photo shoot really happened, I swear. 'Ehh...It's times like these I allow myself to remember that my parent's friends read this blog and just cringe ever-so slightly.
8.) The name "Kimber" drives me up the wall. Because not to get all Andy Rooney on you, but where's the —ly? Kimber. It's just such an unsatisfying name. If I had a friend named Kimber, I'd spend our entire friendship being like, "OH, HEY KIMBER!.......ly." Kimber just feels so...unfinished. Like when you feel like you have to sneeze and then you don't. Or when you have a sex dream but can't come for the life of you, so you wake up and try to finish but you're like, well great, I'm actually not horny at all, I'm too tired to even try and it's 6:45 on a Saturday morning. That's Kimber.
9.) I should probably get out of the house?....Yeah. I should get out of the house.