Dear NBC affiliate and/or Cox Cable Company,
I don’t know who is to blame for the darkest, blackest, blankest screen on channel 4 of my TV, but somebody is. Somebody guilty of ruining my night of Reality TV bliss.
Somebody with a death wish.
Why is MY NBC channel the target of such a random act of blank screened violence?
All the other channels work.
All 900 of them.
Couldn’t you have chosen a different channel to attack?
My love of The Biggest Loser has been documented with great abundance on this humble blog. Why then would you pick tonight? Why not any other night of the week? Since this is the only show I watch on NBC, why not choose Wednesday?
Better yet, why not Spike TV? Overweight men, snoring in their LaZboy chairs don’t need to watch yet another rerun episode of CSI.
Or Animal Planet? Sure I like animals and all. But really, they just walk around and eat their unsuspecting prey.
How does that compare to game play, snotty attitudes, sour faces and tears by the bucket?
I know I should be a little more gracious knowing that I also have American Idol and Dancing With the Stars to Watch.
But, you see, it’s Grand Ole Opry night on American Idol.
While I don’t have a major beef with country music, it’s not my favorite. Therefore, this night of singing hasn’t been all that enjoyable.
Sure I have a Big and Rich song on my mp3 player, but that’s it. Just one. And that’s enough.
I don’t own a big belt buckle or a pair of cowboy boots. I don’t have sky high hair and a charming twang. And I’ve never once yee hawed. To anyone who reads this blog and happens to love country music, please note that I’m being facetious when I use every (quite possibly) offensive country music lover cliche in the book. I have nothing but love for you and am trying to be lighthearted in this time of great trial.
I’m sure Dolly Parton is a perfectly lovely person, and I did like her in that episode of Hannah Montana where she got into a cat fight with Vicky Lawrence, but I’d really rather watch Boyfriend Bob. We’re working things out, you know. I’ve decided to give him another chance. An opportunity to return to his once loved and admired ways. How can I monitor his progress and feel those warm and fuzzy thoughts if you won’t play the show?
I apologize for the repeated use of the word “really.” But, really?
Is there some sort of greater message to be gleaned from this? Should I perhaps spend less time watching pointless television. Should I instead be folding the laundry that awaits me in the dryer? Unload the dishwasher? Read a book?
I already read today, finished my book and found out whodunnit. Unloading the dishwasher is noisy and will awaken a sleeping Craig who will show great displeasure in the dish clanging racket. And my coat hangers are upstairs that I need to use to hang up the clothes that are waiting to be removed from the dryer. Ok, that’s lame, but, well, I’m mad and I don’t want to fold laundry.
I want Bob.
I want Jillian.
I want the Most! Dramatic! Weigh! In! Yet!
Long pauses, over animated facial expressions, commercials strategically placed to insure the most drama and, of course, buckets of tears.
You don’t know how much you’ve dampened my spirits.
And while I want to cause a huge fuss and declare a boycott, you know as well as I do that I’ll be back next week for another episode. I’m quick to forgive and (perhaps) forget when The Biggest Loser is involved.
You know you’ve got me wrapped around your little devious, conniving and heartbreaking fingers.
Yeah, I’ll be back, but for now, I’m shooting you daggers.
You know the one.
The look that quickly causes a kid to confess their transgressions and scares a man into picking up his dirty socks, nail clippers and empty Good N Plenty box strewn beside the bed.
I’ve had 12 and a half years to perfect this look.
Can you feel it?
Good, I’m glad.
the disgruntled and still very Neurotic Housewife
Edited to Add: NBC is working now. I wonder if something got messed up with my DVR causing the TV station to flip out. I had The Biggest Loser scheduled to be recorded since I miss the first half hour while reading to Caroline. That’s my only explaination.
Maybe a sadistic little leprechaun fussed with my DVR?