TV: The World's Best Sedative

I think I'm now at the place in my writing that my best friend and I call "true confessions." It's where you divulge something you are in no way proud of to someone who has true confessed herself, thus ensuring that neither of you have a single leg to stand on in judgement. Actually, given that you can't spill your guts in return, this is nothing like "true confessions," but this whole confession thing is about the confessor anyway, so I don't really need someone else to do this with me. That just serves to make us feel that we are in like-minded company. Like if there was a hell, we wouldn't be headed there alone. But since I don't believe in hell, no companion confessor is needed here (Fyi, this is strictly my intellect speaking. Everything else in me is screaming for a partner in crime right now.).
Now that we have the introductions out of the way, I will begin.

Confession #1:
I hate roosters. I used to love them when all they reminded me of was that trip to Mexico City to climb Mt. Orizaba where met up with a mysterious Swede named Pepe. Roosters were romantic then; awakening to it's prideful crow and the sweet scent of pan dulce from the bakery down below. Turns out, everything is romantic for four days. Yes, even a bird that sounds like it's being strangled to death in the wee hours of the morn. The love-light fades, however, when you are awakened every single morning of your "peaceful" country life at 3 am and again at 4 am and again at 5 am and again at 6 am. Take it from me: keep roosters for your vacations, not in your backyards.

Confession #2:
I love 80's music. This wasn't part of the initial confessions, but listening to "Hey Mickey" right now made me cough it up. 

Confession #3:
A fly just landed on my eyebrow. This happens a lot here.

Confession #4:
Moving to the country makes me hyper-aware of noise pollution. It's crazy. I used to sleep through neighbors screaming, sirens screeching, and drunkards being @#%holes. Now a freaking cow lows a mile away and I'm at the window flipping it off. But, seriously, they're amazing animals. No disrespect.

Confession #5:
It's a Saturday night in a town of 5,000 and Jack is out working, so I can keep this up for hours (just in case you have something to do).

 Confession #6:
 I drink a lot of wine now. This is the country, technically, but I'm kind of cheating in saying that, since two of our four nearest neighbors are wineries. I just don't feel right without telling ya'll that. Here I've been touting country life without disclosing that I can walk about two blocks in two directions and belly up to a bar. I know, I know...how disappointing. But this is what true confessions are all about.

Confession #7:
Jack just got home so this will be it. The grand finale. The padre grande. Here it goes: my students have always thought I was so strong or anti-whatever because I didn't have TV. I mean we had a TV, but no cable. All we could watch were DVDs, and I was proud of this. Instead of watching brain-sucking TV we would ballroom dance, practice our gymnastics, read the New Yorker aloud, debate current politics, or clean the house (just kidding; we hate cleaning the house). But recently we got something called Netflix - which re-buffers every four minutes out here - but may as well be called Manna From Heaven. There aren't enough years left in my life to watch all the shows that mesmerize me. I won't even waste your time by listing them all because it would take a good ten minutes to read, but trust me when I say, "Where in the hell did this miracle come from?" If uninterrupted, I can watch six hours of stories, easy. But no...no! This is what I'm confessing! This Netflix is bad. Wasting my life watching these shows is bad. Country living should only be allowed if you don't have Netflix, because if you do, you might as well be in a 10 by 10 studio in Tokyo. Or a townhouse in Orange County. At any rate, I've got to come clean. I'm an addict. The real reason I don't have cable is because I know myself well enough to know that if I did, I'd never leave the house. We were raised without TV, sugar cereal or secular music (this story for another blog), resulting in an uncontrollable addiction to all of the above. I've come to terms with great music, but I still refrain from buying sugar cereals or cable. I know my weaknesses too well.  But then Netfix entered my life, and I went into a tailspin. I am in a tailspin. This is my seventh and final confession (I swear to god I didn't plan the whole seven thing). I could watch mini-series from now until my 100 birthday and not blink an eye at anyone who tried to interrupt. Just ask my closest friends.

Oh my lanta...for the first time in my life I think I know why I don't want children..true confessions.
Unless they were on TV, which is a totally different story.