Off the soapbox and onto the Boob Tube

***The following typed with tongue planted FIRMLY in cheek. It's a total waste of everyone's time. No redeeming qualities whatsoever. You probably shouldn't even read it.***

I know it seems as though I've been writing about everything BUT the dogs lately. That's because we really don't have a whole lot going on right now, other than trying to get Ian ready for the trials in two weeks, and praying against all odds that Elli grows some, you know, HAIR between now and then. So, while that's keeping us busy, it doesn't make for real scintillating reading. Hence the climbing on of soapboxes and, now, the rambling on about my second greatest passion in life, the television.

[Hey, I live in Maine. It's coming up on winter. There's not a whole lot to do, okay? Don't judge.]

There has been a long-running joke at my house about my "TV boyfriends." Yeah, plural. I mean, it's not like I won't watch a show if it doesn't have a cute guy in it or anything, but hey! It doesn't hurt matters any. I even at one point had a "TV husband," but then he got old and puffy, and started taking roles in really bad Syfy channel movies (like there are any other kind of Syfy channel movies), so we divorced. The break-up was long and painful, and spanned several seasons.

Since then, I've been cultivating a harem (hisem?) of TV beaus. It's true: I'm a big ole TV 'ho. I know these polyamorous situations can sometimes be tense and rife with jealousy, but we've all been getting on pretty well. Nathan Fillion has me on Mondays; Jensen Ackles and Simon Baker share Thursday nights. Alexander Skaarsgard steamed up the hot summer Sunday nights, while Tahmoh Penikett keeps me entertained on Fridays. (Though honesty compels me to admit that Tahmoh and I are flirting with having a Friday menage-a-trois with Amanda Tapping. Because she is magical and made of awesome.) I regularly have dinner with Joe Flanigan and Jason Momoa as Stargate: Atlantis airs on Syfy at 5:00. It's all been very fair and democratic.

But lately, a fox has stolen into the hen... uh, rooster house. A fox who does not appear to be content with the status quo. Rather than respecting my time with the others, he insinuates himself with Youtube videos of panel discussions from Cons and behind-the-scenes DVD footage. He has me Gogling (defined by Websters as ogling photos dug up through Google) non-stop. This upstart is jockeying for the alpha position in the pack, and I fear he may be winning.

I said I would never get TV-married again after the long, downward spiral I found myself in with TV-hubby number one. It's too painful to watch their looks go as they languish in a stale series, then fade ignominiously into oblivion, only to re-emerge with a bad, fake accent and dialogue a retarded three-year-old would find inane. No more worrying over series renewal, wondering what he would move onto next and how it would change our relationship. I was to remain footloose and fancy-free, at liberty to seek enjoyment where I may.

But how, I ask, am I supposed to say no to THIS?

Tall, dark, handsome... a younger man at 25, so while I may feel a tad cougarish I at least need not worry about the bloom fading too soon from the rose... A gorgeous Irish accent that would make the stupidest piece of dialogue sound like poetry -- not that he's had any stupid dialogue because, unlike my ex, HE has landed a role in an awesome BBC series. He even has cute, awesome friends (okay, co-stars). And his smile is 1000 watts.

Yes, I fear it's true: I am deeply and irrevocably in lust with Aidan Turner.*

So what is a modern, harem-having gal to do? I don't know that I can be monogamous; so many pretty, pretty boys... But, Irish! And gorgeous!

Gah.

Hey, I wonder if there are any new web photos...

*NOT the Aiden-with-an-e Turner of All My Children fame. That Aiden is just male model-type skeevy. Those bathtub photos? Ew.