In the past week, I have moved apartments (no more traffic noise ruining podcasts from ten stories below!), started a new job, housebroken my dog Freckles, met Ben Affleck and Josh Groban (one's a douchebag and the other is not), hosted five guests for three nights of inauguration festivities, and flirted with the bartender at a party at my boss's house.
Big week, people. Big. Week.
And at the end of it all, now that my houseguests have vacated the premises, the tourists are filing out (no offense to any of you who may have visited the D.C. area), and my romantic relationships with both Mr. Groban and with the guy who made me three margaritas and two tequila shots are going nowhere, I'm so pleased to have so much hope and change to look forward to.
No, not the new president, who I blame for this utterly claustrophobic week.
That's right, everybody.
Lost premieres tonight.
As we venture into the unknowns of war (Hostiles vs. DHARMA vs. Left Behinders?), financial crisis (what the hell's going on with Charles Widmore?), and some serious climate change (the island freaking MOVED!), I'm offering up a few words to our favorite castaways.
Please make good choices.
Please be coherent.
And please, for crying out loud, end the triangle.
Bring it on, bitches. I'm ready to rock this season!
I'm going to sleep now--I have the feeling tomorrow's gonna be a late one--and I'll leave you with this delightful tidbit from Ausiello:
Question: Lost? Anything? -- Bia
Ausiello: Sawyer and a female character whose name isn't Kate will make out this season.