On the 5th of July, I found myself faced with an entire day devoid of work, errands, and pressing social engagements. Sure, my apartment could have used a good cleaning and a stop by the gym was in order, but I instead chose (wisely, in my opinion) to stay in my pajamas and marathon a TV show. Seeing as how I am a glutton for not having a life, I chose a show that has long been recommended to me during the course of its run. What followed was 8 days of watching 8 seasons of How I Met Your Mother, which after doing the math comes to 67 1/2 hours of television. However, it is not nearly three complete days of watching TV that is shameful. No, the shame comes from the fact that I don’t regret it at all.
My behavior while binging leaves me cringing (see what I did there?). When I watch a show, I become literally addicted to that show and no, my use of “literally” is not hyperbole. I read about the show online, I watch cast interviews, I shamefully read terrible fanfiction, I laugh at bloopers, I re-watch my favorite episodes, and I sound like a crazy person discussing all of these weird obsessive tendencies in a blog post. Netflix has basically become my dealer, feeding my unhealthy TV watching habits and the new autoplay feature is like having the needle in my arm, constantly feeding me my next fix.
Why can’t I be a normal person and spread this behavior out over an extended period of time? Oh, yeah, because I am kind of a slut. I’ll hop into bed with just about anything. Comedy, drama, sci-fi, paranormal, anything! The networks should just refer to me as the village bicycle, ’cause mama makes the rounds. My passion for a show is fleeting and my binge-watching habits are the equivalent of a one-night stand, because I use ’em and abuse ’em.
Right now, sure, I am pretty obsessed with How I Met Your Mother, but next week I’ll probably be blogging about my intense obsession with something like Pretty Little Liars or Merlin. Stay tuned because it is bound to happen, but you can bet it will be legen-, wait for it, dary!