Earlier tonight, I texted a friend of mine that I was watching all the Mission Impossible movies. Well, I sent many texts tonight. There was one that was solely awww based, to Star:
This year's Puppy Bowl is going to have hedgehog cheerleaders. I want to go to there.
Yeah, I'm still 'I want to go to there'ing. What. If Tiny Fey said it, it's good enough for me for ever and ever and ever.
There was also the one to my mom that was based on my recent Buffy the Vampire Slayer re-viewings. (My Cloey died, it's a whole thing, and it's led me to comfort television because I miss her more than I thought it was possible to miss anything and I'm basically an empty shell of a person (and I say that like it's a joke but I'm only half kidding). Anyway.):
Did you know Emma Caulfield (Anya) has a sister named Sam?
Ok, that one is actually only relevant if you a) care about some fictional ex-demon playing actress from a television show that's been over for like five years and b) know that my name is in fact Emma (shocker) and that my brother's name is Sam.
So I've been sending a lot of texts. That's what I was trying to illustrate, poorly.
Crockett is out of town, have I mentioned that? I get a little wacky when he's gone. There's nothing like the love of a taciturn man* to really ground a girl.
So. The Mission Impossible text was this:
Of COURSE I'm not watching all the mission impossible movies in order. I hate TC and his Scientology ass, but Ghost Prots is streaming right now.
Ghost Prots, of course, refers to Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol, in the vernacular of a woman who thinks she knows cool vernacular. I.e. me.
I don't like Tom Cruise. I'm mad at him for thinking that he can play Jack Reacher, and for saying that pills are bad (fist bump for Zoloft, y'all). I'm also mad at him for being so serious about his craft that he rides in exploding cars and stuff. He's putting perfectly good stuntmen out of work when he does stuff like that, you know?
And yet, free streaming on Netflix and all my anti Cruise convictions fly out the window.
*Please tell me there are other women out there who are still searching for their own personal Oz?