So I’ve become obsessed with Dexter.
There comes a time in every woman’s life when they’ve recently finished Eastbound & Down and it’s 2AM and they’re staring at their Netflix queue and suddenly lock eyes with Michael C. Hall and realize “it is time.”
But seriously, I’ve been meaning to watch it for like the six or seven plus years now since it’s been on, mostly out of a sense of responsibility rather than interest, and it never jumped out at me, but the other night, my crippling indecisive Netflix anxiety subsided for a brief moment, parting like the Red Sea did for Moses (was it the Red Sea? the bible is also languishing in my queue of life) and said “go forth, for Michael C. Hall is hot, so even if this show sucks, it will not be a complete loss.”
And omg, not since I got into Brian Cox’s unique brand of utter despair delivered by a peaceful floppy haired DILF have I debated immediately re-watching episodes because I’m not sure if I’m lost because I missed something that went over my head or because I was lost in instinctive fantasy mode where I plan our entire lives together.
I don’t think all girls do this, I know not all girls do this, but I’d be willing to bet I’m not the only one who suffers in silence from this affliction. Anytime I am remotely interested in a guy (or Rachel Maddow, or Tegan or Sara, depending on the day) irl or on television, I immediately suffer some sort of seizure where I can’t stop thinking about a) casual drinks b) our wedding c) justifying every shitty quality this person possesses. I realize this sounds like some lazy romantic comedy woman stereotype, but I swear I’m being 100% serious, despite being reasonably independent and self-possessed, I will watch Dexter and have a train of thought that looks like, he has the perfect level of stubble… his eyes are the color of an Italian sea… I could date a sociopath. As long as he would cuddle, do I really care if he’s enjoying it? You don’t really need emotions do you? As long as he wouldn’t murder you? We could learn so much from each other. Maybe we could have really fascinating conversations about the nature of morality. Would I be more of a Bonnie Parker or a Carmela Soprano?
I think I’m the fan base PR teams’ wet dreams are made of.