Dexter & The Pinterest Wedding Board Evolutionary Stroke

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.

Unsolicited Rookie Film Review: Somm


Last night I watched Somm, which is a documentary that follows three sommeliers training for their Master Sommelier exam. Besides pounding Wild Vines in college, usually out of the bottle, but occasionally in a plastic cup stolen from the dining hall, I have zero experience (or interest) in wine. But the guys chronicled in this film are so sweet, and the exam so surprisingly grueling (out of 150 entrants in the documented year, 6 pass,) that the completely unrelatable becomes riveting. I always associated wine tasting with the pretentious and/or fannypack wearing tourists in Napa, but these dudes are young, seemingly normal (if you discount the whole sommelier thing) and surprisingly bangable. They seem like your college roommates, if your college roommates were now slaying flashcards to memorize the 3,000+ varieties of Old World grapes, or deducing the soil conditions and precise year of production from a single swish of Burgundy. Seriously, put this on, watch the first tasting (<10 minutes in,) and tell me you don’t want to shit your pants in awe.

Like life, if you want to make a sweeping-ass metaphor, Somm doesn’t turn out perfectly, but it does turn out contentedly. Or in more practical Netflix terms, this is a safe film to watch before you go to bed. It will have you on the edge of your seat (seriously, I was on the verge of tears) but it won’t have you cursing God for life’s injustice. Somm isn’t going to make me want to take up wine-drinking anytime soon, either casually or competitively. But it does make me want to make it rain on the sommelier at my next social function, and offer them a drink, because apparently they’re the ones who need it.

Somm is on Netflix Instant, iTunes, and YouTube