Another rage based incident averted

Published December 29, 2015 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

All of my friends weigh in on bing worthy shows.  I am always looking for a reason to sloth around,so I decided that since I spent most of my weekend trying to stave off panic attacks and keep from having a full blown gonzo nervous breakdown, I thought I might try and chillax by watching a whole bunch of something on the Netflix.  ( I was going to watch a bunch of stuff on the Hulu, but for some reason it’s loading all glitchy, I know I know, first world problem.)  So at the behest and encouragement of many friends and my housemate, I have been watching Jessica Jones.  That is I’m on the third episode.

True, being whipped up into a frenzy by your nerves and latent psychoses is not the best frame of mind in which to start something new, but I can’t wait for the next storm to pass, so I decided to give the show a try.

I had heard the show was gritty and grisly and a bit gory. So far all I have seen is a whole lot of muscley pretty people boning each other. And talking about how well matched they are at said boning.

Now this is the time of year is tension inducing to say the least, but Actor Boy can’t make it home at all and I really miss my nieces and there’s no way I can see them this year and the last thing I need to see is the pretty people having vigorous sex leaving me to wonder if the point of the show is to see how amazing Krysten Ritter’s lipstick is, because it hasn’t smudged despite the boning, the ass-kicking or the drinking.

I quizzed my roommate, because he was one of the people who recommended the show to me. He told me that the show gets much better after this point.  I’m going to give it another shot. Except, as I was writing that sentence, there was more vigorous boning happening.

I am more than willing to suspend reality to buy the world in which the Marvel Universe exists.  I believe that Ms. Jones can drink like a sailor, kick major ass, and still maintain fresh make-up and a non-bloaty tummy, even though I can’t move from one room to the next without my make-up smudging. (It could be that there is a ghost who is envious of my artful application) And if I drink more than two servings of alcohol in any form,  I feel like there is a small bicycle tire  making itself to home near my liver as it tries to fill itself to full tumescence.

I sure hope we get to some real action, Jessica. I can only get so much calming delight from using the word, ‘tumescence’.

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