In case you're wondering why I've had nothing to say about Grey's or ER, it's because I'm not actually watching them. I mean, I am watching them, but in a very belated manner. So far this season, every Thursday evening our television has fucked me over. Every single Thursday. Well okay, so one Thursday it wasn't the tv's fault; one Thursday I missed my shows because we had a flirtian party to attend. Rob forwarded the invitation to me at work that day and I replied, "DON'T THESE PEOPLE WATCH TV?!" Um, no, actually. They don't. Unless you count Battlestar Galactica. (Which, I suppose, technically does count, but...NERD ALERT. I'm just saying.)

But every other Thursday, I've gotten all super-excited about watching The Office. And Grey's. And JOHN STAMOS ON ER! I go through my day all "Woo!! Best day ever! Thursdays ROCK!! Thursdays RULE! Thursdays rock and rule!! Hee." And then I go home and then much later Rob comes home and then we eat dinner and I'm all, "Eat faster! TV starts in 20 minutes!" And then it's 20 minutes later and I'm all, "Wheee, TV!!" And I plop down on the sofa and Rob turns on the tv and it's really fuzzy and black & white but we can still sorta see the actors. I mean, not well enough to recognize them, but it's okay because we can tell who they are by their voices. And so we're watching and laughing, watching and laughing, and then [BLUE SCREEN]. Fucking signal is gone. And we simultaneously groan, but then it's back! And we say, "Yay!" You know, simultaneously. And then five minutes pass with more watching and laughing and then [BLUE SCREEN]. And we groan and wait and then it's back! Yay! But before we can even catch back up with the scene [BLUE SCREEN]. This continues throughout the rest of The Office, our groans soon becoming "FUCK"s and "GODDAMMIT!"s. And then finally the signal doesn't fight back, and the screen casts a lonely blue glow on the walls of our living room. And I stare sadly at the tv, knowing that Grey's is happening without me, knowing that John Stamos is right inside my tv but I can't get to him.

So yeah. I'm behind. No, I don't have anything to say about Grey's. And no, I haven't seen the last two episdoes of ER. Yes, I'm sure John Stamos was sextastic. He's saving the show, so I hear. Wouldn't know it by me, considering I haven't fucking SEEN the show hardly. But no, I don't want to know what happens. And yes, I do think the universe can be a fucking bitch sometimes.

I've been sick. The flu or something. (Not E. coli, although I joked to Rob that it might be. Which isn't funny, except that with me it would be. Because I'm a wee bit obsessive in the kitchen about salmonella and the like, wiping the counters furiously with antibacterial wipes any time the teeniest drop of egg yolk is on the counter and insisting that Rob use a different turner on the cooked meat than he did on the raw meat (and NO, rinsing doesn't count). Rob thinks I go a bit overboard, but I'm all, "Rob, we could get salmonella! Or maybe even E. coli!" And he's always like, "People don't actually get that stuff." But oh! They so do! Front page of CNN.com, sucker!)

Anyway, I've been sick. Lying on the sofa staying home from work sick. Hence the silence around here. I've had nothing to say and no energy to say it. And then Tuesday night our DSL modem died. So our server was down all day yesterday, which means that not only were our websites down, but also our email was down and we, obviously, had no connection to the wonderful world wide web. I spent the day at home - still sick but starting to feel a wee bit better - and I was completely miserable the entire day. Not because of the being sick thing, but because of the no internet thing. HOW DID PEOPLE LIVE BEFORE THE INTERNET?! Every damn thing I went to do, I couldn't. I couldn't catch up on blogs, couldn't read the news, couldn't access the bread recipe I needed, couldn't watch videos, couldn't look up a phone number that wasn't listed in the phone book, couldn't track my packages, couldn't shop. Not to mention the trillion questions that crossed my mind that I couldn't research. I finally dragged my sorry ass into work just so I could get connected.

We got a new DSL modem late last night and things are mostly up and running again now. Which is not to say that I'll be online tonight because today? Today?! TODAY is the return of television! Fabulous, beautiful television! The Office! And my dear, glorious Grey's! And ER WITH JOHN STAMOS.

For the past year or so, our stove will on occasion begin beeping and flashing F1 E2 on its digital display. The first time this happened, we randomly pressed buttons on the touchpad until it finally stopped. Since then, we've figured out that pressing the Clock button is what works to stop the beeping/flashing and so now whenever the stove has a freak out we just press Clock and it stops.

We have no idea what F1 E2 is trying to tell us. While the people from whom we bought the house were more than happy to leave behind the motherfucking vine and the fish, they did not leave us manuals to anything. I suppose we could google the error codes, but frankly we haven't been concerned about it because the stove works fine and it's easy to stop the beeping - just press the Clock button.

One evening soon after The Button was introduced on Lost, Rob and I were eating dinner when, suddenly, BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP. I hopped up from my seat, hurried over to the stove where F1 E2 F1 E2 F1 E2 F1 E2 was flashing, and pressed the Clock button. And then I looked at Rob and said, "Oh my god, this is just like Lost."

"Ha, you're right! We have no idea why we're pressing the button, but we do it every time, faithfully."

"Yeah, we don't question it or consider doing anything to change it. We just keep pressing the button! We are mice in an experiment, trained to respond to a stimulus by pressing a button."

"How embarrassing."

"Seriously. I mean, we've been rolling our eyes at the Lost characters all season for doing pretty much the same thing."

We were at a party a few weeks later when suddenly the host's stove started beeping and flashing F1 E2 F1 E2 F1 E2. From across the room he yelled, "Hey, would somebody push the button? On the stove? Just hit Clock." It seems we're not the only slaves to the button.

This morning the stove started beeping at 4am. Rob crawled out of bed, mumbling "I've got it" as he stumbled to the kitchen to press the button. Fifteen minutes later it was beeping again. Rob sighed as he got up and headed to the kitchen again. He came back muttering, "I cannot believe we are still pressing the damn button."

"We should train the cats to push it," I replied.

We were just falling back to sleep when it went off AGAIN. "My turn," I said. I went into the kitchen and pushed Clock. The beeping stopped, but I wasn't convinced that would hold it for long since Rob's button-pushing had now failed twice to hush the stove for more than 15 minutes. So after pressing Clock I pressed the Timer button. And then Clock again, for good measure. And the stove was silent the rest of the night.

But today I'm regretting having added to the button-pushing sequence. Because the thing is, the next time the stove beeps, I'm going to push Clock Timer Clock with the hope that this magic combination will appease the stove for a longer duration of time than if I just pushed Clock. Probably (surely) it doesn't actually make any difference and probably (surely) it was just a coincidence. But just to be safe, I'll do the new sequence. I know I will. And then what? Then, the first time that doesn't do the trick for a satisfactory amount of time, I'll convince myself that an even more complex combination of button presses will work. And it will. And this sort of coincidental occurrence will happen enough times that soon I'll be pushing Clock Timer Clock Clock Timer Timer Timer Clock (pause) Timer Clock Clock.

Or maybe I'll just skip all that nonsense and enter the numbers 4 8 15 16 23 42 into the timer before pushing the Clock button. I've got a hunch that'll quell the beeping and flashing for a good 108 minutes.

So, I think John Stamos got a wee bit jealous of all the attention Rob is getting from me over this whole ER thing. Because how else do you explain that just three days after our emergency room incident, it is announced that JOHN STAMOS WILL BE JOINING ER IN THE FALL? Not as a guest star, like before. But, like, as a regular! As in, full-time! In other words, every week! (Thanks to ieatcrayonz and SG for the heads up. Why John Stamos did not call me personally with this news I will never know.)

I can only think that John Stamos reads this blog and realized he needed a way to one-up Rob's trip to the ER. And so he decided to accept the ER role. Which is, you know, totally different. But, yet, sorta similar. And, without doubt, total proof that he is vying for my affection.

I only caught the last hour or so of the Oscars last night (which, really, isn't that WAY more than enough?) but I have no doubt that the best moment of the night was when Jennifer Garner came onstage.

I might have a wee bit of a crush on Jennifer Garner which I might possibly exhibit by accusing Rob of being in love with her. When we're watching Alias and she comes on the screen, I'm all, "Rob! There's your girl! There's your WOMAN!" And he's like, "I don't know why you think Jennifer Garner is my girl," and I'm all, "Because you loooove her! Because you think she's hot!" And he's like, "She's alright," and I'm all, "Alright? Alright?! She is totally HOT! Dude, come on! Look at her! LOOK at her!"

So last night Jennifer Garner was walking to the mic looking lovely as usual and I was all, "Rob! Here comes your girl! Here comes your- WHOA!" Because she almost fell! Like, major wobble in her walk, right? I leapt forward from the sofa to catch her, in fact, and not just because it would have been a good excuse to grab a little ass. But because I sincerely care, okay?

Fortunately she steadied herself but, still, I was so embarrassed for her. But then she reached the microphone and quipped, "Thanks. I do my own stunts." And that was the most perfect thing for her to say at that moment. I mean, there has not been a more fabulous recovery since Carrie Bradshaw picked herself up off the runway, after falling on her ass, and flaunted her Dolce & Gabbana jeweled underwear with style and a smile.

But do you think my girl Garner just came up with that remark in the moment or had she planned what she'd say if she fell? Because I would totally plan it. For sure. If I were presenting an Oscar, I would have back-up plans for everything. What to say if I tripped and fell. What to say if the teleprompter broke. What to say if the card they gave me with the winner's name was somehow blank. (It could happen! And in that case, I would proclaim the winner to be JOHN STAMOS. Duh.) What to say if my boob popped out of my dress as I handed over the trophy. (Something to Stud Stamos about copping a feel. Duh.) What to say if Academy Award winner John Stamos proposed to me as part of his acceptance speech. (Um, "Yes please!" because in this situation I am clearly not married to Rob because I am presenting at the Oscars which means I am famous which means I either live in California or New York and neither of those are places Rob would ever live which means we've never even met and so I'm free to fulfill my lifelong dream of becoming Mrs. John Stamos. Duh.)

Okay, I've completely distracted myself now and have no idea what I was even talking about...

Sometimes I like to pretend I'm a spy. Like, I'll pick out some random car on the road and see how far I can follow it without the driver noticing. Or while shopping I'll trail some stranger through the store, darting down aisles and ducking behind shelves. You know, just for the hell of it. This behavior has gotten worse since I started watching Alias, although the truth is that the show has made me realize that I would totally suck at being a spy. I am the most scaredy-cat wuss that has ever existed. I will watch the majority of an episode while hiding behind my hands; even benign scenes like Sydney making dinner at home freak me out. I'm peering through splayed fingers, one eye open, and Rob is like, "What are you doing? She's in her apartment!"

"Yeah, but someone is going to pop out of her microwave. You just wait! OH! Was that a shadow behind her sofa?! Oh god, oh god, oh god, she's going to die! I can't watch. Tell me what happens."

Then Rob will sigh and say rather condescendingly, "Okay, she's making spaghetti....she's stirring the sauce....she's setting the tab-"

"There's someone under the table, right?! IS THERE SOMEONE UNDER THE TABLE?"

Since I don't have what it takes to be an actual spy, I figure the closest I'll ever get is knowing someone who is. And so I convince myself that people in my life are secret agents. Like my friend Sydney, whose real name isn't Sydney but I nicknamed her that after Sydney Bristow. She could totally be a spy. She probably is, in fact. I've even accused Rob of it before. Our favorite Alias character is Marshall the geek-genius who rigs up all kinds of cool stuff for the agents. His wife thinks that he works at a bank. Once she called his cell when he was at work and he was like, "Oh yes, busy day at the bank today," and I cast a sideways glance at Rob and said, "You could totally be a spy and I'd never know it."

"Yeah, I could." He says shit like that just to mess with me.

"But you'd tell me, right?"

"No. If I were a spy, I couldn't tell you."

I pouted until the commercial break and then I asked, "But you aren't one, are you?"

"Aren't what?"

"A spy."

"No. But then," he added with a sly smile, "if I were one I'd still say no."

"Well, just for the record, if you are a spy, I don't approve. That's dangerous and shit."

"Mm-hmm."

"But come to think of it, I bet you totally are! I mean, really, your company would be the perfect cover for an espionage agency! Like, WAY better than a bank. Ooh! When we went to London, you were on a mission, weren't you? Oh but wait - they would never let you take your wife along on a mission. Ooh! But they might if they thought that otherwise I'd get suspicious! Yeah, dude, I've figured it out. You're totally a spy!.... SHIT! Am I in danger?! Those people will kidnap wives, you know!"

"What people?"

"The enemy, Rob. THE ENEMY!"

Okay, so obviously I am way too paranoid to ever be a spy. But still, I like to pretend. And yesterday I had a major kick-ass spy moment. I occasionally need to use our secretary's computer to email a certain type of file that I can't send from my computer. So yesterday I walked down to her office to ask if I could borrow her computer for a minute, but she wasn't there. So I sat down and logged onto the network and then thought, "Oooh! I wonder if I can do this before she gets back! Like I'm a spy! She won't ever even know that I was here!" (Of course, it was totally fine that I was there because I do this all the time, but still. This was WAY more fun.) So I hunched down over the keyboard like they always do on tv, found my file on the network, and downloaded it to the desktop. It was just like on Alias when Rachel first learned that the government agency she worked for was actually a secret evil organization and so she became a double agent and pretended to be working at her computer but actually she was downloading a super-important encryption key from the network! It was just like that.

Then I heard someone approaching. Oh shit! Abort! ABORT! But it wasn't the secretary - just a co-worker wandering by. I considered flinging myself under the desk or at least hiding my head behind the monitor until he passed, but then I figured it didn't matter if he saw me because there's no way he could possibly realize that I'm an operative. So I just played it cool when he said hi and started chit-chatting. I was like, "Oh, snow in the forecast? Really?" all the while launching email and attaching the file, my heart pounding, thinking Hurry, hurry, hurry - she could get back any minute! but totally maintaining a calm and collected front with my colleague, right? And then the message sent and I quickly logged out of email. Still chatting so as to appear completely innocent, I then opened the trash folder, dragged the files that were in it to the desktop, dragged my file to the trash and emptied the trash to destroy the evidence, and then dragged her files back into the trash. Seriously, am I good or what? Then I hopped up, politely excused myself, and walked-ran out of there. And as I turned the corner just beyond her office, There She Was. The secretary! On her way back! As I passed her, I smiled and said, "Oh, hey! How are you?" You know, casual. But I was thinking, WHOA. That was a close one.