Scandal.

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As you can see, Scandal is officially a problem. While my best friend was busy in San Diego last weekend attending the wedding of the year (Congrats Pat and Ness!), I was in my martini-print jammies glued to my laptop experiencing the demise of my social life. I’m kidding, I didn’t have one to begin with. Nevertheless, I found myself gasping and tearing up whenever appropriate, and ultimately sending the texts above for fear of exploding otherwise.

How did I let it get this far? There are very few shows I actually watch on TV. When I do catch an episode, it’s rarely ever planned. All of my television series obsessions sprouted from hungover Sunday morning or lazy Friday night Netflix marathons. My claim to fame definitely has to be watching the entire second season of Lost in one day. Typing that, I now realize it isn’t something I should repeat out loud. Anyway, I put myself on to Scandal because I’m currently in TV purgatory, being all caught up with Orange Is The New Black and The Walking Dead. Plus, I’ve liked Kerry Washington since she wore them big ass hoops in Save the Last Dance. Now, I’m fully invested in these fictional characters. 

Huck? I want to give the poor guy a hug, and find him a really nice (non contact killer) girlfriend. Liv? I want her to stop making that damn “I want to cry, but ‘I’m a Gladiator’  so I’m going to look like I’m sucking on a lemon instead” face. Abby? I want to slap her most of the time. Quinn? I have a feeling she’s going to be the next Liv. And Harrison? You already know I developed a slight crush on him ever since that episode when he stopped all the assassins from killing each other. Don’t. Even. Play.

It’s safe to say Netflix has replaced my sex life (WHY GOD WHY?!). At least Netflix doesn’t make me fat. I’m in an exclusive relationship with Scandal. At least until The Walking Dead premieres.

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