OMG! Season Premiere Night!

So, yes. It's only a TV show.
OMG.
It's fake. It's pretend.
It'shere It'shere It'shere!!!
It isn't REAL. It's just TV.
I know I know I know. Ohmygod, Ohmygod, Ohmygod.
HOORAY!
I am squealing like a tween at Zac Efron.
TV season starts this week. Finally. This summer was the longest summer offseason for football, and because of the Hollywood Writers' Strike, this year's TV schedule was all messed up, too. I WANT MY TV, DAMMIT.
And it starts tonight tonight tonight! I am unreasonably excited about the season premiere of Bones. Good characters, good dialogue, good chemistry. M and I watched last season's finale today and I got all fired up about the premiere. I love resolution of cliffhangers. Especially ones that will (hopefully) clarify the relationship subplot between two of my favorite TV characters.
There was Angela and Tony, David and Maddie, Ross and Rachel,Joey and Dawson, Mulder and Scully, Buffy and Angel. Now I have Barney and Robin. Booth and Brennan. Like every other unabashed TV junkie, I have rooted for these relationships season after season. Sure, the romance diminishes the show. Sure, the shows generally jump the shark after the romance blooms. Nonetheless, I still root for it, I still grin and clap stupidly when the chemistry peaks, and I never get tired of a well-written romance (sub)plot in a good TV show.
Why the goofy enthusiasm for TV, you ask. Don't you have a life, you ask. Well, frankly, no. My life is that of normal married person with children. I don't have friends to meet in a bar at all hours of the night. I don't have murders to solve, bones to analyze, DNA scans to rush. I am not a suspiciously frequent victim of crime. So, no. I do not have a lot going on in my life, and frankly, I'm pretty glad.
I can sit down with some ice cream. (My friend Cici has said that if you stuff a bunch of raisins in your mouth all at once, you can pretend it's a brownie. Either Cici has never had a proper brownie, or she's finding some freaking awesome raisins.) I can ogle my TV man candy, (M LOVES it when I do that. He will provoke: "OOOH. Look at that charming smile. Ooh. I bet you love it. Why don't you marry it?" But I don't care about his 3rd grade ridicule. One, because I'm behaving like a third grader when I get all starry eyed about my TVMC, and two, because I don't care. My family is cared for, my job is done for the day, and for one short hour, I can be starry eyed and daydreamy and giggly if I want to. I can free my inner tween if I want to.
In fact, I used to have pin-up posters of my TV crushes (and George Clooney, whom, despite my love, I never watched on ER.) on the inside of the cabinet door at my desk. Publicity shots, headshots from imdb.com, pullouts from fan mags (I only bought them for the posters), whatever. It was, literally, a closet obsession. When we left Missouri, the pictures didn't make it with us. Despite that milestone in growth toward adulthood, I regress every evening to soak up my primetime faves.
3 hours and counting...