I will ride a scooter....

And then I will find other things that strip me of my dignity. Maybe I'll watch a marathon of "Bones" on Fox, while I saw both arms off using only the glib and quarky one-liners fleeing like escaped children from Bones' mouth. I'm writing this to you television, because you and you alone have put me in this position. I care a lot for you, but what have you done for me lately? If you want me to watch you, you will cut the Country Music Channel out of you like a murderous tumor. We will sing gleefully and scamper around the corpses of all the Desperate Housewives, all of them. Because I surely cannot focus on my "Good Eats" or "Iron Chef" knowing that Wisteria Lane is close by, fostering the worst parts in all of us, and not in a witty way, but in the way that you feel after storming into an office full of farts...awkward uncomfortable faces begging to admit ownership.

Maybe I'll sit in front of you and not turn you on, wouldn't you like that? I know you have a gallon of "24" you've been waiting to pour on me, but I will not yield to Kiefer, I've been burned too many times, Kiefer, if you want me to watch just one episode, maybe you can unlawfully torture the cast of "Friends" and suffocate anyone from "The Hills" with a plastic shopping bag while water boarding anyone from anything on the Disney Channel.

I guess that's pretty extreme, and a lot to ask of you. We did have some pretty good times, you taught me about death on "Six Feet Under" and about crack on "The Wire" and that if you don't necessarily have anything concrete to write about you can still churn out episodes with "Lost". TV, you really are the girl at the party I feel guilty about taking home, but you're still someone, and if I get close enough to you, you give me goosebumps and lots of static, so for the mean time. We can work it out.