To begin, I need to explain that I initially thought Don’t Fuck with Cats was a documentary proving the theory that cats are the devil’s pet by exploiting their satanic behavior. No, I do not like cats, never have, but this was SO not about that. It is currently 4am, I have a paper due today which I have yet to begin, and I am wondering if I locked the mudroom door. Murder mysteries give me a thrill, complete adrenaline out of fear.. which is exactly what’s going to keep me up these next few hours as I detail the differing philosophical theories of Kant and Mill in size 12 Times New Roman. But that is beside the point. As I sat through a three episode-long documentary exploiting the sickly genius behavior of an imprisoned murderer preceded by the three hour-long premier of The Bachelor, I confused myself. One minute, Pilot Pete was dishing out kisses like Halloween candy, and the next, I sat shivering underneath my covers as I watched amateurs uncover a worldwide murder mystery, and I enjoyed them both perfectly the same. Sure, someday I’d love to quit my job with reckless abandon and jet off to surprise exotic locations for free drinks with a hottie and 30 chicks even crazier than me, but I’d also love to return home from my regular nine-to-five just to snuggle up on my couch staring at video clips on repeat with my secret Facebook group as we attempt to uncover a psychotic murderer. For now, I think I’ll just stick to watching The Bachelor and the occasional murder documentary in the comfort of my own bed. Pretty much, what I’m trying to tell you is that not getting a rose first round scares me just as much as an actual psychotic murderer… no idea what that says about me.
What keeps you up at night?
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