loveandcyanide was SO excited to watch the new season of Project Runway that started last week. (yes, yes, we're talking about week-old tv. it's hot out. forgive us for not having the strength to type.) we we were in our usual spots on our couches promptly at nine for the pre-show. we had a giant bottle of wine open. we had various flavours of teddy grahams to snack on. we had newest roommate thomas warned that he was not allowed to change the channel, no matter how bored he was. the show started, and we were enjoying it and everything was right with the world. then suddenly, during the last 10 minutes, right before Heidi Auf Wiedersehen-ed one of the contestants, the satellite went out. you can imagine the fit we threw.
fast forward to last night. we decided to stop our seven-hundredth viewing of Jurassic Park (we've yet to discuss my odd and inexplicable love for that movie, as well as the fact that missy behaves exactly like the dilophosaurus that spits venom into wayne knight's face. stay tuned.) and take a maiden voyage with Showtime's Brotherhood. an excellent decision on our part, as the show is quite good. so we're all wrapped up in the show - and marveling over how old Ethan Embry looks (how far he's come from his fozzie-headed Can't Hardly Wait and Empire Records days) - it's 9:50 and we're on the edge of our seats waiting to see what happens during the show's climax...
oh yes, you guessed it. the satellite went out. we started cursing the tv gods for screwing with the final minutes of our shows, but our tantrum was cut short as the lights started flickering and our air conditioners went out and our howls of indignation were quickly silenced by the darkness and vile heat that descended upon our apartment...and is still there. this afternoon.
con edison, you're so on this week's shit list too.