So, I have recently, and very reluctantly, given in and binge-watched all 9 seasons of Supernatural. I say "reluctantly" not because I disdained the show, or had no interest in it, but because I really didn't have time OMG! to be investing that much of it. I was trying to finish BoB! I was working on a Joint Project That Shall Not Be Named! I was knee-deep in new Wolf's-own proofs for the re-releases! I was training a dog! I was... doing other stuff!
But, Thirddaughter decided this summer would be a good time for her to give Netflix a run for its money, and among some really freaky anime shows that I now know more about than I really want to, she started watching Sam and Dean smartass their way through macabre adventures while getting up to various hijinks and shenanigans. And, naturally, she decided the big TV in the living room was best suited to this endeavor. Which, okay. It's where my giant chair is, where I huddle with my laptop and tap-a tap-a and let my head spill out onto the keyboard, but I can usually ignore everything around me while I'm writing. (I've had 4 kids--you learn to selectively tune.)
I didn't want to get sucked in. I tried to mind my own business. Bas and Kimo spent a lot of time saying "Hey! Writer-bitch! Over here!" But Sam and Dean proved a serious distraction.
And then Castiel showed up.
Oh, Castiel. He of If the pizza man truly loves this babysitter, why does he keep slapping her rear? He of It's funnier in ennochian. I had to become a fangirl! I had no choice!
So, I have now seen every episode of Supernatural and am jonesing for what I'm told will be the last season ever. Which, judging by what was supposed to have been the last season ever a couple seasons ago, is going to end horribly. Because these writers are bastards.