I Just. Can’t. Stop.

This year has been…interesting thus far to say the least. In addition to the deaths of some of my favorite people…Jareth Bowie. Snape Rickman, I’ve been stricken with a few grievous issues. Only a few weeks in and I’ve had the laryngitis, back maladies, a small addiction to the Twitter, and a serious case of Netflixitis.

What is Netflixitis, you ask? Well, first, I thought to myself, Self, you just made up Netflixitis. Aren’t you clever? 

And then I thought to myself, Self, you should probably Google Netflixitis to see if you’re really the first person to think of such a clever thing. 

And then I Googled Netflixitis and discovered that it is, in fact, a “real” thing. Of course, it is pretty much exactly what you expect it to be. It’s an affliction of the mind and body in which you physically cannot say no to Netflix. No matter how many times it asks you if you’re “still watching Gilmore Girls?” No matter how many episodes you can get through on a Saturday that you have zero plans (and for the record, Netflix will ask you at least 3 times if you’re still watching). No matter how many Christmas trees are still up in your big, fancy, unkempt house. No matter how many things you haven’t planned for the wedding that’s nearing on 8 months away.

I hate it when Netflix asks, Are you still watching Gilmore Girls?

I see that judgy way you popped on screen, Netflix.

Netflixitis is a healing disease. Especially when it includes snacks. And a lot of drugs for your back pain. And just the right positioning on the couch. It may take weeks of recovery. And for that, we’re thankful that all seven seasons of Gilmore Girls are available on Netflix. And by “we,” I mostly mean me, although Brian has partaken of the Gilmore Girls for several hour spans of time.

Netflixitis is a disease that also doubles as an idea machine. When I told Katie I was starting on the Gilmorathon last month, she warned me of several weddings, but I had no idea that each season would be ripe with marriages and weddings and big fancypants parties. Did you know that there are AT LEAST seven weddings on Gilmore Girls? I’m only halfway through Season 5, and I can count SEVEN freakin’ weddings. And all the ideas. Oh man. I mean, I want midgets dressed like angels dancing under papier-mâché mushrooms, don’t you?

I’m totally kidding.

Sort of.

Netflixitis is a beautiful thing. Netflix is my beautiful thing.

Even if I do have this minor condition.

These 7 Signs Will Tell You If You Have Netflixitis.

7 Signs you may have a case of Netflixitis

You continue to binge watch episodes of a TV show that you’ve never seen before, despite the dishes that haven’t been washed in a week…just like your hair.

You’re now binge watching episodes of a TV show you’ve seen at least twice all the way through.

You’ve watched three bad horror movies, and are nuking the popcorn for round four.

You’re imagining your life as Liz Lemon, Lorelai Gilmore, and Buffy Summers at the same time. You’re smart, quirky and a total bad ass. You rock. Netflixitis makes you awesome.

You wake up from a dream in which you’re a teenager and boys are sneaking into your window (seriously, Rory lives on the first floor of her dorm and people can just get into her room? I lived on the first floor and we were lucky the windows even opened).

You come home from work, grab a sammy, and plop down in front of the TV for night of the Gilmore Girls, only to be highly disappointed when you realize you left your beverage in the kitchen.

You haven’t left the couch in three days and your boyfriend is sending out SOS signals from your bed.

Sometimes, my boyfriend sends SOS signals from my bed

Have you ever suffered from Netflixitis? What is your favorite thing to binge watch right now? Are you a Gilmore Girls addict? 

Netflix Stream Team

As a member of the Stream Team, Netflix sponsors these fun little posts which give me the ability to watch 24/7 streaming TV and write about it. I had a Netflix account long before I was a Stream Teamer, and all opinions expressed are entirely my own. 

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

The Plague Hath Cometh

This is a completely nonsensical out of order blog post. You’ll have to deal with my fuzzy sick brain. #SorryNotSorry

I’ve been dying.

Since Monday, I’ve felt like death.

I’m also a moron who trudged her way into work for the last half of the day on Monday, even though I knew I was super sic, and then made my way to the bitterly cold Bears game thanks to my die hard Bears fan nature.

I KNOW.

But it was worth every minute of it. Because I was going to be sick regardless. And they only retire a jersey once. And it was Da Coach’s jersey. And I was there.

I was also freezing cold. And dying.

This was before the game started.

This was before the game started.

This was 20 minutes later. I'm in there somewhere.

This was 20 minutes later. I’m in there somewhere.

When I got home, my fever was 102.6. And I hadn’t had anything to eat all day. Tea, chicken broth, 7up and hot chocolate. No solid food.

And Brian seemed…upset.

Something about me. And stupidity. And health. And stupid football. Or something like that.

He doesn’t understand.

Then he kept waking me up and checking my temperature. I just wanted to sleep! Come to think of it, when he had bronchitis last week, I let him sleep!

Apparently, I forgot how debilitating the flu is.

And just a few months ago, I was talking about how silly the flu shot is and how I rarely get the flu anyways and how it makes you feel sick and I don’t think any of my excuses even matter anymore because I’m getting the fucking flu shot next year.

Brian got the flu shot. And he didn’t get my disease. Of course, he had his own bronchitis last week, which I didn’t get (thanks to my sinus infection and the antibiotics in my system).

Anyways, so I was off sick on Tuesday. Worked from home yesterday. Hopefully working from home one more day today to help me feel a bit stronger on my feet. I’m seriously like a child learning to walk. I tumble and stumble and fall all over our apartment. I’ve been walking like my 89 year old grandfather used to. And whining. A lot of whining.

I’m not a good sick person. At all.

Brian is kind of a saint for dealing with me. But only a little bit.

I just hope that the 4 hours I went into the office on Monday didn’t negatively affect my co-workers. Because I wouldn’t wish this shit on anyone.

Have you gotten the bronchitis or flu that’s going around? Are you dying, too? Or are you one of those lucky people who just didn’t get sick with half the free world?

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!