…I’m still holding out hope.
Let me preface this post by saying that names were not changed to protect the identity of my belongings.
You see, here’s my problem. I personify just about everything I own. As a kid, I named each and every single one of my bazillion stuffed animals. And if you put me in a room with them (or in my parents’ attic with them) I’ll bet you money that I can recall all of their first and last names. And their back stories. And their favorite hobbies. I blame my attention to detail and my love for creativity. It’s pathetic and it’s a problem.
First and fore most, before I begin my day, I feel like I need to just get this out:
Holy guacamole! I cannot even begin to tell y’all how “eh” I was about the return of 24. Which was shocking to me. I was a tad bit concerned that maybe I was ill. Or even worse, maybe I am just getting too old to care about things like this. Why was I not over the moon about the return of a show that was our reason for living in college?!
Before people could even grasp the concept of watching Netflix until your eyes bleed, my college pals and I would hunt down 24 on DVD, then spend our weekends with Jack. It got bad. And by bad I mean totally awesome.
Our 24 TV time turned into themed parties. Katie and I made matching WWJD (what would jack do?) shirts. We bought cheap aviator glasses and even spray painted them gold so they were 100% Jack-Legit. We made cupcakes with hours of the day on them. Every hour Jack survived, we would eat that cuppie. We were THAT into this show. (Although, let’s be real. If you know me, you know I am a party planner – themed shindigs are kinda my thing. Apparently, I was destined to be an event planner.)
It’s been 7 years since I’ve watched 24. I knew the show was coming back. I mean, the hidden ticking-clock noises that played throughout the Super Bowl immediately sparked a fire deep down in me. There’s really something about that noise that just makes me feel like a rockstar. A rockstar that can fight off 25 bad guys, at one time, all by myself, with little to no sleep, one hand tied behind my back, and the other rocking a badass glock while Chloe is giving me play by play escape moves in my hidden ear piece.
And when I say Chloe, I mean my Chloe. Not Jack’s Chloe. My furry, blond border collie, Chloe.
Honestly, I don’t think I have ever confessed this to anyone. You will never look at me the same after I tell you this secret. From this point forth, I will forever be viewed as an absolute nerd. But here we go:
Actually, there’s really not much to explain. I was obsessed with this show and because she is a she, I couldn’t name her Jack or Bauer (or even Bow-er, yes, I went that far) so she is Chloe.
I’ve never had a border collie before Chloe. As it turns out, had she been the first dog blessed with opposable thumbs, she would be hacking my computer daily. She makes crazy quirky facial expressions quite similar to those of Chloe O’Brien. And that time when President Palmer entrusted me to protect the United States from terrorist attacks and rescue my daughter all in 24 freakin’ hours – Chloe was right there by my side. Okay, that last one may be a bit of stretch. Just a tad.
So to save face a little bit, it’s your turn to fess-up! How did you pick the name for your pets? What about your kids?! Any good stories there?
And to answer the questions that I know are just eating away at you… Yes, I watched 24 last night. Yes, it was awesome. Yes, I am re-hooked. And yes, I will be spending the next 6 days trying to find my W.W.J.D Shirt.