We interrupt our regularly scheduled episode of Cable Boxing for this one-sided commentary by Sara. Apparently, Mat is off frolicking with the recently booted Survivor Big Bird Kathy. His penance: viewing every episode of this season’s “The Hills,” then commenting weekly on the Cable Boxing blog (cableboxing.blogspot.com). It seems only fair.
This isn’t working. I can no longer pretend to be in love with you. We’ve had a good run, wouldn’t you say? I’ll walk away with only good memories of our 14 years together. Fourteen years. I just don’t feel the connection anymore. We’re two good people who aren’t good together. I mean, don’t get me wrong: I’ve stayed faithful. I DVR you on a regular basis — but you just sit there, taking up space, while I find excuses to watch everything else but you.
Thank you for moving out a few months ago. I’ve had time to reflect on our relationship — to recall the good times and bad times. We’ve just had so many people come and go — I can’t keep up with who we call friends and which of those friends are going to up and leave us. First it was George Clooney. Then Julianna Margulies. Then Sherry Stringfield, of all people. And when Anthony Edwards got brain cancer, I couldn’t take it. We were there for him, and that was a tough loss to take. And don’t get me started on Noah Wyle, Eriq La Salle, Maria Bello, the British red-headed lady and the cane-wielding Dr. Weaver. Our relationship has been a revolving door, and I’m sick of it. So sick that perhaps I should pay my own visit to County General.
Remember the time you had to push that baby back into the mother? Or how about when you got your hand chopped off by the helicopter on the roof? Oooh, or the time you killed off that poor girl from “Life Goes On”? Those were the days. I’ll admit our relationship started to suffer when you went off on your African adventures. Sure it’s not all baby-blue scrubs and fake blood, but I needed you here. It was a confusing time for me.
Yes, I like Maura Tierney. Perhaps she’s the reason I’ve stuck it out for so long. But she wasn’t there in the beginning — she doesn’t really know us. And I think she’s played out. What is there left for Abby? She’s shagged just about every male castmember. She’s been through rehab and a schizo brother, an over-zealous mother, a baby, a marriage, another stint in rehab … shall I continue? And I know you brought in John Stamos for me. Honey, that was a nice gesture. But even he can’t save this marriage.
It’s not you, “ER,” it’s me. Truth is, I’ve found someone. I believe the term is “emotional friend.” But before I move to the next level with “Grey’s Anatomy,” I need to end this relationship with you. My life has room for only one hour-long medical drama. It’s time I move on, babe. Can’t we still be friends? Hey, chin up. I’m sure I’ll catch you in syndication from time to time. And when I do, I’ll smile and say hello. Please don’t make this awkward.
Now, can you sign these papers?
We’re down to eight contestants on “American Idol,” and I still don’t have a favorite. It’s been an odd year. First of all, I can’t tell the two — or is it three? — rocker dudes apart. One has an Australian accent and one has too much hair in his face. Or are they the same person? Did they graduate from the Nickelback school of raspy-voice rawk? Then there’s Kristy, who should have gone back to her horses way before the Indiana rock ’n’ roll nurse got the boot. I guess I like Brooke. She’s harmless and interesting. I think Carly is a fan favorite, but she just doesn’t have the “it” factor, other than that cool Irish accent. And don’t get me started little-boy-blue David. Once I found out he was born in the ’90s, he was dead to me. Dead. Grow a pair.
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