I don’t spend much time watching TV. I’ve got a handful of shows I like – “Scrubs”, “My Name is Earl”, and “New Adventures of Old Christine”. I can easily get sucked into Discovery Channel (especially if there’s a “Dirty Jobs” marathon involved), History Channel, and History International if I’m not careful. And while I generally mock reality TV, I get a wee bit obsessive over “American Idol” every year. Then there’s the reality shows on A&E and Bravo. Somehow, being on these slightly more highbrow channels removes all reality show guilt. Still, sitting in front of the TV? I’m far too manic for that.

Something’s happened to me in this new house, particularly on Sundays. Maybe the precident of severe laziness was set the day after the Boob-Ha-Ha auction, when everyone in the house slept until noon, ate hot wings for breakfast, and sat on our asses staring at either the TV or the various computer monitors.

Oh, so this is why people sit on their asses and do nothing. Because it’s fun!

Last Sunday, my ass barely moved from the basement couch. I can’t even remember what I watched. All I recall is that it was in marathon form, and on either Discovery or History Channel, so as to make me not a complete slack. I remember – it was nothing but serial killers, all day.

Did I mention that I at least knit or blog while watching hours of TV about serial killers? And sometimes I parent, if necessary. So I’m not being a complete blob. I’m a complete blob with very light yarn callouses on my fingers.

A&E sucker-punched me today. First, with Intervention. By God, I may be a fat, lazy slob glued to my couch and knitting but damn, at least I’m not that woman who goes to sleep with her jug o’ Walmart brand mouthwash for easy buzz access when she comes to. Suddenly, I’m feeling pretty awesome about myself. Which is why reality TV’s so popular, isn’t it?

Even though “Intervention” makes me feel good about my own life, it’s still pretty fucking depressing. I turned off A&E and watched a few History Channel shows about the Doomsday Clock. Then, to undo the panic, I took in some Gene Simmons’ Family Jewels, which sounds dirty but would require far more energy than I’m willing to exert.

And now, how can I pass this up? It’s The Two Coreys! Holy God, how can I possibly look away? It’s like every one of my 14-year-old fantasies have come true! Well, not really, since my 14-year-old fantasies didn’t involve one Corey being a fussbudget and the other being a jackass. All of this makes me feel even better about myself because 1) I’m not Corey Haim, and 2) I don’t have to live with him.

Could someone please jab a sock knitting needle into my eye before “Confessions of a Matchmaker” comes on and completely melts my brain?