I ran myself ragged last week to the point where I woke up Saturday morning and there was no other way to describe how I felt other than hungover. So bad. Hung over hung over, send advil right over. My head hurt, I had that totally dried up feeling, and I ached everywhere. I hadn’t had a drop to drink, is the thing though. I managed to conjure up the feeling of hungoverness without actually getting into my cups whatsoever previous to that. Just from working and thinking and running around. Does that not seem unfair? I spent Saturday morning in my pajama bottoms and this old sweatshirt I have that I wear when I am sick that I’ve had for eons and eons- it belonged to an old boyfriend and there is nothing more pathetic that I own. I downed some ibuprofen and got horizontal on my couch and rehydrated and watched lots of episodes of Nashville. Just pitiful. That show seems obviously made to make people feel sicker, but it had the opposite effect on me somehow, although the power of Tami Taylor diminishes inch by inch with every episode, like a sun setting below the horizon. Connie! How could you have done this to us? And by us I mean me and my work hangover? She walks around being torn up in knots over several cheesy fellas who clearly do not deserve her and the songs they give her to sing are just godawful, you guys. Connie’s Guy #1 is her ex-husband who had fake pregnancy times with the girl from the Father of the Bride movies and Guy #2 is Head-To-Toe-Denim-Outfit-Man and Guy #3 is a country star that has a messy ponytail in hazy flashbacks. She used to have Guy #4 who was at least lovely to look at but he left Nashville for the Khaleesi in Game of Thrones so that’s a bust. I’m convinced he left because they kept making him wear doofy scarves. Meanwhile Hayden Pantene-pierre tries to remain feisty despite the fact that Lucky from General Hospital is so in love with her that he cries constantly in such a way as to make it look like his entire face is a squishy, boggy mire with eyes in the middle. Then there is Scarlett who has a serious case of baby voice and a mean momma who pinches her and causes her to have fits. Scarlett does not like Nashville and wants nothing to do with it at all and keeps threatening to leave but she never has the gumption to just go already. Meanwhile there’s a Ken doll looking closeted gay cowboy singer (OF COURSE THERE IS) and smarmy record executive Oliver Hudson and a beautiful ingenue named Zoey who has to act like it’s not obvious that she’s the only person of color for miles and miles and miles around.
It’s really not a good show, at all. Like…at all. But I watched a bunch of them and they cured my hangover so. What can I tell you? I’m betting that it was the power of Connie Britton’s hair alone.