I hate it when I finally put two and two together and come up with a horrible insight into how my mind works, A.K.A. four.
Last weekend I was watching 30 Rock for the first time ever, it being about the only programme that didn't involve talentless dribblers vying to become Britain's latest America's Top Got Talent Model in the Kitchen. After a couple of episodes I was deeply in love with Liz Lemon.
Smart, thirtysomething, geeky glasses-wearing brunette, what's not to love? Nothing really, except that I also have an embarrassing telly crush on Lisa Cuddy from House, M.D.
So, I have a thing for smart, successful brunettes (who in real life would never touch me with a ten-foot bargepole, unfortunately. C'est la vie), what's the problem with that? It's got to be better than when I was in my teens and was magnetically attracted to any female with red hair, dyed or not. Everyone knows red-heads are craaaazy, man.
The problem is with the characters they both play. They act as enablers, allowing their male counterparts to run around being idiots and horrible to people whilst protecting them from the results of their behaviour. It seems that what I really look for in a woman is someone who will let me do my idiot nerd thang and rescue me when I get myself in trouble whilst giving me all the glory for my successes.
It's probably a good thing I'm single.
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