And then I got into the holiday spirit and became a prisoner of war Marine who wears furry slippers and an eye mask.

So as you know, I've traveled home for Christmas, where I'm surrounded by nature, sparkling Christmas lights, endless glasses of wine....and terrorists. 

Wait, what?  

Yeah. Apparently my idea of a good, relaxing holiday funday in my homeland is to completely immerse myself in the phenomenon that is "Homeland." 

But ok, before I get into this, do you all know what I'm talking about? It's this show on Showtime that apparently everyone in the free world has seen but me, and it really started to get on my nerves. I don't know about you, but during both seasons I haven't been able to log onto Facebook without someone mentioning Carrie or some "shocking" thing that happened, and apparently even the Hollywood Foreign Press was in on this by continuing to hand out Golden Globes to Claire Danes and, like, everyone else who's ever even said the word "Homeland." 

So I prepped my parents ahead of time that I was going to be digging into the juiciness of the CIA and mood disorders, and they hopped right on board because, well, the apple hasn't fallen from the good times tree. So I settled in last night to watch as many episodes from Season 1 as I could before falling asleep. 

Dad: You know, you might want to spread it out because the show is pretty....intense.
Me: I think you've underestimated my marathon show watching abilities. I can handle back-to-back episodes of "Dexter," I can handle this.
Dad: Ok, all I'm saying is that each episode is...a lot. So I'm not sure how many you can make it through at once.
Me: I've got this.

And then he proceeded to leave the room because having an adult child is hard sometimes when you know you can't just send them to their room for being idiots. And so he sent himself to his room and I got right into Episode One. Done. Boom. Next. Episode two. Done. Boom. I'm a little spent but powering through. Episode three. Man, this is really complicated, I mean, maybe Brody switched to the other side, but also this nice Saudi Arabian prostitute is really being helpful and I think everything's going to turn out ok.......

Oh, my bad. 

And I was spent. So after three hours of taking in the intensity of Claire Danes and the POW guy who you're not sure you're supposed to empathize with or not, I called it a night. 

Grab the stuffed animals and RUN! 

Cut to: 3 a.m. when I found myself on the floor of my bedroom convinced that I was a prisoner of war who needed to escape my parent's house cloaked in the darkness of night. And my pink velvet eye mask. 

Internal Becky Thoughts: You need to escape before they find you.......but those are your stuffed animals over there on the bed, this is mom and dad's house......but if they find you they'll torture you!......I don't think prisoners of war wear furry slippers.....you're awake....you're in Michigan.....get off of the floor.....

My bad. 

So, um, apparently my marathon show watching abilities have been diminished to two episodes in one sitting so that I don't army crawl out of my parent's house wearing nothing but a bathrobe. Also, I apologize if you haven't seen the show and so you have no idea what I'm talking about and have made it through an entire blog post and are all like "What a waste of time." Eh, you can't win 'em all.

But for real, if you haven't already, you should start watching "Homeland," though I beg of you, do not start posting about it on Facebook until I'm all caught up! Which at this rate will be sometime in mid-2013 so that I'm not institutionalized. 

Happy Wednesday, everyone!