Several years ago, my mom kept mentioning a new show she insisted was one of the best on television. At the time, I was skeptical. It wasn't because I questioned her judgment, but I really wasn't keen on getting involved with another series that might end up cancelled. Television programming was not faring well in 2008, and a writers' strike around the same time only reinforced my assertion that Walter White and I were simply not meant to be.
Compounding the issue was a certain newborn determined to entice me into the world of methamphetamines. Baby Joey refused to sleep his entire first year of life, which meant yours truly also did not sleep his entire first year of life.
My husband, on the other hand, slept like a champ.
If ever there was a mom who could've used some pharmaceutical assistance to help get through sleepless nights and edgy days, it was me. "Breaking Bad" and I definitely needed to stay far away from each other. I had already caved in terms of one vice. Despite shunning caffeine for my first 34 years on the planet, I was now a full-blown addict. Starbucks was my bitch.
That line's for you, Jesse Pinkman.
As time went on, I would catch a few minutes here and there of "Breaking Bad," and I knew my mom was indeed right. The show was superb. From symbolism to soundtrack, acting to archetypes, dialogue to denouement, no detail was overlooked. The little glimpses I caught kept whispering over and over:
YOU NEED TO WATCH THIS SHOW, BITCH.
Sorry. I totally have Jesse Pinkman on the brain today.
Last month, Joe arrived home from the firehouse with a plastic bag. He tossed it casually on the table and mumbled something about how all the guys were "doing it."
Intrigued, I opened it up. And there it was. Season One. The highly acclaimed show was now within my grasp, waiting to be tasted. Joe and I could be the cool kids for once. Everyone would like us. It was just ONE season. There's no real harm in just one season, right?
"Breaking Bad," as it turns out, is far more addictive than meth.
I ordered Seasons 2 and 3 on Amazon and paid for two-day shipping.
I NEVER pay for two-day shipping.
But the DTs were coming.
For everyone who has watched the series finale about a man who, as creator Vince Gilligan once described, "transforms himself from Mr. Chips to Scarface," please don't tell me how the show ends.
It may have taken longer than most, but I finally understand the appeal of breaking bad, vice, and doing something a bit naughty now and then.
So for tomorrow?
I'm thinking DOUBLE espresso.
And "Duck Dynasty."
Bad, bad Marianne.
Marianne is mother of three sons and the wife of a southside Irish fireman. She has learned that sometimes you're just too dumb to know what makes you happy. She blogs regularly at We Band of Mothers (webandofmothers.com) and curses with even greater frequency. Her material is written for the imperfect, the imprudent, and the impatient mothers who know that all this stuff is really very funny if you just give it a minute.
See more of Marianne's stories here.