"I live in my own little world. But it's ok, they know me here."

And right now, my own little world consists of my couch, a glass of cheap white wine and my long list of irrational fears dangling precariously on the edge of my consciousness, daring me to analyze them. All of this, wrapped up inside my 90-degree cookie cutter apartment and set to a soundtrack of Elliot Smith.

Could make for an interesting night.

The one television channel that's decided to grace me with its presence this evening is playing a rerun of The Big Bang Theory. Don't get me wrong, I love a good game of "Rock-Paper-Scissors-Lizard-Spock" as much as the next guy, but I guess I'm in the mood for something a little more... melancholy? Austere? Dark? I don't know exactly what I'm looking for (do I ever?) but humorous technobabble isn't cutting it tonight.

Don't fret, my friends (yes, you, my nonexistent reader, who conveniently doubles as my closest pal and confidant): I have the two most recent Weeds episodes stored right here on Harry Potter for this exact moment of reclusiveness. (Also, despite Blogger's condescending squiggly red line beneath it, Merriam-Webster assures me that reclusiveness is in fact a legitimate word.)

Speaking of Weeds, I thought I might regale you (ok, myself) with a list of some of my favorite "shows" whose upcoming fall premieres I am highly anticipating. 

In no particular order.

Don't judge. (Alright, go ahead and judge. I would.)

1. Downton Abbey: BBC. Sunday, October 7.

Okay, despite my above forewarning that these weren't in any specific order of importance or favoritism, this is by far the number one season premiere (or series, as they say across the pond) that I most eagerly await. I believe PBS will begin airing Season 3 in January. Even if it wasn't bursting at the seems with wry British humor, steamy sexy storylines and to-die-for period costuming, Maggie Smith's portrayal the Dowager Countess is reason enough alone to set your DVR. If you haven't seen this, YOU NEED TO. If you haven't even heard of it.... just stop reading. Now. You and I will never get along.

    

2. Modern Family: ABC. Wednesday, Sept. 26

My only gripe with this show is that it falls into the "Physically Unattractive but Sometimes Charmingly Nerdy Husband with a Hot, Sexy, Intelligent Wife" sitcom category. (In stride with some other personal faves- Everybody Loves Raymond, Still Standing, King of Queens...). And given that Modern Family is home to not one but TWO of these suspiciously unbalanced relationships, (clearly a conspiracy dating back to at least the 1950s and The Honeymooners, designed as an attempt to promote the subjugation of women and lower our expectations) it's a shoe-in champ for a certain Emmy category (that may or may not exist only on this blog).

However, I love it. And not only because one of the main characters, flamboyantly gay Cam, sides with me on what I consider an ultimate deal-breaker in basically any relationship.

I don't trust anyone who doesn't like Meryl Streep. How could you not?!

3. Gossip Girl. CW. Monday, Oct. 8

Stop the eye-rolling. I know, I know.

This show is quite possibly my ultimate guilty pleasure. An intellectual's nightmare, surely. But if indulging myself in the tabloid-worthy antics of the Upper East Side's fictional teen socialites is what it takes to make me grateful for the lack of sex tapes and Ponzi schemes in my otherwise overwhelming drama, then who's to say I'm in the wrong?

Even if the acting is comparable to the soap opera train wreck that was Passions. 

Okay, I fully admit I originally planned for this list to be much longer. And if I wasn't such a non-committal ninny these days, I would say I'll continue it tomorrow, but in actuality... probably not going to happen.

I'm out of wine. So I head to bed with this sappy Nicholas Sparks book in an attempt to fend of my desire to dive ladle-first into the jar of peanut butter in my fridge. 

5:30am run in the morning, you say? Stranger things have happened...

"The nice thing about living in a small town is that when you don't know what you're doing, some one else does."

I don't know whether I find this quote reassuring or terrifying.

No matter, the one thing I do know it to be is truthful.

Because, as I find myself sitting here on the first night in my eggshell-colored, dishwasher-free, two-bedroom apartment in Tiny Town, USA (written in my best 'Chandler Bing' voice: could there BE anymore hyphens in that sentence?!) I try to identify and assess my feelings: trepidation, hope, chagrin. An emotional cocktail tailored specifically for me. Yet there's a whisper of a feeling that I wasn't prepared for, but perhaps am not surprised by: nostalgia.

Nostalgia induced by the fact that I, Alyssa Lynn, have done the unthinkable. The one thing that if some one had asked me previously if there was even a slight possibility of it, I would have scoffed at the prosperous idea. But here I sit, upon conclusion of the most incredulous, unimaginable, snowball's-chance-in-hell, (and, via our favorite Wallace Shawn character) inconceivable action I never thought I'd admit to doing.

I've moved back to my hometown.

(Note: I don't actually live in Hell. I think that's somewhere in Michigan.)

Yes, it's true. I'm not joking. This is not a hoax. Nobody hacked into Harry Potter (my appropriately pet-named laptop) and thought "What better way to embarrass and ridicule Alyssa than to create a fictitious tell-all blog about moving back to her hometown in Minnesota! What fun!". (Now, remind me, why am I writing this again?)

Back to the land of red meat, white potatoes and white bread ("let me butter that for you.."). Back to streets without stoplights (not one!). Back to giving one-finger courtesy waves to every car that passes by, "just in case". Back to a town that still employs a Maytag Man but hasn't a single fast-food restaurant.

Now, it's almost 10:30pm. on a Saturday night. Usually I'd be out on the town- sitting in some semi-chic downtown bar sipping my "signature" drink (vanilla Stoli vodka & diet coke with a lime), chatting with friends, flirting with guys, feigning interest.

I could walk two blocks and I'd have my pick of Tiny Town's plethora of watering holes- the VFW, the American Legion, the Muni...

I could sit on a bar stool next to some long-lost classmate of mine, listening to them exclaim with strictly alcohol-induced excitement "I haven't seen you forever!" and then fill me in on which other Tiny Town classmate they married (So and So was two years older than us, remember?) , how many people they packed into the Legion for the wedding reception (we had to narrow it down to 400, it was so hard!), how many snotty-nosed rugrats they've got at home (3, but we're thinking of trying for another this fall, I don't want to be an old mom!).

On second thought, I think I'll go to bed.

Who knows, maybe I'll wake up early enough to walk down and join the old men for coffee at the C-Store before church.