7:15 PM

My lifetime original movie

March 3, 2008 - Monday

Have you ever accidentally tuned in to a Lifetime Original Movie and gotten so sucked into the pitful drama that you can't seem to force yourself to change the channel? Don't act like you don't know what I am talking about. The main character and victim is usually played by Melissa Gilbert, and she is most likely being lied to or cheated on...or someone stole her baby. Without Pa there to protect her, all-grown-up Laura Ingalls has the worst luck ever. Seriously, half pint can't get a freaking break.

Today, my dear friend Megan and I were discussing some such movie, and contemplating what our own lives would look like if broadcast on the victim channel. How would our most suspenseful moments play out in a made for TV movie? Would it be as thrilling and addictive as the others, or are we just not martyr material enough to make our movie worth watching?
Sadly enough, the most dramatic moment of my day is when I literally sprint from the car to my home while perpetually running late from one job to the next. I know that Dr. Phil views consistent tardiness as extremely selfish behavior, but whatever...Phil has no idea what I am up against here. It is inevitable. I feel I must elaborate on this so you understand just how tight my schedule is. During this final sprint of the day, I wouldn't dare stop at the mailbox to get the mail...this would take like 10 extra seconds that I could not possibly spare. My poor children are lucky enough to get a greeting and a half assed hug as I dash to my computer to make up for lost time.

Anyway, as I confessed to Megan, the front door being locked is quite often my biggest obstacle. I must sadly admit that I have actually cursed the door for being locked. Out loud. I may even have let the f-er fly after this horrifying discovery.

So, picture this...the most dramatic moment of my day as I, played by Kellie Martin, sprint the 15 feet from my car (most likely a sensible sedan or quite possibly even a minivan) to my front door. Soundrack music is crescendoing in the background as my victim-channel movie comes to a climax so suspenseful that even the Lifetime people would not dare interrupt with a commercial. Kellie is determined to reach her destination. At this point, the heel of her shoe breaks and she probably falls over and scrapes her knee, ripping her pantyhose in the process. But that Kellie is a victim no more! She perserveres. She will crawl, hop, whatever it takes to get to that door and get to her commitment on time.

Tears begin streaming down her face as she realizes that she had just ruined her favorite pair of shoes that she bought in New York City with Tiffany Amber Theissen. With a new wave of determination, she charges once again towards the door. The new Kellie won't let even this crappy realization get her down. There is still time. She has 4 seconds to spare. Then, just as she reaches the door, the stinging reality of the situation overcomes her. The damned door is locked. And if you thought the music was crescendoing before, you were sadly mistaken my friend, because this is the true crossroads...the apex of the story, the defining moment that makes or breaks Kellie. "Why!? Why?!" Kellie screams, to no one in particular. The neighbors glance over at her but continue carrying in their groceries as if this is a daily occurance. Now, cue the commercial...the camera panning out as Kellie lies in a huddled pathetic mass, fumbling with her keys on my front stoop.

What will happen to Kellie? Will she overcome the trauma, and find that a new pair of shoes is just a train ride away? Will she make millions as the inventor of a voice activated door lock? Was this whole experience a blessing in disguise...her obstacles really a gift that shaped her true character and pointed her in the direction of her true destiny? There has to be a lesson in here somewhere, people...she didn't go through all of this for nothing!

What lesson did the real non-victim Natalie learn? To count to at least 5 when I hug my kids after I walk in the door. After all, when I am gone, even if it is only for 3 hours, that is three hours of their Lifetime that I missed. Fortunately, my dear girl is quite the storyteller, and their channel plays reruns of daytime programming all evening long. I vow to listen intently as they replay any crescendoes I may have missed. And tomorrow, when I sprint to my front door, I am going to laugh my ass off, picturing Becca Thatcher, a sobbing mess, huddled next to my flowerbeds.

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