Don't Stop Believin' ...

Cat Con has been holding out on me.

That's the only explanation I can come up with that I had not experienced the joy of "glee" until FOX rebroadcast the pilot last week.

I watched it, and just like that — with jazz hands — I was hooked.

Last night as I was watching the new season premiere of glee(!) emphasis added by me(!) and wondering how I had lived this long without it, I had a flashback:

One night, last spring, Mr. J and I are downstairs solving some crime with either the CSI crew in Vegas, the BAU team from Quantico, or the SVU team in NYC. (Our expertise is unrivaled, and my cell number is on all the top alphabet forensic and/or profiler teams' speed dial. But you didn't hear that from me. It's a secret. My other alter ego is similar to Garcia in the FBI tech lab. But brunette. Yet still wildly attracted to Shemar Moore. Ssssh.)

So-o-o-o-o, this night last May, we're all intent on saving mankind from some depraved mind, when I hear what sounds like music and dancing from the upstairs bedroom. I look over at J, but he's strung out on Phenergan, and of no use to me in any of the evening's investigations — including the one I'm getting ready to conduct in my own home.

I mute the TV, and just a beat later, the music and dancing stops. I turn the TV back on, it starts back up. I'm all "what the ...?" Tilly's all "what the ...?" Jamie's all "where's my Gatorade?" Hmmm.

I get up and get J a fresh bottle of G, and Tilly and I scamper (what? I can't scamper?) up the stairs to see what's going on. About halfway up, I hear the music and the dancing stop, and the sound of someone hopping on the bed.

I stick my head in the bedroom door, Tilly trots in jumps up on the bed where Cat Con sits all innocent-like, reading the latest issue of Cosmo, and looking at us like "what the ...?"

"What the hell are you doing up here?" I ask her.

"What the hell does it look like?" Cat Con says. "Reading."

I give her an "oh-really-Princess-ADD?" look, and she says, "OK, looking at the pictures."

"What's all the noise?" I ask and am treated to a "what-noise-you're-in-your-40s-now-and-quite-frankly-acting-like-it-Princess-Snarkarella" look.

So I go back downstairs. It starts up again, and I could have sworn I heard Journey (not usually in Cat Con's repertoire) up until around 10 p.m. And then it just stops.

It occurs to me now that Cat Con must have been watching the first episode of glee(!) that night. 

I should have known. May in South Carolina is much, much too warm for leg warmers.

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