Note: This post initially was published a couple of years ago on the comedy blog Pointless Banter, which Bobby Finstock traded for a "gently used" copy of Ted Bundy's address book.
The other day I was scrolling through the “to-do” list on our DVR to make sure that the LOST premiere would be recorded when I came across the following movie title, scheduled to record the next morning:
How to Murder Your Wife.
Will and I have an open relationship. Not meaning that we bone other people, but we’re pretty communicative about our thoughts and our feelings and all that sappy bullshit that you hear on Oprah (if I watched Oprah. Okay, I watched Oprah that once, but I was young and needed the morale boost.)
We’ve only been married nineteen months, so I’m sure this will eventually harden into a crust of resentment and rage.
Give us time.
But this got me to thinking about other things I don’t want to see showing up on my DVR:
Reversal of Fortune
Jeremy Irons gets an Oscar for being a possible-wife-murderer. This is not a good precedent for those of the wifely persuasion.

I could fall into a persistent vegetative state by staring at Jeremy Irons' forehead.
Side note: I used to have a MAD CRUSH on Jeremy Irons, and now he's playing Pope Alexander VI in "The Borgias" and it's a little skeevy for this Catholic girl to have a crush on a Pope, although that particular pope would've been waaaaay into it.
The Lizzie McGuire Movie.
During my tenure on Lizzie McGuire, I discovered that the late-night airings were almost always our highest-rated shows. I don’t like to think about that too much.
Dirty Dancing, set for “Save Until I Delete.”
One could make an argument for a Swayze revival – now that we know he’s suffering from pancreatic cancer, he’s suddenly everyone’s new best friend (Christopher Reeve flashbacks, anyone?) and not the guy who did “Father Hood.” (Sigh. RIP, Mr. Swayze.)
Can I call you Baby? That’s what my father calls me!
Beaches.
Spoiler alert: she dies in the end. Girls in high school were obsessed with this movie. Watching the first few scenes made me wish I had been diagnosed with a terminal illness just to escape watching it.
"Some friendships last forever." That sounds like a threat.
Top Gun, cued up to the beach volleyball scene.
I don't want my husband asking me to be his Wingman, I want him to want to have sex with someone who has breasts. And I’m not talking about Goose - I'm talking about me.

It's weird to think there was a time when Tom Cruise wasn't crazy.
Anything you'd be freaked out to see on the DVR?