There's no denying my roots.

Law & Order, after I listened to every episode you had to offer twice (not counting the afternoons spent in the years 2007-2009 in a consistent state of LOMA melting into the cat town couch with my finest friends), I took a break for a while. Maybe it was the summer of 2010 I spent inside missing my New Zealand-based companion and listening to the entire discography of L&O: SVU on my computer while typing art history notes and hanging out with a cat. That summer made me sad, and I feel like the heinous crimes covered in each episode of my precious police procedural drama effected my sensitive dreamscape.

Anyway, I took a break.

There was Murder, She Wrote (there is always Murder, She Wrote), which remains a classic choice. But I gobbled Jessica Fletcher up pretty quickly, twice in total (have I mentioned how loathsome I am? Reference the daytime TV habits mentioned in my mission statement.), and I was left wanting more.

This morning, waking from too-little-sleep after too-late a too-good night with my Les Cousins Dangereux and our beardy male companions and our Australian import (Norah is 21!), I opened the window and folded the laundry and drank the coffee and came to the realization: there is no denying my roots.

I am a Quinn (closely related to the clan of Besack): I dance hard and erratically, as to inspire specific muscle pain the day after jamming up the floor of the club with my grrrrrrls; sometimes when my leggings are sagging I am wont to stand up in a crowd and kind of shimmy them back in place, much to Roy’s chagrin; I am a fan of cheese-based snacks; and I have an undeniable love for police procedural dramas.

When I heard that music….those opening credits….I swooned.

So I am back to you, L&O. It’s been too long.

And: happy birthday, Norah.