I Think My Cavity Needs a Fillion.

Yeah, I know. The title isn't too classy for a married woman with a baby. But, hey, it takes a lot for me to throw my modesty aside for a celebrity and claim they're hotter than wax for a Brazilian. I'm not one of those wackadoos who think if I start a celeb fan club I'll have a chance at eternal bliss with Robert Pattinson in cougar heaven. Well, I did grow up nursing massive infatuations with Steve Martin and Elvis Presley...but one was dead before I was even born, and the other was a middle-aged recluse when I began pseudo-stalking him. Wanting to live in eternal bliss with Steve in totally inappropriate adolescent heaven was an innocent goal, especially since Steve became more of a muse than a love object as I got older. (I hate that word. Muse. It just sounds so sophistimacated and junk.)

I've never had an full-on adult celebrity crush. That is, until I saw The Fillion. In hopes of not getting into weird stalker-esque detail about why the man is hot and brilliant, I'll leave it at this: Serenity. Slither. Castle. Dr. Horrible. Watch them and just try not to drool.

But I'm not that much of a pervy housewife; I think one of the biggest reasons I dig on The Fillion is because he resembles my hunktastic husband Glenn.

Speaking of filling my cavities, Lucy is teething. She's got her first little nugget of white sharpness rearing itself in her lower gums. And she ain't none too happy, no sir. I'm talkin' up-all-nite-crying-all-day-inconsolable teething. There comes a moment each day when she musters up the energy to look up at us with bloodshot eyes, sniffing up little snotlets, her tiny head shaking with exhaustion from wailing incessantly...anyway, there comes a moment each day when she looks at us as if to say "How dare you people. How could you put this in my life? I will never, ever see you the same way again."

And there's only 19 more to go. For now. Joy.

TODAY'S ROXY SHOCKS RX: Appreciate that you're done teething. Go eat an apple and be smug.