1. I loved the Backstreet Boys when I was 12 or 13… and 14. And not in the passing sense, like I make everyone believe. In the sense that I was manically in love with Howie Dorough. I was going to marry him and have his babies. I fell asleep thinking about him, and wrote dumb ass embarrassing as shit fanfic stories about whirlwind romances and eloping (and even naughty bits that as a mom I’m horrified to think a 13 year old would even THINK about let alone put onto paper). And I knew all their dance routines up until their Backstreet’s Back album (when I switched gears from bubblegum pop to punk and heavy metal). P.S. My BFF and I are going to their concert with NKOTB on August 4th. We’re all still teenyboppers at heart, sisters – you know it. Don’t deny it.
2. Smoking. I started smoking when I was a teenager… why? Well, I started smoking occasionally when I was drinking (because it was cool, ya know?) and then it just escalated. Why did it escalate? Lots of reasons, but among them – to impress a boy. To have more in common. You heard that right. I wish I could bitchslap my younger self for being so moronic. I gave it up when I got pregnant with my son, and haven’t brought a pack home since then – but I never quite got the hang of being a non-smoker. Especially when I’m having a drink. I could drink only half a beer and still have the most primal urge to light up. To the point where I will practically debase myself to find a cigarette.
Most people don’t know I ever continued to smoke occasionally (well, hah, they do now) because it’s a secret that up until 10 minutes ago, I would have taken to the grave. But what the hell. It’s not like I want to be a slave to this urge, and though it makes me obscenely happy, perhaps the dirty little secret is part of the addiction… maybe the first step toward getting rid of the addiction (however “controllable” it can feel considering I can go weeks/months without smoking) is to let the cat out of the bag.
3. Butter. Steak. Bacon. Bread. Cheese. Pasta. Mayonnaise. Preferably combined in some manner. With gravy on top. And more cheese. Need I say more? I eat like a 120 lb celebrity one week, so I can chow down like a 400 lb food addict the next week. For the love of Pete, I have no consistency at all. They say it’s all about portion control? FOOEY, I say. That certainly doesn’t work for persistent fatness. You want to be thin? Eat “clean” . And good luck to you – I couldn’t make it more than a week at a time. Is it possible to go through saturated fat withdrawal?
4. Trashy romance novels. Preferably something involving vampires or other paranormal elements. And if it makes me blush, even better. I don’t want to even try to psychologize this one. I just accept that it’s a part of me, and move on.
5. Taking Boomer for walks. This new guilty pleasure is surprisingly healthy – at least for me. By the end of a day full of half a dozen or more
shrieking destructive banshees intelligent and imaginative children, my brain feels like it is about to implode into a black hole and take the rest of the world with it – so I guess it’s probably healthy for society at large as well, if not so much for my husband’s sanity.
At first Boomer and I would walk around the block. Then our walks gradually started getting longer and longer until lately I haven’t been getting home until the kids were in their P.J.’s. The Hubs has been extremely patient thus far. I feel like a toddler pushing her boundaries: Does a breaking point exist? At what point will I cross the line? What if I just happened to wander back home after the house became quiet.? Maybe tonight’s a good night to find out.
Do you have any guilty pleasures? Shock me!
… In a PG sort of way for goodness sake. Actually, it’s okay if you want to totally sugarcoat it. Or just not say anything at all. Shit. My mom might be reading this, eh?
In fact, I was just kidding about everything I said earlier. I totally don’t like or do any of those things, and I certainly haven’t smoked a cigarette, um, ever. It’s a disgusting habit. And it kills you. Really. Heh…