Thursday, July 31, 2008

Guilty Pleasures

Yesterday, Lara over at Literally Speaking ran off to go see Neil Diamond in the big city. Lucky girl. I could tell for her The ol' Jazz Singer was a guilty pleasure. Why I don't know, Neil is fabulous! Gypsy was also owning up to a few of her own yesterday, so it must be in the air. Either that or summer is just a time for a bit of indulgence.

Everyone has got them (guilty pleasures, not Neil Diamond tickets), those little habits or tastes you indulge in with a secret delight that feels like you're getting away with something illicit. These quirky rituals are for you alone, and you don't care how juvenile, tacky, or bad for you they are, you just don't particularly want to have to explain yourself to too many people. Some like to soak in a hot tub and pick their nose, other's like to buy a tub of cool whip and systematically devour it with a spoon. Who doesn't?

Guilty pleasures? Oh yes, I have a more than my fair share, so I thought I'd fess up to a few of them now. I feel so nekkid all of a sudden.

Evanessence - I love this band,the lead singer is just gorgeous, and wonderfully goth in a Grimm's fairytale kind of way. I swear if they had been around when I was in high school I could have avoided the entire Stevie Nicks obsession(but that's a post for a different day). Not to mention I love the lyrics, and her voice is absolutely blow you away phenomenal. I like to crank it up, and sing into my hairbrush. All the while imagining some random man who done me wrong. "Yeah, I'm talking to you, buddy."

Kraft Mac and Cheese - the yellow dye#487 variety. I'm not even sure it can really even be considered "food", but oh my happy ass, how I love it. I don't eat it very often, because of the afore mentioned happy rear end, but when I do, I like to add insult to injury (because I never do these things half way), and eat my Mac and Cheese with the other quintessential non-food food. The hot dog. Don't judge me.

Chick Lit - I've also heard it refered to as Little Black Dress lit, or Red Dress Lit. It's light, fluffy, and reads like a Sex in the City episode, but I love to curl up with a good trash novel every once in a while. Okay, more than every once in a while, but who's counting?

Romantic Comedies. - They're right up there with Chick Lit, but I love to fall into a Sandra Bullock, Debra Messing, Kate Winslet, girlie, this never happens to anyone, romantic comedy. Of course there has to be a certain amount of eye candy in the guise of a leading man (ANYTHING with James McAvoy.. ohh my, he is tasty.), a funny but quirky best friend, a good cry somewhere in the middle, and happily ever afters all the way around. It's total brain rot, but I just don't give a rat's butt.

Bed Days - Not for the faint of heart. It takes a professional slacker to pull one of these puppies off, and it should be noted they are best attempted after a night of heavy, but not overly excessive drinking. On this day, the sacred "bed day", one sleeps until it is no longer humanly possible to keep one's eyes closed. Once fully awake, shuffle into the kitchen to make coffee, and at that point decide; bed, or couch? Once this crucial, but totally personal decision has been made you hunker down. No need to get out of those pj's, oh no, we're going for maximum comfort here. The rest of the day is spent reading, watching bad movies, and ordering take out. If you've planned ahead and have a well rounded supply of comestibles, then you can avoid the awkward moment when you have to greet the pizza dude in your pj's at 4 in the afternoon. There's an art to making a good bed day, there are no rules, you can even throw in a late afternoon bubble bath if you're feeling ambitious. The possibilities are endless.

So now that I've shared a few of mine, it's your turn. What are some of your guilty pleasures. Come on now, you know you want to spill.

Many thanks to the Tapdancer for pointing out an obviously sleep deprived mistake of calling my one true celebrity crush John instead of James. What the hell was I thinking? Obviously I wasn't, but I still like him better than you!

Monday, July 28, 2008

Shit or Get Off the Pot

It's official, I suck at keeping this blog updated. I honestly don't know how everyone does it. How do you do it? Inquiring minds want to know.

I've been thinking a bunch about blogging, about my blog specifically, and whether it should be more focused on a particular subject matter? Should I extend my slacker's hiatus until I know exactly what I want to write about? Should I stop all together? If I stop will I miss it? Will I actually do the other things I say I'm going to do if I don't blog? Here's a thought; maybe I'm thinking too much about blogging instead of just shutting up and actually writing. What a concept.

So, what's a procrastinatin' girl supposed to do? I'll tell you what. Shut up and write. And not about the fact that I have nothing to write about. Although that seems to be my current reality, but I digress.

Where was I?

Oh, yes.

Shut up and write.

Since my capacity for original thought is at an all time low tide; we're talking clam digging, dribble castle making, peeing in the tidal pools low, I will just tell you guys what I did on my bloggie vacation. Ironically enough, considering the last sentence, it did not involve going to the beach.

Actually, I didn't do much of anything at all, and I've enjoyed the hell out of it. I've puttered around my house pretending to clean, but really only moving piles of crap from one room to another. I've read novels (trashy and otherwise) on long afternoons sipping iced coffee. I've watched about a gajillion hours of netflixed movies, and subjected the Tapdancer to more than a few indy art films (a weakness of mine). She's always suspicious. With titles like "Wrist cutters, A Love Story" (the current selection I'm trying to talk her into), you can't entirely blame her. But I swear, this one is supposed to be good one!

In a bolder- uh lame brained- move, I whacked off my princess hair (7") and accidentally dyed it a shocking shade of red. The damn box said medium reddish brown. HA! I don't know what cracked up crayola box those jokers were working from, but this is not brown!

And here we are, at the end of the first post-slacker-break post. Here's to hoping it's not the last. That would suck.