Guilty Pleasures

I hold in high esteem people who are themselves and don’t hold back. I feel like I haven’t been living up to this standard myself. It’s time I open up and own up to some things. Brace yourselves, I have some confessions to make.

I have become a huge fan of Nickelodeon’s Fred. He is an akward, melodramatic, over confident, teenage boy in suspenders with a flair for song and dance numbers. He also has an irritating voice like one of The Chipmunks. Fred and his mother live alone in a town house that was a modern design in the 80’s. His mother (played by Siohban Hogan of Saturday Night Live, Men In Black) is inattentive and dresses like she’s always on the way out the door to go clubbing in 1991. Fred’s dad may be out of the picture but he gets plenty of fatherly advice from his imaginary dad (wrestler John Cena) who lives in the refrigerator. I am inexplicably drawn to this show and actually found myself in tears as Fred attempted to steal what he thought was a squirrel (actually a pomeranian) from a pet store. I can’t describe this train wreck of a show and do it any justice but I hope I have intrigued at least one of you to check it out and you too will fall to my level.

My love of The Walking Dead TV show was nothing to be ashamed of because everyone else loved it too. I’m looking forward to the new season starting in October but it will never be the same without Shane (a guilty pleasure all his own). I am less willing to cop to the fact that I have read and continue to read the graphic novels (that’s fancy speak for comic book). I had to stop myself from donning sunglasses and a hat when they held the books at the library for me. I like the theme of a world turned completely on its end in which everyone is struggling to survive while maintaining some shred of humanity. Outside of gory B movies I am riveted by the whole zombie genre.

On the complete opposite end of the literary spectrum is my love for Katherine Valentine and the Dorsetville series. I consider myself well read; I read The Hobbit in fourth grade and took on Les Miserables and Schindlers List in the ninth. I devour books in the vein of the Bronte sisters and anything set in Victorian England. So for me the cozy series about a small town in Connecticut that works out all its problems, and the Congregational Church and St.Cecilia’s parish all meet on the town green for a pot-luck picnic is hard to come to terms with. I equate it with having the flu, curling up with a blanket and watching the Hallmark channel all day.

As someone who rails against Christmas music filtering through the mall in November and thinks poor old Thanksgiving shouldn’t be overlooked I have to admit to my hypocracy. I listen to Christmas music in August. There I said it. There’s something exciting about knowing the holiday season is soon upon us plus it makes daily chores much more cheerful. After Labor day it’s pretty much Thriller and Ghostbusters until the end of October but August is Christmas Music Month.

My disdain for trends and “stuff” in general makes my final admission the most difficult to divulge. I am a Beanie Baby junkie. During their hey day I only owned one and it had been a gift. I scoffed at people paying six or seven dollars for them. Keeping the tags on, putting them in little plastic sarcophaguses to preserve them, collecting hundreds thinking they would be worth something someday. Secretly I thought that Beanie Babies were the most adorable things I had ever laid eyes upon and wanted hundreds of pairs of their beady plastic eyes to gaze into. I had American Dreamtype fantasies of seas of weakly stuffed platypuses (platypi?) frogs, dogs and elephants. Now they’re not worth a darn thing and easily found on e-bay or at the flea market. Every time I go to the flea market it’s like adoption day at Petco. I have to rescue them. Luckily for me I have two little girls to blame them all on.

There you have it, my deepest, darkest dorkiest secrets. Remember, judge not lest ye be judged.

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