Guilty Pleasures

Every Wednesday I post a status update on Facebook as I gear up to indulge in my favorite guilty pleasure — watching Revenge on ABC. I am absolutely addicted to that show. I don’t know if it’s the scenic Hamptons, the high-flying, preciously-charmed, jewel-adorned lives the characters lead, the clothes, the plotting, the scheming, the backstabbing or simply watching skinny, beautiful, evil people inhabiting a place so foreign to an Ohio gal like me. Nonetheless, I was hooked on the show after watching the first 20 minutes of it when it premiered last fall.

There is a small group of Facebook friends (maybe 8 to 10) who also admit to loving the show and each Wednesday we gather together in cyberspace and enjoy a little pre and post-Revenge dish session.

This week I mentioned to a friend (while dishing) that the show was my “guilty pleasure”— singular—indicating that I had only one. However, upon further review I must come clean and admit to myself and (just for fun) everyone reading this that I DO have other guilty pleasures. Many, many guilty pleasures in fact.

For instance… JUST TO NAME A FEW…

  1. Sleep. I can knock out 12 hours of sleep like nobody’s business. If allowed I would probably give the cat a run for his money.
  2. An Over-Indulgence in Paper Products. I go through napkins, paper towels, tissues and toilet paper like they’re going out of style. And now that I’m not working and home much of the time… I have become acutely more aware of just how much I use. Just ask Lee. He has begun clipping coupons for all things paper since I moved in.
  3. Pizza. I could eat it seven days a week if possible. In fact, ever since I was little and Friday night was pizza night at our house (no exceptions because it was my mother’s one day off from cooking) I EXPECT to eat it at least once a week. And if I don’t get it… I feel deprived. I know it’s probably “wrong” to have such a thing as PES or more formally known as “Pizza Entitlement Syndrome” what with whole nations of people starving and all… but I can’t help it. I am obviously hardwired by now.
  4. Pillows. I can’t get enough of them. Big, fat, fluffy, goose-down pillows for sleeping, pillows for throwing and propping and accenting. When I am out shopping I will ALWAYS cruise the pillow aisle and I can justify the purchase of a new pillow like it’s my job. But I don’t have ANYTHING with this shade or this shape or this pattern or this softness… anywhere in the house! Therefore, I MUST purchase this pillow. It would be a crime NOT to.
  5. Decorative Candles That I Will Never Burn. I know that I’ve addressed this in a previous post so I will not say much more on the matter other than to say that along with the PES, I should probably see someone about it. It’s becoming a real problem. At some point we are going to run out of shelf/table/counter/closet space and become overrun with decorative candles and I will wind up on an episode of Hoarders or some other abnormal-psychologically-voyeuristic cable show.

So… dear readers, please share with me (because I’d really like to know) what are some of YOUR favorite guilty pleasures? The sky is the limit and I promise that your secret will be safe with me. Well, me and anyone else who happens to click on this link today.

I Hate Camping

I remember the day with startling clarity. It was the day that I finally accepted my disdain for camping. I was in the mountains of New Mexico, gazing out across a picturesque valley with a deep blue lake surrounded by lush pine. The water was sparkling in the sun like a thousand white diamonds while a cool breeze caressed my face… and I was elbow-deep in nasty, tepid, grey water… washing dishes.

“I think I hate camping.” I said to my friend who was sunning herself on a nearby picnic table. Now, to convey the actual weight of this statement coming out of my mouth you must understand something. My ex and I owned a camper. A REAL camper, loaded down with all of the trappings for camp life… from the fireside cookware to the pump-it-yourself travel toilet (which never got used anyway because no one wanted to clean it). And the friend that I was speaking to was one-half of the couple that we always camped with.

“Seriously?” she asked me. “You don’t like camping!?” Her voice raised an octave and cracked as though I had just confided in her that I was, in reality, a Russian spy working undercover in America’s desert southwest.

“Yes. Yes I do.” I said matter-of-factly with a growing air of confidence. “I mean, look at us. We are on VA-CA-TION (said extra slowly and loudly for maximum emphasis and effect). We took actual time off from work to come all the way up here, set up camp, don filthy flannel and sport greasy hair only to do DISHES in nasty water, sit in the dirt and stare at one another. IT’S WORK. It’s all work (again with the slow yelling for effect). And I can be doing this WORK at home. Except that at least there I have hot running water and an actual toilet that flushes and clean, soft things in which to wear, sit and sleep on!”

She sat on the picnic table staring at me in utter shock and disbelief while I poured out my dirty little confession. I didn’t care if she disagreed. I didn’t care if I offended her. It was my moment. My epiphany. WHY must I love camping? Who decided that humans should just LUUUUUUUV camping? Because it sure as hell seems like everybody does. Or at least that’s what they tell you. It’s what they want you to believe so that you will think they’re this outdoorsy, tree-hugging, adventurous individual capable of just “goin’ with the flow” and bein’ “one” with nature… Well, it’s a load of crap. And if they think it, they should just admit it. Like I did on that day.

It was a thing of beauty I tell you. Making peace with the fact that I did NOT enjoy this thing that I was supposed to enjoy and not being afraid to say so.

So today, for anyone reading this, I’m going on public record and proclaiming that I DON’T LIKE CAMPING!!! Why should I set up an entire HOME outdoors when I already have one indoors? Why should I wash my dishes in gross, tepid water, carry a damp roll of toilet paper under one arm and a shovel under the other while trotting off to the bushes to “do my business,” sleep downhill with my head or other critical body parts on a rock (when tent camping at least), schlup around camp all dirty and smelly with nappy hair and covered in scratches and bruises from aforementioned bush-peeing or rock-sleeping? Hmmmm?

I love to do all SORTS of outdoorsy things. Fishing, hiking, mountain climbing, whitewater rafting, horseback riding, SCUBA diving… the list goes on. In fact I’ll try just about anything… once. But when I am done with my adventure for the day, I want to order dinner from a menu and for someone else to set said dinner on a warm plate in front me. I want to sleep in a fresh bed surrounded by endless, fluffly layers of down-filled goodness. I want a hot shower and clean underwear. I don’t think this is too much to ask.

In one way or another, if you are going away somewhere, camping or otherwise, you are most likely taking time off from work, packing your things, and spending money. Therefore, why shouldn’t my precious time and money be spent paying SOMEONE ELSE to do the dishes?