Dirty Little Secrets

I was recalling a friend's honors thesis the other day. It focused largely on how freely people self-disclose shit on the internet that they wouldn't in a million years tell their closest friends. I've never really been big on the whole self-disclosure bit, so I've decided that it's time I got on to that. Can't be stuck in the dark ages forever - I have 13 year olds in their underwear on MySpace to compete with! So, in light of my pressing need to keep up with the skanks, I have decided to share with you all of my dirty little secrets – things that are so embarrassing that they could end a marriage. Well, okay, maybe not. They haven’t ended mine yet, but they do receive the occasional side-long stare and/or patronizing nod. And my mother thinks I’m a freak. So there.

So here we go in no particular order…

Fizzy Water. I have a small addiction. I used to have a large addiction. That was to nicotine. The small addiction is to carbonated water. You see, giving up nicotine is a lot like hitting yourself repeatedly in the head with a baseball bat that someone has lovingly hammered 5 inch nails through. It’s not so much that the desire to smoke is over-powering (it’s strong, but most times you realize that actually sucking down a cigarette makes you feel worse than you did) as it is that you, well….lose all control of your emotions and become a ranting, raving, possibly stampeding, angry elephant with sharp tusks every time something goes wrong. One minute fine, next minute FUCK OFF. So you have to retrain yourself to, you know, not flip out like a idiot every time you drop your pen. It’s kind of like being two years old and realizing that pitching a fit on the grocery store floor is only going to get you spanked – and by that I mean it sucks.

What this all brings me back to is my new addiction to fizzy water. Seltzer. I like that word. Seltzer. I like most things that can be associated six-degrees-of-separation-style to going in someone’s pants. But I digress. Addiction. I think I drink about half a gallon of the stuff a day. And it makes me fart. A lot. But I still drink it. And then I blame my farts on other people. And I smile deep inside my heart.

Revolving Doors. I am abso-fucking-lutely terrified of them. The rest of the population goes dashing through them like this is a completely normal thing to do. Am I the only person in the world who recognizes these aberrations for the incarnation of unholiness that God himself would spit upon (and, in fact, probably will when he comes to earth to personally damn and escort the inventor to hell – that is, if God takes an interest in revolving doors) that they undoubtedly are?!? Are there no other sane people out there? No…? Okay, I suppose it probably bears noting that this may, in fact, be a personal problem. And to be quite honest, I can’t actually remember anything bad happening to me in or even near one of them. No recollection of getting pinched, or stuck between doors, or any other of the multitude of heinous ways to die that flit through my brain every and require me to take deep breathes and count to ten every single time I have to walk through one of these god-forsaken sideways rat wheels. I take this as evidence that not only are revolving doors evil, but they give off an aura that only I have been blessed to sense.

David Bowie. This one gets to my husband the most. Actually, I think this one gets to most people the most, but you know what? You can all bite me. David Bowie is god, and one day you will all realize that I was right, and you were wrong. And yes, I have watched Labyrinth all the way through just to marvel at the amazing growth spurt his bulge goes through, and yes, it is better than yours. (Except for you honey, I love you best *innocence*)

Inuyasha. I have a small obsession with this show. Ok, small might be understating it a bit. I made my husband buy me all 167 episodes and 3 movies on DVD. Yes, it is animated. Yes, it is directed at an audience approximately 10-16 years in age. Yes, I miss that mark by almost 10 years. No, I don’t care. And you know what, there is an entire community of anime-loving people who will gladly accept me into their lives and love me just the same and not judge me like I know you are doing not-so-silently right now. The problem is that they never want to leave their mother’s basement to play with me. So, lets make a deal – you’ll never tell anyone about this, and I will never disclose the names of certain individuals whom I know for a fact watched Disney’s Tarzan frame-by-frame just to see if his butt flap would fly up and expose his hot monkey-junk. Deal?

and finally...

All bow before the Mistress of all the is Good and Evil. And Lettuce.

Cher. Okay, so maybe this one isn't so much of a secret. And maybe it hasn't actually been a secret ever since I serenaded every non-hearing-impaired person in downtown Minneapolis with random selections of her catalog from the window of a cab at 3 in the morning. And maybe "If I Could Turn Back Time" sounds better when the singer is not slobbering drunk and trying to pick up the guy on the corner at the same time. And maybe George W. Bush is an awesome guy. But I think you may be reaching. Come on people! This woman sold hair products while wearing a wig. SHE IS THAT FUCKING GOOD. And she wants some love.