Guilty Pleasures

Everyone has a bunch of some guilty pleasures. Chocolate, expensive shoes, Sunday morning mimosas, what have you. That's fine... for 'them.' I, however, have a different set of guilty pleasures and am here today to confess.

Ghost Adventures

When I was in my 20s, the end of the work week signaled the beginning of a two-day party. As soon as I finished walking the dog after work, I'd start getting ready to either have friends over or head to the bars downtown.

Tequila!

Now, Friday night rolls around and, after a workout, by 7:00 my ass is parked on the couch for the weekly Ghost Adventures marathon on the Travel Channel.

If you haven't watched this show, then 1) you're missing out, and 2) here's the gist.

Ghost Adventures features three main cast members who visit sites worldwide to investigate and document paranormal activity. Not something I'd typically be interested in. So what's the draw? I just... don't... know.

Perhaps taking off your shirt will draw out the poltergeists. Perhaps. Let's try.

It's tough to say.

Bad TV

We've all watched them. Shows like Tough Love Miami, The Kardashians, Bad Girls Club... and the list goes on. Turn on VH1 and you're bound to stumble upon a piece-of-crap series you'd NEVER -- not in a million, bazillion years...

DON'T PULL MY WEAVE, BITCH!

... admit to having ever seen. Your denial sounds something like this: "Flavor of Love? Haven't heard of it. Must've been on while I was busy listening to NPR."

Unless you're me. Here goes. World, I watch these shows. Sometimes I even watch these shows in lieu of going outside on a lovely day. If that's not the very definition of a guilty pleasure, then I have this whole thing wrong.

One word of caution: This kind of show is the Jose Cuervo of television: it's not very good and a little goes a long way.

Sadly, Jersey Shore's poetic storylines and massive viewership no longer allow that little gem to qualify as a guilty pleasure. Go get yer Mainstream USA on, Guidos!

Fist pump, push-ups, chap-stick. YEAH!

Miller Lite

Born, bred, and corn-fed though I may be, somehow I'm just not a beer snob. Maybe it's because
I learned how to drink beer in a place known fondly as Sloshkosh. Here is our mascot:

"But officer, I sold CUPS, not BEER!"

House-parties featured kegs of the absolute worst beers ever made: Busch Light or Natty Lite. So, in my own defense, Miller Lite is technically a step up. But you go ahead and drink those pints of New Glarus.*

At-Home Mani/Pedis

Every now and then, I fill a dedicated dishpan with fancy, bubbly soap and scalding hot water to give those hard-working dogs a good soak while I file my fingernails.

These aren't my hands and feet.

A clear coat, two coats of a color of my choosing -- lacquer it on thick! -- and a top coat and VOILA! At-home mani/pedi. This probably works because I don't have children. And consider it a guilty pleasure because it's just about Siobhan-centric of an activity as you could get.

Let's do some Girl Math.

$75 for a salon mani/pedi

-$7 for a bottle of nailpolish

I saved... let's see... carry the 4... $68!

Thank you for hearing my confession.

* I obviously make an exception for the Pale Ales brewed at the Great Dane. I get my home wifi signal there. What do you want from me? #pubproximity