Guilty Pleasure

guilt·y pleas·ure

noun

"Something, such as a movie, television program, or piece of music, that one enjoys despite feeling that it is not generally held in high regard."

Everyone has a guilty pleasure. Most people have more than one. A guilty pleasure isn't a secret that you share with someone lightly. It's one of those topics where a friendship needs to be established so you know that the other person won't judge you as much as a stranger would. You start slow, maybe sharing your weakness for chocolate and working your way up to your love for Robin Thicke's "Blurred Lines." But it takes a special kind of friend to handle my guiltiest pleasure of all. 

My name is Camille Cohen and I love Hannah Montana.

Yes, you read that right. I'm talking about Hannah Montana, the television show on Disney created for kids. I am fully aware that the humor was written to reach the minds of children who are in second grade, and the acting is atrocious, but there is something about this show that warms my heart and makes me smile. It never fails to put me in a good mood.

Let the judgement begin. 

(Oh, and in case you were wondering: yes, my closest friends are aware of this secret and yes, they do still judge me immensely.)

Meet Lucey

Windows down.

Music blaring.

Foot on the gas pedal.

Lucey almost succeeded in the attempt to escape…

“License and registration, please.”

The officer tapped his index finger on the rim of the window as she struggled with the latch on the glove box in her 1997 VW bug. “This damn thing always gets stuck,” she nervously chuckled. She could tell he was irritated. 

“Do you have any idea how fast you were going, Missy,” he snarled as he snatched the paperwork from her hand.

Wondering if she should play dumb, she stalled, “Umm…”

Without allowing her time to decide, he spoke again, “I clocked you going 28 over the speed limit.” Without so much as a pause, he handed her the ticket and her paperwork and headed back to his pathetic excuse for a motorcycle.

“SHIT!” Lucey shouted as she threw the papers onto the passenger seat.  “Shit. Shit. Shit.” With each word of profanity, she pounded her hands rhythmically on the steering wheel.

As tears started to fill her eyes, she thought back to earlier that morning. She was running late as usual and her hair was refusing to cooperate. The outcome was a messy side braid that always resulted in her looking 15. Without giving the clock a second glance, she gathered the rest of her scattered clothes from the ground and tiptoed into the bathroom to get dressed. As she tried to start her car, she found herself questioning if her boss would notice that she was wearing the same clothes she had on yesterday.

Lucey was startled out of her daydream when she heard a horn from the officer. She wiped her eyes as she glanced over and found him smiling and waving as he set off for his next victim. With her car still off and spirits down, she picked up her phone and decided to call her mom. As it rang, she anxiously picked at her nails and contemplated what she would say if someone picked up. In this kind of situation, a simple “hello” wouldn’t quite cut it. Lucey hadn’t spoken to her mom in over 6 months; ever since she left home and got a job as a waitress instead of pursuing the career her mom had chose for her.

“Hello?” Lucey froze. The sound of her mother’s voice was paralyzing.

“I lost my job,” sputtered Lucey before bursting into tears. As she sobbed, she continued, “Actually, I got fired. And a cop pulled me over for speeding.” Lucey sniffled, trying to compose herself as she waited for her mom to respond.

“I don’t know what you expect me to say, Luce.” The cold harsh tone of her mother’s voice was one she was not used to, although not exactly surprised to hear.

As her bottom lip began to quiver, Lucey muttered, “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I called.”  

(I like to consider myself a writer at times and I start projects, but rarely finish them. This was a snippet I wrote when I was considering moving down to LA and wasn't sure how my mom would respond. Obviously the main character is depicted as a version of myself. Anyway, with the little time I've had to post on this blog, I thought a glimpse into something personal would be a treat for y'all. Let me know what you think...or don't. Either way, I promise you'll hear from me soon.)

A New Year

In the year of 2013, something amazing happened. In the first few months, Kelsey and I would joke about us living together. We would laugh at how preposterous of an idea it was; both of us living in Los Angeles. Fast forward a few months, skip over the fears I faced, and we get to now…

I am starting the year of 2014 as Kelsey’s roommate, living in Los Angeles. I am on my own financially for the first time in my life. My parents and I continue to have a good relationship. I’m dating. And I’m enjoying my life.

Of course, with every new year, we make resolutions. Every year prior, I would make lists of things I wanted to do that year or things I wanted to change. More often then not, these resolutions never saw spring. However, this year, I am trying something new: SLUT. Stop, Look, Understand, and Take in. (Yes, I am fully aware of how silly it sounds considering the acronym… but hey, at least I won’t forget it!) This could be applied to just about any aspect of my life, whether it’s taking the time to reevaluate the contents of my grocery basket, or simply stopping to appreciate the sunset on my walk home from work. Perhaps in this new year, with a new way of thinking, this resolution will make it to the end.

So, here's to a new year and taking the time to SLUT it up! *clink*