Guilty Pleasures

[d_aulnoy]

It seems as though everybody, but everybody on my f-list is treating themselves to ice cream as a treat tonight.  Sincerely, enjoy the brain-freeze, everybody!  I have to say, though, this is one guilty pleasure that I just do not, and have never gotten ... 

Even before the whole Evil Milk Allergy Raised its Ugly Head, I never so much ... got ... ice cream.  Ices?  Sure.  I could eat those things by the cubic foot, especially the kind that you make yourself by freezing OJ in a glass with a spoon for the handle (well, until the glass cracks when you're trying to pull it out and you find yourself pondering the question of whether consuming it after that would be dangerous, because, damnit, it is August, and you want something cold and citrusy, and then you realize that you, a) might be drifting into the realms of addiction, and b) should not ever attempt to "cook" in the sense of "set foot in the kitchen" and, b1) yes, you know that there are such things as molds, you just never chose to buy them, and that finally makes you realize that it's time to switch over to straight shots of that RealLemonTM stuff kept on the top shelf of the fridge), but I'm not so down with the ice cream.  I mean, I like sweet things, like chocolate, but the wonders of ice cream persistantly evade me.

That might be because the wonders of summer evade me.

But.  The peculiar persistance of ice cream on my f-list, if not in my fridge, made me start wondering the topic of guilty pleasures.  I don't mean the awful "but I'm actually really proud of it!" kind of a guilty pleasure that might be represented by "being a workaholic" or "reading too much" or the obvious guilty pleasure of liking "a night on the town."  I mean, really weird, specific guilty pleasures that represent luxory to y'all.  For me, we've got cigarettes, expensive shoes, books in general because of their gradual encroachment on all areas of my life, and those Sour Belt things that they sell in your cheaper brand of deli (which, seriously I think I once suffered an addiction to, because I would eat them until I burned bald spots into my tongue ... I'm not allowed to buy those anymore).

Because, tonight, to parallel the GN planned for Saturday, I'm having a quiet one of my own ... watching heist flicks (guilty pleasure) starring Gina Gershon (guilty pleasure) while chain-smoking (guilty pleasure) and sipping at a fine cognac (not so much a guilty pleasure, though it probably should be) while painting my finger and toe-nails and giving myself a facial (which ... shouldn't be a guilty pleasure, but is, because it feels a bit too decadently girly).  But none of these are really seasonal ...

I mean ... I hate summer in NY, generally, but I like having an actual pressing reason to wear skirts.  That's kinda a guilty pleasure.  I love not having any deadlines and being able to sit outside at a bar sipping a glass of red at three in the morning to enjoy a good conversation (possibly, even probably, all gussied up in a skirt).  I like being able to sweat.  Definititely a guilty pleasure, as far to many people in NY engage in it without guilt, especially in the subway, but the whole sauna feel of it is kinda nice, assuming that you are not in the sun, in a hurry, or in the presence of anybody you need to impress (because, summer interviews and/or summer dates?  Hell ...). 

Autumn is one long round of guilty pleasures: yanking out the knee high boots for "warmth," telling yourself that you're smoking to "warm up," letting the Indian summer feeling linger until the point when, yes, you have to admit that you are actually procrastinating, enjoying the vague narcotic smell of mimeograph paper and all it portends ... I love autumn most, I think.

Winter lets you spend way too much money, and eat delicious food with none of the general guilt of "oh, god, it's going to my hips, and everyone will see!" which the numerous "In Summer, Salad Only" women of NY seem to espouse ( I swear to god, I went to the grocery store today, and a lovely lanky lady ahead of me in the line bought nothing but frozen packages of spinach, which ... what?), as well as allievating the grotesque bloat which hits you as soon as you leave a resturaunt happy and full-fend only to feel the food decomposing in your stomach once you hit the street.  You get to wear weird hats, and you get to admit that, no, you never actually did bother to grow up, and, yes, you do still get a huge kick out of hitting unsuspecting friends in the back of the head with snowballs.

Spring ... well, I like rain, which I don't feel guilty about, but which I am pretty much alone in.  Plus, spring is Conference Season, which always makes me happy.  But spring is not, I admit, a favorite, because it always means that the end is near and that soon the entire city will feel like it's doing a conga line through the intestinal tract of a T-Rex. 

So ... people, what are your guilty pleasures?