I Could Be Selfish

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A few times in my life, I have actually had friends assume my parents have money because of our home. I have yet to understand these assumptions. We live in a typical, southern, suburban neighborhood. All the homes look the same, and we live in an unoriginal, split-level house. It is not as if my younger brother and I have gotten everything we wanted as children, but if my father could afford it, he would try to get it for us on birthdays and holidays. We have nice things, but it is not because every weekend my dad shuffles out more money for nice things, nor does my father dig into debt to attain these luxuries. We simply take care of what we have so it lasts. Did you know, I still have my Super Nintendo?

Last semester, I found one reason to enjoy loans and the financial aid system: excess financial aid checks! For those who do not know how the system works, Financial Aid will give the student a statement with an amount of money they are offering to pay for school for the upcoming semester. Once the amount is paid, if Financial Aid sets aside more than the price for the semester, then the student will receive a check for the excess amount. My excess check was more than satisfactory in the fall, and January 11 is when I begin my spring semester. As nice as it was to receive the check, I remember the bulk of it just going straight to my bank account. Unfortunately, it is not sitting safely there anymore. I am starting to wonder about the fate of my next check, which has been predicted to be even bigger than the previous.

My father will be starting a new job soon. He got accepted into the Police Academy with the local police department, and we are all really excited for him! He hates his job and hardly has any time to sleep because of his horrible schedule. As he gets older, this job will only do more bad than good--it could seriously hurt him physically if he does not get out soon. Earlier today, he pulled me aside and asked me about the check. For the record, I do not mind if my father asks me about it. To be honest, the money in my bank account is actually his. That was the deal: we sell my car to my aunt--who really needed one--and he puts the money in my bank account. And as I go through school, he would add more. It is basically the same situation as my friends in school who get checks from family so they can go waste it on club entrances and whatever else they do that I do not. So, if my father cannot put money into the bank account or wants to borrow a little, I say nothing. I always tell him, "Daddy, I didn't work for the money like you did. It's yours. Take it if you need it." I say this knowing he will always put more back--and he does. Now, my father is wondering if he could use some of the money from my future excess financial aid check in case something happens at work.

Though the check is bigger, I found myself feeling apprehensive about answering. I told him I would give him an answer when I actually see the check. Though my school's Financial Aid office predicts the check to be bigger than my fall check, something could change between now and then. I want to be selfish and say "no." I want to say, "Daddy, I need to build-up my bank account again, and I need the check." But who am I kidding? The only time I would ever "need" the money is when my parents cannot afford the movie ticket for me while I am home on break. I have it pretty easy. I have no bills. I still live at home when I am not at school, and I do not even have a car to drive--or my license, for that matter--so what is it benefiting me if I get to keep the money or not? It just means I have money in an account which will only be touched to spend on dinners with friends and birthday presents for loved ones. I am being selfish. Even when I have said "yes" in the past, I knew I was expecting to see the money again.

He can have the money. He needs it. If something did happen with his job, my family would need the money, and if I am holding onto a big chunk of money and not sharing with the people who are keeping the roof over my head, the only best way to resolve my selfish behavior would to kick me out and make me live off of the money until the well runs dry--at least, I would probably do the same with my kid. I always said if I were ever capable of a cushion life, I would not live like it. I would be sensible with my loads of money, and I would share a large amount with my parents and my church. If I am being apprehensive with money I did not even earn, how will I ever be able to share money I did earn with the two who deserve it the most like I originally planned? It is time to relinquish ideas of cushion in my bank account when it matters least and help my father when it matters most.

How Writing and My Mother's Nagging Saved Me

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My mother was a writer. She actually published a couple of books through a small company. Both her novels Willow Mountain and A Picture of Love were decent books, but not in my taste. My unwillingness to read them, or jump for joy over them when I did, might have been some of the reason my mother resented me a bit. She was far from a terrible person. She was my mother--a good one at that. But, we had several disagreements and squabbles. Particularly in the way of writing. She wanted me to be a writer--she said I had talent. I just wanted to do whatever I wanted to do. Not to mention, I have always been a "Daddy's Girl," and rebelled against much of what my mother did.

Her books barely got any notice. We never get royalty checks anymore. The last check we got was about six months ago--the first time in years, really--and it was a mere $2.50. You cannot buy a mansion on Willow Mountain with that. I am like many bloggers, I am a narcissistic writer at times. My mother was as well. I think it comes with the territory. She wrote a romanticized idea of her life. Whereas, the only type of book I could ever see myself writing would be the one constantly rolling through my mind--my thoughts, uncensored. (A scary idea, I know.) I am just not one for writing romance, or a knock-off Harry Potter. If I were to delve into creative writing, I would have to make time to work on it much longer than the typical lifetime allows and it would have to be of something spectacularly unique and alien to readers of today. I would also have to find a magical bucket full of patience and inspiration to keep it going for very long before it became scrap paper in the back of my credenza.

I will admit, I did write poems and songs for a long time. I still write songs on occasion. I know writing is where I belong, just a different writing than what my mother wanted. However, if I had not tried to write fantasy novels in the past, or written as many songs and poems as I had, I would have never realized exactly where in writing I fit and in writing I belong. And, if it had not been for my stubbornness in proving my mother wrong, I would have never discovered how much I love photography when I tried desperately to deviate away from writing altogether.

When my mother passed, I had a lot of unwanted feelings emerge and not-so-fond memories of my mother re-emerge. I am hardened to admit, but feel for the honest integrity of this post I will confess, I was angry with my mother for a long time after her death. My demeanor and outlook on life was not affected so much, however when I was alone and had time to think of the pain of losing her, sadness would turn to bitterness. This is not a healthy transition. Readers: do not allow this to ever happen, it is not a fun road to travel. In my inward rage, I re-read my mother's books. I did not leave with any different emotions about her writing style or the stories--I felt the exact same about everything, but I realized all the time I had spent rebelling against my mother was wasteful energy.

I am glad I did some of it. I learned new things about myself and about what I like. When I was against writing, I was free. All the opportunities and career choices in the world were open to me. I could be anyone. What a feeling! However, no matter what I did, everything seemed to turn back to writing. At one point in time, I wanted to travel the jungles of Africa as a journalist for animals, writing what I observe. I also had the idea to be a video game designer (which my lack of math and science skills would not prohibit now), yet whenever I would create an idea for a video game, I was practically writing a story. It seems the signs have always been pointing to writing. I just never knew to open my eyes to it.

Growing up, I had always been a shy girl. Now, I am less shy and more quiet for my own particular reasons. However, throughout my unbearable shy years, writing was the only way I could express myself. Ironically, I was always too shy to show the most personal of it to anyone, but at least I was capable of coherent nonverbal speech. I could spit my ideas out on paper as my catharsis. (If only paintball-ing my younger brother in the face was an acceptable stress-reliever in my household. Sigh...) It is through the encouragement of English teachers and my participation in school newspapers I found myself loving the structure and style of journalistic writing, and loving the atmosphere of a newsroom. If I had not stayed with writing on the side and acquainted myself with journalism, I would probably be one of the poor saps, not talented enough for professional photography, but still stubborn enough to go to school for it, and trying to make it in my wonderful, one-horse town as a portrait photographer.

To be perfectly honest, I am not sure my mother would ever have been too thrilled with the type of writing I would like to do. For one, I am sure my idea of an uncensored book is something of which she would not have been too proud. This is only one of the reasons why if I ever do finish and publish the book, it shall be under a pen name. For another, my mother was always a creative writer, and always detested reporters and the media, though she lived by Oprah and the news daily--yes, she was a typical housewife.* I am not sure, if she had lived to see my final decision to go into journalism, if she would be as inwardly thrilled as she would have been outwardly supportive. One thing my mother was always accountable for was her support. Which is where I feel I failed as a daughter. But if part of me had not felt, in ways, she was right about my writing ability--though, I would have never admitted it to her--I would not be here. I wonder if I would even be writing at all, if she was still alive?

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*Just in case someone reads that line and grimaces, I have no problem with housewives. I think one of the most important things a woman can be is a nurturing mom.

Julie & Julia

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After a dozen advertisements and reports on the life and times of Julia Child vs. Julie Powell, I knew more about the story before I even branched into watching the film. The movie, "Julie & Julia" was charming and a cute story about how purpose can make a change in a person's life.

Based on two true stories of two women who never met but were linked by their love of food. The movie follows Julie Powell, a woman of thirty, who has recently moved to Queens with her husband and finds herself hating the whole transition. She works as a secretary in a government building and dreads her work. Her only "friends" are narcissistic and consumed in their own lives. The only two things she can count on are her loving husband, Eric, and cooking. Julia Child is a woman of her forties, married to a man working within the government, where, at one point in time, she worked as well, as a secretary. Due to her husband, Paul, being reassigned in France--and several other places afterward--Julia had to reacquaint herself with friends and found herself longing to do something to keep her busy. After all, most French, married women simply did not work. Finally, she realized, if she loved to eat, she should cook! It was from there, Julia Child built a small empire of herself and forty/fifty years later inspired her biggest fan, Julie Powell, to spend a year going through all of her recipes and recording her experiences in one blog.


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If I were to sum the movie up into two words, I would call this a "must-see" film--simple as that. Those who have a blog, most of all, might find it interesting. For, like I, who wonders what the future holds for my writing, Julie was one writer who had been overlooked for so long she had to resort to a secretarial job and never thought much of herself or her writing afterward. The power of the internet and self-publishing is an interesting thing.

Aside from just blogging, the film tells the stories of two women living in very different times. They both got to watch their dreams grow and build by doing what they love most. The food left me feeling hungry and eager to follow Julie Powell's example. As always, I have walked away reaffirmed in my love in Amy Adams. She always manages to do a charming job at portraying a character, and she understood "normal" better than can be said for others in her field. Julie Powell is one woman I would not mind meeting thanks to her. Meryl Streep also left me amused with her over-the-top performance of such a quirky woman. Julia Child, like today's beloved Paula Deen, is one woman who loves to eat, is adorable on camera, and loves butter, and those similarities make me love them both equally. "Julie & Julia" teaches the importance of priorities and finding the one thing a person is meant to do. For Julie Powell: blogging, cooking and Julia Child were what saved her. And all it took was one small decision and commitment.

Welcome to Gangland

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Any man who can cause such an uproar in the land he leads as president, is no man to be trusted. He was reported calling the Holocaust a myth. A system that tore families apart, killed hundreds of people, and tortured many for not being a "supreme" race. He sees nothing wrong with nuclear programs, though they need to be stopped by everyone. If in the wrong hands, something as big as nuclear weapons and experimentation, can harm a little more than just the factory producing them. He does not only disrupt the people of his nation, but the people he works alongside, namely, the United Nations. This is Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, president of Iran.

The New York Times reported yet another protest gone horribly wrong in Tehran. Iranian civilians, still outraged by the re-election of Ahmadinejad continue to disrupt events, leading to violence and chaos. I understand disappointment in an election not going the way one would hope--it has happened before, and it will happen again. There is no such thing as a perfect president. If there were someone no one disputed against, we would have to ask ourselves if the Biblical Anti-Christ has finally shown himself. And then, of course, I would be sitting with my readers now, writing about more than just an Iran president's opposition with his people.

Reuters reports on the eye-witness accounts and investigation of which has undergone since the closing of the riot:

Despite scores of arrests and security crackdowns, opposition protests have repeatedly flared since the presidential election in June, which the opposition says was rigged to secure President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad’s re-election.

It is clear, these tactics to send a message to the Iranian government are not working, as Ahmadinejad still sits at his "throne" and pulses still rise in civilians. The passion it takes to stir up such controversy over one man, is never failing in Iranians today. A man who would rather live in his own delusions of fact and fiction, and pretend to ignore true threats of what he is allowing his people to do, while he sits idly by during most outbreaks of violence on the streets, is no man fit to lead a country.

While it is true, international media is likely to only highlight the negative, if so many people are willing to go to such extreme measures, on more than just one occasion, to make sure their cries of outrage are heard, then I say, let those who have sat quietly, still with the same fire in their bellies, have a moment to speak calmly and openly about the re-election and about the decisions made by their president of which are affecting their lives, to represent a softer but just as passionate side to this opposition. I loathe the contradictory in this election--give them the vote, but do not let them speak.

I have posted before, first defending the people's right to Freedom of Speech, of which I believe all men deserve. If we our given mouths, do not tease us with lack of tongues. I also posted shortly after a correction, as I found myself infuriated with the measures being taken by the protesters to get their point across. I still stand behind what I said then:

So, after I wasted my time yesterday posting a blog in respects to the protesters in Tehran deserving a say in what happens, I found several videos posted on either CNN or YouTube of rioters surrounding burning cars and chanting. Good job, fools! You just lost your right! I honestly believe when people take that one step too far into an immature battle rendered by violence and harm to the innocent, they are no longer human beings with a cause, but a savage threat that needs to be controlled.

I have yet to get soft towards these rioters, however, they have been working diligently for half a year, trying to make a change. It is more than Ahmadinejad can say for his presidency now. For a man who, as The New York Times puts it, is so "divisive," he is lucky a greater war has not erupted amongst his people. Before too long, the innocent supporters of this man will begin to fight back, and this president might find himself hiding from more than just one mob.

Mahmoud Ahmadinejad: Answer to the people now, before it is too late. Let go of ego and do what is right for a change.

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The Office Changes the Face of Mediocrity

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While it may not be something one should admit, I am willing to say, if my dreams of writing for a newspaper, magazine, or at least becoming an online journalist do not happen for me, I would not mind a mediocre office job. (But if I have to work in a cubicle, hopefully it will not mean my chances of writing professionally are at an end.) This feeling of optimism stems from watching people around me fall to their knees before mediocrity and spend too much time being depressed. "Average" is something of which people do not typically aspire. Many want a better, comfortable life, and some drown in pity and liquor for never getting as far as they once believed possible. Life has its pitfalls, and I understand I would not always be happy with where I am. However, one thing is for certain: I am an easy-to-please kind of gal--always have been. Though I may not always say much to prove it, in my mind, I am at peace. I may not always prefer change, but I find happiness where I am somehow. I am in control of my future. If I truly cannot find my niche in one place, looking somewhere else is always an option.

One of my favorite shows is The Office. I can sit and watch several episodes in a row and laugh hysterically at the idiotic things the magic duo, Michael (Steve Carell) and Dwight (Rainn Wilson) say and do. A mediocre office job seems to be acceptable in Scranton and entertaining at that. This is not to say I will be moving to Scranton to work as a secretary or something of the like. However, I would not mind working in a very similar place to Dunder Mifflin, even if just for a small time in my life. I would sit, much like Pam (Jenna Fisher), or maybe another character who is not a front desk girl, and soak up the situational comedy before me. Having a boss like Michael and a 9-to-5 job where I see him everyday would be a nice routine.


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I think I could make it working in an office. After all, I am accustomed to sitting at a desk on the computer or writing. For two years, the newsroom was my home. A place I went to five times a week to see the same faces and sit in the same seat and work. Even if the threat of deadlines made the air thin, there was still enough humor and ridiculous behavior to help reporters get through the day. And though times could get tense, overall, the atmosphere was relaxed. It is because of the student newsroom I found myself falling in love with journalism. There are similarities between my experience there and what is shown in The Office. Characters in the show remind me of characters I have worked alongside. For me, The Office shows a group of people who live the average life, but are comfortable. Success is on the minds of everyone, but until they get there, they are making the most of what they have. All too often, I see people who live an average life spit on what they have, break their backs to overcompensate for what they do not, and call their life "mediocre" knowing it holds a stronger negative connotation than that of the word "average." Despite some of the characters in the show actually being incapable of getting anywhere (ha), there is still a lesson to be learned: sometimes mediocrity can be a good thing--a comfortable thing.

Who actually wants to be uncomfortable?

The Princess and the Frog

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I was skeptical of the newest animated film from Disney, "The Princess and the Frog." It has been some time since Disney has released an actual animated film, better yet, a Disney princess film of which followed a similar format of imaginative story-telling from earlier works such as "Snow White and the Seven Dwarves" or "Aladdin."

The story follows Tiana, a young woman with a dream to open up her own restaurant in her hometown of New Orleans. After one horrible run-in between Prince Naveen--a prince visiting the Louisianian town--and the Shadow Man, the prince is transformed into a frog and is desperate to change back into his charming, handsome self. In comes Tiana, dressed for a party at her wealthy friend's mansion, standing by the balcony gazing up at the evening star she wished on when she was younger, whereupon Naveen makes himself known to her. He convinces Tiana kissing him will break the curse, however, when she finally musters up the courage to do so, it is not Naveen who experiences a grand transformation; Tiana has been turned into a frog!


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The film is charming and witty, full of fun songs and a sweet taste of the culture of New Orleans. I remember two songs the best from the film: "Down in New Orleans" and "Gonna' Take You There." The first song brought together the most attractive pieces of New Orleans. Like much of the music in the film, it was jazz-y, there were scenes of the best parts of the town, and there was a sweet representation of the warmth and humor in its people. The song brought me back to "Beauty and the Beast" when Belle was walking through the town with her nose in her book. The second song, "Gonna' Take You There" was a cute moment in the film for me as the fireflies lit up the way for Naveen and Tiana and their new Cajun, firefly friend, Raymond, sang to them. It may be the photographer in me, but I am a sucker for evening scenes with fireflies. (Or maybe it is the little kid in me?)

As I watched the film, I had flashbacks to all the past Disney princesses and saw how well Tiana fit in with the bunch. It may seem like a fairy-tale gone wrong for the poor girl in the beginning, however, like many films before it, "The Princess and the Frog" is a cute story for children of all ages and families to enjoy. And yes, there is a happily ever after. However, I refuse to ruin it!

Games Were Harder Back Then

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When I was younger, I got "Legend of Zelda: Link's Awakening" for the Nintendo Game Boy. Back then, it could barely hold my attention, not for lack of it being a fun game, but due to the fact I could not make it through the Mysterious Woods next to Mabe Village. Pathetic? Well, I could say it was because I was young and not as accustomed to RPG games as I am now, but I find it to be an inaccurate reasoning.

The truth: in most cases, games were just harder back then than they are now.

I have a month-long break for the winter holidays and this week was my first full week being home from college. Today (Friday, December 18), was the first day I had nothing to do and I was basking in the laziness for all it was worth. It was then I discovered my Game Boy Advance SP sitting in my room, and after searching through my game case, discovered the quaint addition to "The Legend of Zelda." It had been awhile since I saw the start screen--I had even forgotten the plot of this game. With a bit of withheld excitement (as to not startle my father), I erased my old game data and began anew.


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I felt like Buddy the elf traveling through the seven layers of the Candy Cane Forest--a destination ahead, excitement in my belly. Everything was foreign and fun. I made it all the way to the Bottle Grotto and found myself stuck. This, my friends, was worse than any writer's block, mathematical suicide-inducing problem, or knot in my iPod headphones' chord I have ever encountered. I sat reeling over how to find one last key. Finally, I turned to Google. Oh, Google! How many have trusted ye with their ventures to other realms! Tonight, I laid my trust in one walkthrough from Gamefaq. It was well-written, compared to the other amateur walkthroughs and considering all I really needed it for was that last key and a very frustrating boss later, I was very pleased with it.

I could not help but chuckle at the idea I was looking up a walkthrough for a Game Boy game, of all things! Who would have thought, the girl who has beat both "Kingdom Hearts" games, all other Zelda games, most Mario games, most Sonic games, and any other "cute" RPG's of the like, could barely get through this one? But I had fun reacquainting myself with the game, and I suggest others do the same. If my GBA SP was not flashing me the deathly red glare, I would keep playing late into the night.

Games from back in the day are more frustrating, but are more fun! They involve real strategy (not to say some of the other aforementioned do not) and make you actually feel accomplished when you finish off one measly boss. I cannot wait to find my charger!

I would also like to give a couple of shoutouts to a few links I found that impressed me the most:
1. Zelda's Dungeon - One of the coolest Legend of Zelda sites there are!
2. Link's Awakening Map - This is an interactive map I found, and thought it was definitely worth mentioning!

Christmas Shopping

Christmas shopping never seems to be as fun as one believes it will be before they grab their car keys and head towards the store. Today, the trip was made with my father and he hates shopping even more than I do. However, as much as I hate shopping, I sure do love the atmosphere of getting out of the house and feeling the crisp air hit me in the face as I walk up and down, scanning the stores for something worth purchasing for my dear friends. Shopping is not all about the stuff bought. Sometimes, it is about what is observed during the treasure hunt.



Whether it be window shopping or people watching, going to an outlet can bring a smile to my face. People of Wal-Mart do it everyday with their posts on the most interesting finds of one of the biggest chains in America (and possibly the world? I would not know, I never looked into the expanse of Wal-Marts before). I found myself people watching as my father and I scoped for suitable presents.

Since I have been home from school I have begun to realize exactly why Old Navy always frustrated me. While the commercials with the mannequins are enough to make me want to drive a stake through my skull, the people who shop there and the lack of quality clothes in the junior's section make it even harder to walk within fifty feet of an Old Navy. I am aware it is probably not all Old Navy stores. However, it is the closest and most convenient, thus, I am stuck with it.

While my father bought some clothes for my brother (boys are always much easier), I stood around, looking somewhat lost, but enjoying the sight of the many inbred folk who seem to have made a wrong turn. I would have taken a few pictures, however, it would have been difficult to do so inconspicuously. Believe me, readers, when I tell you I saw at least five different tube tops, six kids to every parent (most of which were on leashes--one zebra print leash, I kid you not) and a few grandparents tagging along for the trip who never seemed to grasp the concept of an "inside voice."

Why do people allow themselves to behave in such a manner? A woman stood in front of me in line screaming about her ex-husband to her "Mama Jo" while her kid was practically asphyxiating himself with her ready-to-be-purchased scarf. And though she seemed to be making logical points about how ignorant the former-anchor is, I could not stop staring at her black platforms and very pink halter top, just tight enough to show off her grotesque curves and grooves.

Luckily, my father and I got what we needed, were able to escape Old Navy, entered stores I actually enjoy, and then went for lunch. If I find I need to go do some more Christmas shopping (which is likely, as I have yet to find something for my friend Kyle), I will not be stopping by there anytime soon. Not even as a last resort.

A True Test of Character

(For your entertainment, I have provided a picture from my gallery as the opening shot for this entry. It has been awhile since I have actually used my own work in a post, well, outside of posts like events I attend or photoshoots. Enjoy!)



A friend said tonight, "If I could go back in time, I would change so much." It is a statement we have all thought at least once, and it weighs heavily on my friend tonight. We walked through the cold for hours. My hands were frozen and felt brittle. If I do not wake the next morning with the flu, it will be by the Grace of God. However, I did follow him without complaint.

Whenever I am with my friend, we always reminisce about the past, and in a sense, learn a bit more about each other. We remember times in high school, in middle school, and even talk about life when we were children--a time of which we did not know one another, but still find we can relate in many ways. Tonight, we wandered through the streets and around campus, circling and discovering new places. We made our way to a nearby park. The night stood at its darkest, but we could still tell where we were. That is when we saw it: the dome climber.

I am sure we all remember the dome climber! (The dome-shaped monkey bars.) It was the most amazing part of the playground as a child. I stood as tall, if not taller, than the dome climber tonight, and I remember as a child how large and mountainous I believed it to be. He sifted through current pangs while we horsed around in the 40-degree weather. And the question continued to resurface in our minds: "What would we do if we could go back?" Would life seem easier if the dome climber was the only mountain we had to face? Would we live day-to-day unscathed by the little bumps in the road? In reality, life never seems easier until we look back. When one faces an obstacle, turning away and hiding behind the idea life makes more sense "back there" feels like an acceptable solution. Unfortunately, it only sounds good until one tries it.

No matter the road a person takes, they will come face-to-face with conflict. Life without conflict is no life at all. Otherwise, everything is perfect, and once the euphoria of a perfect life dwindles, even perfect will feel dull. Whether the person is a child facing the frost-bitten metal of the dome climber, or an adult dealing with the stresses of relationships, school, or "real life," there will always be a mountain. A true test of character is how one deals with the situation in front of them. Trying to hide behind what was will only keep one back. Instead, moving past the obstacle and looking towards a better tomorrow will help the person learn from the issue at hand and give them the strength when bigger problems arise in the future.

"Moving on, is a simple thing, what it leaves behind is hard." - Dave Mustaine

Guilty Pleasures 101

After help from a close friend, I found myself pulled from the slight emotional slump as described in my last post. One of the two dining halls on campus was having a "cram session" where students got a chance to take a break from the hectic studying ensued by final exams and cram food into their faces from 10 at night to midnight. Unfortunately, due to my slump, I missed the buffet.

I sat on my laptop, instant-messaging on Skype with my friend, Kyle, during most of that time, and trying to find food in my dorm room to serve as a makeshift dinner. This did not go over very well. While Kyle sits at home, due to his finals ending sooner than mine, he got to feast on his mother's home cooking and lay on a comfortable bed. I was sitting on my somewhat hard bed--though increasingly softer thanks to the foam insert I bought at Wal-Mart--and eating Tostitos® Scoops!® dipped in peanut butter.

Yes, you did read that right. That was my dinner, and I liked it. It got me thinking about guilty pleasures... In food, mind you! What are some of the weird things we eat of which we refuse to admit to others?

Not being a picky person, I have yet to withhold any information from friends and family about my current loves in food. I think the only time I ever held back in admitting food cravings was when the divulgee involved a guy I liked and was worried they might think the insides of my mouth smelled and tasted of Funyuns® after hearing of the weird food-combinations I consume. I recall one friend not reacting very well to my favorite afternoon snack: a peanut butter and jalapeno sandwich.



Do not ask me how I was able to eat such a thing. I tried one recently and did not like the mixture of flavors. Call it a phase, I guess. However, I am sure my past guilty pleasure, and even my current one, is far less grotesque to others.

What are you guilty pleasures in food? Do not be shy!