So What? Who Cares?

There used to be many things in my life as a young man, growing boy, adolescent, whatever term you want to use to describe me during the different periods in my life, where I was ashamed to tell my friends if I liked something that they might use as arsenal to mount a bullying attack and make fun of me.

I was afraid of what one might think about me dabbling in something that may be considered “joke’s on you” worthy at the daily lunch room table.

But you know what, I just don’t care anymore. I have so many things in this world that I really enjoy and I don’t care who knows it.

This is me, spilling my heart and soul, to the guilty pleasures that have inhabited my life over the years, making me the ruggedly handsome manly man I am today.

First on my list of clean laundry: Hanson.

I can’t stand the song Mmm…Bop. And it’s because of that song that I’ve always felt embarrassed to say that, as of today, I actually enjoy Hanson’s new music!

Melissa got me hooked on their new stuff, and as I’m typing, I can’t stop singing Penny & Me. It’s a great song. They write their own music, play their own instruments and produce their own songs. What more could you ask for in a band?

I like Hanson.

There. I said it. So what? Who cares?

Second item on the list of guilty pleasures is filing my nails.

I don’t like my nails to be crooked and the edges rough like a rock. I like them to be smooth to the scratch, and a little glossy after buffering.

So what? Who cares?

I use women’s hand lotion. I’m a big fan of Magnolia Blossom from Bath & Body Works, and I’ve always loved Cucumber Melon. There’s something about the scents of a woman in hand lotion form. They leave my hands oh-so-soft and keep them moisturized throughout the day.

Here’s a quick shot of RJ Liquor to bury down the hatch for thought; I used to use women’s body wash, more specifically Cream Ribbons by Oil of Olay.

So what? Who cares?

I know almost every word to every Jonas Brothers song. I’ve even seem them in concert with my wife. Their newest CD was their best yet, but just like all boy bands, they had to come to an end.

So what? Who cares?

I don’t like touching door knobs or handles in public…AT ALL. I refuse to use my bare hands to open a door and often have Melissa do the favor. If I’m wearing a long sleeve shirt, I will pull my sleeves over my shirt and open the door that way.

But if I’m in a situation where I absolutely have to touch a door knob, I like to make my way to the nearest bathroom to wash the filth off of my hands after going through the life changing experience.

So what? Who cares?

I hate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches; with a passion. When I was in second grade, my mom would make me a sandwich every day for lunch. I would never eat them, and I often collected them until the end of the week and threw them away at school on a Friday.

One day, a substitute teacher caught me in the act and scolded me for not eating my lunch. I started freaking out and crying, I mean balling! I had to go to the nurse and my grandparents came to pick me up early.

I never had to carry a peanut butter sandwich again.

So what? Who cares?

Speaking of food; I have a hard time getting over my gag-reflexes when it comes to eating food at a pot-luck style party. I have developed this crazy idea in my head that the food has picked up transportation germs as it has travelled from one house to the next.

Plus I’m very picky. So that doesn’t help the Transportation Germ Contagion.

During the holidays, my mom will make food at her house and take it down to my grandmother’s house (no more than .25 miles away). I will not eat that food, even though I enjoy my mom’s cooking.

Call me weird, but so what? Who cares?

I used to wear athletic tracksuits back in elementary school. My favorite one was my Notre Dame Fighting Irish ensemble, even though I had no inkling as to who Notre Dame was, and why the Irish liked fighting.

So what? Who cares?

I used to make my G.I. Joe’s with the kung-fu grip stand watch as bodyguards for my sister’s Barbie’s. It was a tough task, but Ace had to pull through for his plastic ladies.

So what? Who cares?

I was playing with a cigarette lighter in my grandmother’s car when I was a young boy and burnt a hole in her seat (sorry grandmother). To this day, unless she’s reading this post, I’m not sure if she knows or even remembers.

So what? Who cares?

I really enjoy watching Vampire Diaries on The CW. It’s a show full of soft-core vampire sex, blood, werewolves, hybrids and other out-of-this-world shenanigans. It’s almost like True Blood, except you save your eyes the pain of having to see Sooki naked and follow a story that leads you nowhere.

So what? Who cares?

I’m no longer bothered by these things that I have otherwise let bottle up inside of me and spew out like brain matter through a tiny hole in your skull. I just told the world my inner-most secrets that I’ve kept hidden away from many.

Now it’s your turn. Air out some guilty pleasures or past feelings below and we’ll see who’s worse.

“I’m not afraid anymore. Did you hear me? I’m not afraid!” – Kevin McCallister, Home Alone

Regards – RJ