I am happy to report that I am really super busy with no time for blogging at the moment. Why does that make me happy? Because it gives me a reason to have my buddy IrishWriterGirl75 guest post on my blog. She has some wicked talent ya’ll. Enjoy!!
The Pleasure Who’s Name May Not Be Spoken (Or “How I Learned to Stop Feeling Guilty and Love Reality TV”) by IrishWriterGirl75
Though it has been noted for centuries that those of the Catholic or Jewish faith have the market cornered on guilt, the notion of predestination in the Presbyterian doctrine evokes nothing short of crippling self-awareness and over-analyzation of every waking action. “Did I remember to tell everyone at the potluck that there are pistachios in the Watergate Salad?” “Did I sit rigidly enough on that hard pew during the sermon or did I kind of sway when we sang “The Church’s One Foundation?” “Will I ever learn all the words to “God Be With You” even though I heard it, like, 250,000 times? And will there be a quiz?” The most anxiety inducing facet is, of course, no matter what you do, or don’t, those who have been chosen to go to Heaven have been picked long before they were born, so… good luck with that. It would be just like a bunch of suspicious Scots from the Highlands (which are cold, I mean blustery cold, made even colder with no leggings to wear under kilts) to create this belief. With that said, I’m still proud of my heritage and have really fond memories of our sweet, small, limestone church in my tiny hometown. But that guilt…well, as they saw about polyester and insulated casserole carriers, it travels well.
I have the kind of life that really, I shouldn’t have to escape from, and that makes me feel guilty. I have a great family, terrific job, supportive friends, an education, a good place to live, and plenty (if not too much, as evidenced by my scale) to eat. But I am also blessed (cursed) with a vivid and overactive imagination. And, in all fairness, I have the kind of job that deals with human emotions and reactions, that it’s like having someone vomit all over your shoes, sometimes on multiple occasions over the course of one day. Though I love to read, sometimes I can’t focus on a story, no matter how good it is. That is when I turn to my vice. Reality TV.
O.K., here goes. My show, like me, is off kilter and, quite frankly, appeals to the 16-21 year old demographic for squealy, dramatic girls and immature, dateless 25-45 year old men. And I judge not, for apparently, for these are my people. My show, like “Urkel” in days of old, emerges on Friday night at primetime and provides cheesy entertainment, met with chortles and eye rolling. But, also like “Urkel” (yeah, I know, it’s “Family Matters” for any sticklers out there), it’s got heart. And eye candy (draw your own conclusions). Since I’m not getting paid to endorse the show, I won’t do it any favors by saying the name, but I will describe it thusly : Three guys of varying maturity levels are locked, on purpose, in places reputed to be haunted, or at least condemned, over night. Their mission: to prove the existence of ghosts, and their own equilibrium (they fall down sometimes because, well, it is dark). My admission: I never miss an episode and I own two seasons of the show. As in, they are part of my DVD collection. The classiness just won’t stop. I should not like this. But I do. Therein lies the guilt.
The lesson in all of this you ask? Our society is full of ways to self-destruct, as well as ways to positively rebuild what has been lost. There’s only room for feelings of guilt, loss, and shame in one these options. As for me, I will fight feeling bad for destroying my brain cells with sugar-coated shows. After all, I could run into someone from the show “on the other side” someday, and we would have to have something to talk about. Ahhh, justification…
IrishWriterGirl75 is new to the blogging world, and she muses over on Dances Like a White Girl. She is smart, funny, and has some mad writing skills…oh, and she does in fact dance like a white girl. I’ve seen it. True story. She also has pretty much the easiest and best laugh in the world. So head on over to her blog, and check her out!
OH, and she (along with this other really cool blogger I know who happens to be me) is also featured in the best book on the market for nursing mothers, Milk Diaries, written by the talented Maggie Singleton. It is available on Amazon!
3 thoughts on “The Pleasure Who’s Name May Not Be Spoken (Or “How I Learned to Stop Feeling Guilty and Love Reality TV”): A Guest Post from “Dances Like a White Girl””
The Calvinist in me loves this. It’s good to know that I will have a buddy to watch trash TV with someday beyond the Pearly Gates,
I can personally attest to the fact that IrishWriterGirl75 is da bomb to hang with. I bet tv marathons in Heaven kick area.
Um that was supposed to be kick arse