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My Most Shameful Guilty Pleasure OF ALL TIME a.k.a. Little Slice of Man Meat (no, this isn’t the one where I talk about Daniel Radcliffe in Equus. Nice try, though)

    You might be thinking this is the post where I finally talk about the fact that I own Season One of “Laguna Beach” on DVD and have watched it, in its entirety, on two separate occasions. Or maybe this is the one where I put up a picture of when I dressed as Doogie Howser for Halloween. There’s a good chance, you think, that I’m about to tell you how much I love guillotines.
    You’re wrong.
    While all of those things are indeed shameful guilty pleasures of mine, I have one that goes FAR BEYOND any I’ve just mentioned. In fact, I can’t believe I’m going to talk about it now, but, as promised… Let me start by telling you about something that happened last weekend.
    Last Saturday night, my husband and I were, true to form, hanging out watching T.V. Somehow, the topic of Jonathan Taylor Thomas came up. 

    “Is he younger than you?” my husband asked, trying to imply that this was another one of my creepy obsessions with the Teen Beat contingent.

    “No,” I promptly replied, adding, “He was born on September 8th, 1981!” I then quickly pulled up his profile on imdb.com, confirming my credibility.

    I realized it had been a long time since I had thought about Mr. Taylor Thomas, or trolled (and possibly contributed to…) fan fiction sites about said star of yesteryear. Rest assured, this is not the mystery guilty pleasure of which I speak. The confession, while absolutely J.T.T.-related, is far more disturbing.

    You see, when I was 13, like most 13-year-olds, I was a tad…boy crazy. Emphasis on the crazy. Because real-life boys never paid me any mind, I had to turn my focus toward the more famous variety. Any normal Jonathan Taylor Thomas fan might have been satisfied with plastering their bedroom walls with posters (oh, I did that, too), but not me. Even meeting him at a taping of “The View” wasn’t enough.

    I decided to become a vegetarian.

    Why, you rightly ask? For one reason, and one reason only. You guessed it. J.T.T. wouldn’t be caught dead gnawing on a turducken or snarfing down a White Castle sack of 10.

    Do you understand what I’m saying here? I gave up McDonald’s french fries for this kid, because they were made with beef flavoring. And guess how long this nonsense lasted? 5 and a half years! My entire teenage life! That’s just…just… there are no words.

    Now, please, I beg of you, post a comment sharing at least one of your most shameful guilty pleasures. I’ll be here in my closet, amongst the skeletons, not enjoying a Boca burger.

     

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