Guilty pleasures

I’m torn on a lot of things: to bra, or not to bra? Sweat pants or jeans? Peanut butter & chocolate, or chocolate & peanut butter? These are the essential questions that plague philosophy majors long after they’ve given up hope of doing… whatever the hell philosophy majors think they’re going to do with their degrees, and actually end up in HR. But the one question that plagues me the most?

My fantasies.

I was raised with ZERO guilt around sex and sexuality. Not that I was raised to believe that sex with strangers and outside of a committed relationship was a GOOD thing, but that sex in and of itself was no different than eating. Eating is fine. Eating is HEALTHY. But you don’t constantly eat (unless you have that brain disorder that I saw on CSI, where the dude TOTALLY ate himself to death. That was sad). Instead, you figure out when it’s appropriate, and where, and even then, sometimes you indulge.

But sometimes, your eye inadvertently wanders to the triple layer chocolate cake with dark chocolate covered cherries and strawberries, and you wonder if it really IS possible to have “Death by Chocolate” inscribed on your headstone. That chocolate deliciousness, for me, is one Mister Alexander Skarsgard.

Now, here’s my conundrum. Let’s say that one day, you could suddenly read the minds of every person you met, and you knew all the dirty thoughts they had about you, and everyone else they met. I feel like, to some degree, that’s how it must be if you’re a “sex symbol.” You must know there are millions of men and woman who think dirty things about you each night before they go to bed, while they’re in bed, while they’re in the shower, on their way to work, while they’re picking out cucumbers (let’s be honest), and just in the general course of their every day.

I mean, on the one hand, flattering!! People are lusting after YOU. They dream about YOU. But on the other hand, to KNOW that people are taking images of you in their heads and making you do certain things… and like weird shit too, if we’re judging just by MY friends, and what they like.

So I feel a little guilty about thinking dirty thoughts and making Mr. Skarsgard, you know… enjoy my company. I mean, fair enough, I’m fucking DELIGHTFUL, but morally is it right to MAKE someone do dirty/fun/illegal-in-twenty-states things to you without their consent?

OMFG? AM I BRAIN-RAPING ALEXANDER SKARSGARD?!?!?!

….I really need to stop blogging on NyQuil.

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