Shopping
I don’t indulge in this vice often, but I can with absolute certainty say that I love shopping for clothes. (Unless I’m shopping for a specific occasion or need, then everything looks ugly and doesn’t fit.) Now that I’m back to “my old self” it’s especially fun looking for sweaters and cute tops that aren’t maternity-sized. I consider shopping a vice because most of the time it’s a way to distract myself from stress—and I’m rarely looking for necessities. (Compulsive shopper tip: Fill your cart online, then close your browser and walk away. It’s like shopping for clothes. Sort of.)
Food, specifically Weird Snacky Food
I love snacking. Primarily at night. I love appetizers. I love munchie little foodie things like caviar and cheese and toast points with dip and smoked salmon and proscuitto ham. A friend once told me I have the food sensibilities of her 65-year-old father. I love sushi. And chocolate chip cookies. (Perhaps I am just hungry right now.) But seriously, this is a vice because I’ll go out of my way for something I’m craving instead of eating sensible food that’s A. cheap or B. already in my pantry.
Gossip
Yep. I love hearing gossip. My mom gives me all her People Magazines and I totally read them. In an alternate reality, I’d be one of those ladies in the parlor in a Laura Ingalls Wilder book making a call just to gossip over some crotchet. I eavesdrop at restaurants. I love knowing what’s going on. It’s terrible and shameful. At least I’ll fit the part when I’m old. Which leads us to:
Poor Impulse Control or Sticking My Nose Where it Doesn’t Belong
No, seriously. I’m super duper awesome at doing something I know will be a bad idea. Like reading a blog post I know will piss me off, or checking someone’s Twitter stream after I’ve unfollowed them specifically because they piss me off. Yeah. It’s pretty foolish. But at least I’m aware that I’m a spaz? Two points?
Fangirling
Yes, fangirling is a verb. When I’m overcome by squee over something, I obsess for days/months/years. I believe it’s genetic. My mom and grandma are both genetically inclined to throw their bras at musicians and/or hit the salon before attending a Bruce Springsteen concert to make sure their hair looks nice. See? I can’t help wanting Jason Mraz to be my boyfriend. It’s in my blood.
Runners Up:
- Swearing (…maybe this should have been #1)
- Coffee
- Making up Words
- Accumulating Shit I Don’t Need
- Reality TV
- Celebrity Baby Blogs
- Booze
- Napping
This may or may not be related:
