Guilty pleasures. Everybody has them. I suppose if you openly admit your love for something others consider cheesy, then it doesn't exactly leave you riddled with guilt. Feeling guilty about it would imply that you're filled with shame. I have very little shame. Just ask anybody who really knows me.
There are a few definitions of guilty pleasure on urbandictionary.com.
1. guilty pleasure
Something that you shouldn't like, but like anyway.
A cigarette every now and then is a guilty pleasure for me.
2. guilty pleasure
Something that you love to do, but you just cannot admit that you do it.
Guy 1: "DUDE, you still watch Pokemon?"
Guy 2: "WHAT? NO! Ok, I do, its my guilty pleasure.
3. guilty pleasure
to describe a certain substance or activity a person enjoys, and often practises, while said person morally believed or is informed that the substance or activity is abnormal, improper or incorrect.
See more at: guilt, guilty, pleasure
Under some common believes, licking whipped cream from the body of their partners, anonymous sex, water sport, and basically anything involved with sexual activities, can be considered as guilty pleasures to some, while the rest just f'ing do it.
4. guilty pleasure
Keeping a secret collection of ABBA and Carpenters and listening to their albums when no one else is around.
I know it's a guilty pleasure, but those Swedish Babes in ABBA are my best girls.
With consideration to those definitions, this song no longer qualifies as a guilty pleasure. It's public and I don't hide that I like it. Why on earth would I, right? Let me 'splain sometin' to you, Lucy.
Songs are like aural time machines for me. If you've been hanging around this blog long enough you'll remember that I wrote a little diddy about it. What? You missed it? Here's a handy dandy link to help you out. This particular song isn't on the list. That's not a guilty pleasure playlist, by the way. It's just a list of songs that, in no particular order, hold meaning for me. When I hear certain melodies I am quickly taken back to a moment when the song was either playing or popular; therefore, giving me deja vu. It's sometimes eery. In fact, it's happening as I write this post.
When I was in my teens I suffered deja vu often. Daily. Multiple times in the day. I say suffered because it was menacing, at times. Now it rarely occurs. Perhaps now when they happen I just assume it is more related to hormones or pre-menopausal sweats.
I know I keep babbling about the reconnection I've made with a friend from school, but bear with me (or get over it -- my blog; my rules.) He and I went to prom together ... yeah yeah, HIM. That boy. The only boy who took me on a date and all that jazz. Everybody's first date is special. This first date involved formal wear, armpit sweat guarded taffeta and satin ballet slippers, mind you.
Anyway, the song was popular during the time this really cute, popular, super sweet boy asked me to prom (Spring 1982). It holds a place near and dear to my heart. The lyrics mention one of Hollywood's most famous couples -- Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall. Whenever I'm listening to an oldies station and it comes on I get lost in time and it's a most delightful journey.