Why We Crave the Bad

I've been wondering a lot lately why we crave what is obviously not good for us. Why do I reach for the hidden box of cigarettes? The bikers and struggling musicians? That last beer before the night's end? The french fries? The chocolate fudge sundae? An extra trip to the ATM? The unattainable? The incapable.

It might be the thrill. You know. The thrill of being "bad." Making out in the bushes behind a crowded street. Feeling like a bad ass at a local bar. Going 90 on the highway. These are all things I do! And I'm a rational, logical person. Right? How does it all make sense I wonder.

Deep down, I know what's good for me. I know that I'm ingesting toxins into my body with every puff, with every bottle of Magic Hat. I know I risk getting another hundred dollar ticket every time I go above 65. But, yet, that doesn't stop me from surpassing 85. Every time. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME???

I had a recent chocolate craving. No, strike that. I had a recent "get the hell out of my way or I will frickin' kill you if I can't find a piece of god damn chocolate around here" craving. Don't worry, I was successful. Thank god. Anyway, I wondered why. I'm really not a huge dessert person. It definitely isn't that time of the month. So what did I really need?

After some extensive research (ok, a few google searches, you caught me), I discovered that there are, in fact, studies that show that chocolate is like sex. Cocoa releases serotonin, dopamine and something called phenylethylamine. Essentially, they all make you feel, shall we say, "excited." Now, you'd have to eat a frickin' 18-wheeler full of the stuff to really get, shall we say, "excited," but still. Point taken.

Second point: there is nothing wrong with feeling excited! Sure, the rational side of me says, "Date the nice boy.. the safe boy.. order the salad.. you don't need alcohol to have fun.. and save money, make a frickin' sandwich today!" but where's the fun in that?

The release of serotonin is a natural phenomenon. I believe that certain activities were meant to do this. Sorry, dear friends at the Vatican, but it's true.

I've been trying to convince myself to get past the lack of excitement - the lack of serotonin - in a few situations recently. I try to convince myself that, in the long term, this will make me happier. But, at least for me, I need a little spark. I need to feel weak in the knees. I need to feel like my family might not approve. And, god damnit, I need another french fry.

The Urge to Dance

Did you ever just get the urge to break it down on the sidewalk? I did. This morning. It surprises me because it was raining, I was under my umbrella and it was muggy as hell. But my ipod was turned up and I couldn't control the urge.

I was at a red light. The red stop hand forced me to stand still, waiting for the white walk man to appear. Some mellow reflective song ended. And then, as if the gods planned it, just as I was allowed to cross the street, just as the white walk man showed his face, Aretha blurts out "This the House that Jack Built."

It was a long walk signal. Now, in DC, the walk signs tell you how many seconds you have to cross. This particular intersection gives you about 75 seconds. I thought, you know what, I could totally take my time and dance across this street! I could do all my moves that I normally do in my head. I could twist around, throw in a little shoulder action, a little hip action, and give these stopped cars a show!

So now my new obsession is to dance across intersections. Wouldn't this make morning commutes so much more entertaining!? I mean, seriously, why not? The cars at the opposite light can't go anywhere, and I have all the time in the world to dance across!

I think Washingtonians would be so much happier if this actually happened. We all have ipods already. And we're bobbing our heads. I say, let it out, people! You know you want to! Dance across that intersection! Don't let societal norms hold you back! Jackson 5, Aretha, Whitney, George Michael, techno remixes, Rent Soundtrack... whatever! You feel it, you go for it.

Haha, ok, so I've had some wine. But this thought actually did cross my mind this morning. Think about it. I picture the opening scene of Austin Powers when they all dance in unison down the street in cheesy outfits. The new DC... just you wait.

Creepy Old White Guy

Lots to catch up on! Sorry for breaking my "every other day" blog posting promise, but I was on a mini vacation and have just recovered and transitioned back to real life. Incidentally, I wish the beach was real life. I wonder if I could survive there on an artist's income. I would be a very tan, very relaxed, artist.

Anyway, fast forward to yesterday afternoon. (Or rewind, depending on where you started.) In an effort to maintain my newly achieved tan through September, which is the date of a very special wedding, I decided it'd be best to lay out in the local park by my apartment and catch some rays. I do this often, bringing my "park blanket" and a book or my ipod. Sometimes the Post. Sometimes I get a sandwich. Sometimes I get all crazy and get an Italian sub. Those are exciting days.

So yesterday, I get all my supplies (sandwich, book, etc.) and I pick my spot on the grass. I position my flip flops and my bag by my hand so that, if I fall asleep, it's less likely that someone will steal them. I apply some tanning lotion, roll up my tank top, and prepare for the ultimate in local DC relaxation.

Until! All of a sudden I notice a man walking towards me. I immediately stereotype him as a "creepy old white guy." He walks around the tree a few times, and then lays down on the grass not too far from where I am. This would be normally ok... if the park was crowded. But it was NOT crowded. I'm thinking, grrrreeeeat. Pervert.

I ignore him, glancing up every now and then to see him staring at me. His shirt comes off (ew, FYI) and he lounges on one elbow facing me the whole time.

I refuse to move. This is my park too, damnit. And there are people around, so I don't feel like I'm in any immediate danger. So I stay there. I eat my delicious sandwich (props to So's Your Mom deli). I make a few phone calls, try to read my book, etc.

Finally, though, I had to give in... not because his staring got to me, but because he started saying things. Out of nowhere, I hear, "You're so beautiful. I want to take you home with me." It was so faint, I thought for a second that I must have imagined it. But it was real. And it was very VERY creepy.

So I moved to a another spot in the park. And after a few minutes, I peered in his direction to see that he had left. Apparently he felt rejected.

Creepy old white guy, here are some tips. Don't be so creepy! This is not a good way to get girls. Keep your shirt ON. And wait until at least a few conversations have transpired before you start whispering sweet nothings from across the grass. Did you really expect a positive response? Has anyone ever been like, "Sure! I'll come home with you! Better yet, why don't you come over to my place? Creepy old white guy, you're awesome!" Well, maybe it works for you once in a blue moon. But not today.