Am I the only person left who hates Paris Hilton? I've never liked her. I've seen four seconds of The Simple Life, and that's only because my clicker got stuck. She's the Bizarro Penelope Cruz, and they can both go stick their long-necked ostrich heads in the sand for all I care.
So when the guys in my office were soiling themselves over her new single, you'll understand when I say that I was less than interested. But being the good sport that I am, I obliged them to try and listen to their latest iTunes purchase.
I listened long enough to realize that Paris' voice was more digitized than Phil Collins, which was all the time I needed to give me one more reason to dislike her. I left their office thinking, "There's thirty seconds of my life that I'll never get back ", and resumed hanging up the latest Tiger Beat J.T.T. heartthrob poster in my cubicle.
Not long after, I walked into a movie theater and caught myself fake dancing and humming along to a catchy song. I knew it sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it.... Ashlee Simpson? No, too upbeat. Hillary Duff? Nope, too breathy and digital....Wait.....digital? BINGO. That's when I knew, and that's when I hated myself, and that's when my nipper was raised with retarded tingles for myself.
I hate myself for loving Paris' new song, and I hated myself even more when my roommate burned me a CD and I jumped for joy because Stars Are Blind was included in the mix. Loving her song goes against everything I believe in and shakes me to the core.
I'm not normally caught off guard this way, so imagine my surprise when I kept hearing another song on the radio that I love love LOVED, but had no idea who it was - until I cranked it up at work, and "someone" snobbily informed me that it was *gasp* Nick Lachey.
I turned down the volume and publicly snubbed The Lachey, so as not to blow my cover, but between you and me, I was secretly stoked that it was him. Ever since I rocked out to 98 Degrees...and Rising, Mr. Ex-Jessica Simpson has always had a place in my heart.
However, I must not be doing a good job at hiding my secret guilty pleasures from my roommate - The Lachey was also included in the mix CD.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Guilty Pleasures and Retarded Tingles
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4 comments:
Oh no, by no means are you the last. I have harbored a deep and sincere loathing for Paris since the first time I heard, "That's hot," cross her lips, and I despise her to this day.
I completely know what you mean about your guilty pleasures. "Toxic" by Britney Federline (I had to choke back the vom as I typed that) never gets skipped when it shows up in my random playlist. "Señorita" by Justin Timberfake has a catchy beat that I can't put down. And I've been known to throw some mad harmonies into the Pussycat Dolls' "Stickwitchu".
But if you ever see the name Paris Hilton in my Last.fm list, you have my express permission to tie my ankles to the bumper of your car and drive through heavy traffic for an hour.
Oh no, by no means are you the last. I have harbored a deep and sincere loathing for Paris since the first time I heard, "That's hot," cross her lips, and I despise her to this day.
I completely know what you mean about your guilty pleasures. "Toxic" by Britney Federline (I had to choke back the vom as I typed that) never gets skipped when it shows up in my random playlist. "Señorita" by Justin Timberfake has a catchy beat that I can't put down. And I've been known to throw some mad harmonies into the Pussycat Dolls' "Stickwitchu".
But if you ever see the name Paris Hilton in my Last.fm list, you have my express permission to tie my ankles to the bumper of your car and drive through heavy traffic for an hour.
I remember when I thought that a song by Maroon 5 (the harder to breathe one...) was a Backstreet Boys song and I was mortified. Luckily, I later found out I was morally allowed to like that song.
I too am a Paris despiser. Apparently she has now labeled herself as the 'diva' of our day. I'm sorry, but you're not allowed to call yourself a diva when the sound guy has to mechanically alter your voice because you don't/ can't open your mouth wide enough due to botox overload. Oh yeah- and your singing sucks. And also- whore does not equal 'diva'. (Well, maybe it does.)
That said- I haven't heard any of her new songs and I'm proud of that. I listen to country music. Does that make me safe or put me in a whole new category of sad and pathetic?
No sadness or patheticness here... is that even a word? The culmination of my retarded tingles came today when I got cornered in the elevator with the guy from my office who originally coaxed me to listen to Paris, and ate a big ol piece of humble pie when I admitted my dirty, shameful secret to him...
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