My roommate, D, proudly announced to me that our beloved (cough, NOT, cough) President Mr. O is a smoker. She also declared that knowing this, she likes him even more than before… and she liked him A LOT before. Like, annoyingly, a lot.
I already knew he was a smoker. I already judged him for it, so this wasn’t news to me, although I explained to her that I thought it was alarming that our President fell victim to something as obviously stupid as smoking cigarettes… which, on occasion, I also fall victim to. But before you start judging on your stupid high horse- I am not President. I am, therefore, allowed to participate in social smoking and binge drinking and questionable behaviors in bars. Barack Obama, is not. (See the logic there?)
If you do see the logic, congratulations! You are already smarter than D, who told me that she preferred a President who killed himself slowly over a President who hunted innocent animals. “So, not only do you want a President who’s a martyr, but you are hating on George Dubya because he killed animals to eat? You want an anorexic martyr to lead the free world?” At this point I came to terms with the fact that in upcoming elections, I would have to find ways to hold D captive so she couldn’t vote. (Which I’m fairly certain is illegal.. but it’s for everyone’s own good).
I get it, people have vices. I have a lot of them, perhaps more than the average person… but because I’m too frightened by drugs to be a heroin addict, my vices garner little to no attention. I do, however, have an addiction to diet coke. In fact, I am drinking diet coke #5 as I write… and wondering how bad it could possibly be for me.
First of all, it’s diet. So me not getting fat is a huge plus since being fat is maybe my biggest fear. Except that it’s definitely my biggest fear. And there’s only ten ingredients, which I know because I just spilled them all over my lap when I rotated the very full can to count them. Admittedly, I can’t pronounce most of them and I’ve heard from a number of health-conscious (which is code for “annoying”) friends about the dangers of aspartame, but I’m feeling pretty good about this addiction. It even has citric acid, which has to be good… Vitamin C, right? Score.
Evidently though, this aspartame stuff isn’t all that wonderful for you. I just googled it and was so frightened by the initial results that I x’ed out of the window hoping I could pretend like I never saw any of it. But I did. And it said “lupus”. And “multiple sclerosis”. And “epidemic”. All of which sound only slightly less than fabulous.
Among my other vices, I would list wine (and then list it a few more times), laziness, reading bad romance novels, facebook stalking and picking my lips until they start to bleed and make people around me nervous. But as far as I know, facebook stalking won’t ever give you lupus… nor will any of the other listed activities which makes me start to question my love of diet coke. Conversely, diet coke can’t steal hours of my life and my remaining shreds of dignity like alcohol or facebook (or the two combined… eek!) can. This is tough.
In reality, it’s not so tough, because I won’t be giving up any of those things anytime soon. Just like I bet Mr. O won’t be quitting the cigarettes anytime in the near future. (And why would he? He’s a good-looking Marlboro man. See above). I whole-heartedly that I make bad choices on what I would estimate to be an hourly basis. On no level am I saying that I am smarter than Barack Obama (okay, maybe on like, one level). What I am saying is that like Barack, my addiction will probably kill me one day too. The important thing, friends, is that I don’t die fat.
My priorities are a wreck.