Among my secret guilty pleasures are Swedish Fish, weekly horoscopes and teen soap operas. The fish and the horoscopes are easy enough to conceal, but when someone picks up my latest Netflix delivery and sees that, rather than the expected copies of, say, Food Inc. or Like Water for Chocolate, they are holding disks 1-3 of Season 3 of The OC, they are often unimpressed.
Say what you will about the Dawson's Creeks, Beverly Hills, 90210's and Gossip Girls out there--I can't seem to get enough. I think that what I love most about them is that, no matter what heartbreak the precocious teens who drive these stories forward (usually actors well into their late twenties) are in the throes of, no matter how angry, sad or frustrated they are, they always manage to find the perfect words to express their feelings eloquently and succinctly (not to mention with perfect background music). I'm nearly 30 and I still can't do that.
In my mind's eye, I can. In my fantasies, I boldly take ownership of my feelings--unapologetic about my intentions. I stand tall during arguments, calmly and rationally making my point with undercutting wit, leaving my opponent wondering what just happened. I respond without missing a beat. I am not nervous. I go for the kiss.
My real life, however, feels a lot more like Whose Line is it Anyway?