Working 9 to 5 for my Guilty Pleasure

Working a desk job over the past couple of months, I've come to one inevitable conclusion: human beings are not meant to be sitting in front of a computer 8 hours a day, 5 days a week. My favorite part of the day is, of course, 5pm when I am released from the shackles of the daily grind and set loose upon the world.

A few things happen at that point. For one, I leave the NAC from one of the rooftop terraces which offers me an incredibly breathtaking view of the city. The canal ebbs out beneath me, various architectural styles meld together in a captivating hodge-podge of brick and stone (the Chateau Laurier, Parliament, the War Monument, Sparks St., ect.), and the multi-coloured lights left over from Christmas brighten the gloomy winter(?) darkness. And maybe it's because I leave the recycled air and claustrophobic cubicle I hold at the NAC, but the air smells sweeter at this point of the day.

But that's not what really makes me happy. No, ladies and gentlemen, that is not what makes me truly happy.

My cellphone also has radio capabilities. And when I leave I tune in to what I consider to be one of my greatest guilty pleasures. Something that I try to hide from Darcy, but have finally given up on successfully accomplishing. Something considered so "uncool" by the fringe levels of society that I cringe at the thought of typing it out. Something many would consider akin to selling your soul to the devil.

At 5pm, every weekday, I tune in to the Hot 89.9's commercial free one-hour traffic jam and listen to mainstream pop and dance music. Yes, I am loath to admit it, but I simply adore the majority of pop music. I know, I know, I probably told you once that I thought it was crap. I lied (unless the song had something to do with smakin' yo' bitches, pimpin yo' ride, throwin' yo' monah, yo' grill, and/or Paris Hilton, in which case it really was crap). I felt the need to come clean on this because, trust me, after sitting on your behind for a solid eight hours, there is nothing like some upbeat dance tune to shake your booty into a state of wakefulness.

I know, I know, you are all probably very disappointed in me. Don't worry, I am disappointed in myself and how easily I can be seduced by a catchy rhythm. Unfortunately, my hips cannot lie any longer, I am a promiscuous girl, who cannot wait for Sunday morning on an irreplaceable London bridge.

(Sometimes they'll even throw in some old school remixes of Michael Jackson and Run DMC, it's awesome!)

I still love a well written and/or emotionally charged lyric, but sometimes those dancing devils just get the best of me. Well, the first step is admitting it, I guess. I think I'm going to start a support group for all those closeted popaholics out there. At the very least, we could get together and go dancing some night. I feel like I haven't done that in years.