Schadenfreude

This is no doubt a future guilty pleasure.

Back in the dorky day, I was SUCH a major Scott Baio fan. The posters on my walls, Happy Days every week, following him to Joanie Loves Chachi… I’d even dress up to watch the shows, just in case the magical power of our destiny-laden inescapable connection could actually be transported through the tv set.

I read everything about him.  I wanted to find out what his favorite toothpaste was so I could use it, too. As a younger Chachi Arcola, he would wear black bands around his wrists. I started taking black electrical tape and wrapping my wrists up, too, until my Aunt Hope told me it looked ridiculous and my wrists became raw from ripping off the tape one too many times.

I even saw the guy in concert at Worlds of Fun in KCMO in 1982.

(Yeah, yeah. Scoff me now, but make it quick and get it over with.)

I hated Erin Moran for obvious reasons. I hated Jodie Foster for getting so close to him in Bugsy Malone. I hated Kristy McNichol and Melissa Gilbert for supposedly dated him. Then Heather Locklear. (But she’s since redeemed herself with me.) And the whoring continued. And I’d had enough. And I stopped caring.

Now? (And for the past, oh, say, 25 years?) I’m so glad I dumped him. And I’m SO going to be watching his show while eating a box of chocolates and swallowing them down with a tall glass of schadenfreude.

(Tiger Beat image respectfully lifted from speca.com.)

Filed under blahblahblah, guilty pleasures |