I am officially sick of Cosmo.

I got a pretty nasty cold over the weekend. Beef was real sweet to me, even making special trips to the grocery store to pick up 7-UP and juices and "lady magazines."

I hadn't read a Cosmopolitan in a few years, and it's amazing the kind of perspective you get on a magazine like that after a little time away. I swear, it's the same vapid magazine month after month, but they have this way of putting fresh lipstick on it every time so it looks like something new. God does it make women look stupid. Apparently our entire lives revolve around finding or keeping a boyfriend who looks like Ian Somerhalder, and if we don't have the latest $1,498 Prada sarong then we're a fashion Out and not a fashion In. Also, Chloe Sevigny looks good in yellow, according to their Columbia School of Journalism Phi Beta Kappas.

How do you get a writing job at Cosmo? Does the editor need to hear you dressing down a shoe salesgirl behind her back at Nine West? If you're choking in a crowded restaurant and the Heimlich maneuver produces a stick of Stila lip liner, does she look over and nod approvingly?

At least I know that PEOPLE will be non-gender-specifically patronizing. It's nice to lose one's self in an article about Jeff Goldblum's watch collection while sniffling one's self to sleep on the couch. That way it really doesn't matter if you don't remember anything you read.

Tina: Elegant Lady.

So Tina decided she was going to have a sophisticated woman-of-the-world day after she saw Oprah recommend it on TV yesterday. It was something to do with raising your self-esteem. You're supposed to dress up in your most luxurious PJs, curl up on the couch and surround yourself with things that are just a bit nicer than usual (e.g. Godiva, caviar, champagne, indulgent movies, etc).

For Tina this meant putting on some JUICY sweats that her friend left over, an old white Champion sweatshirt of Ray's (Ray had used some hot sauce to spell MEET ME AT TACO HELL across the chest, and you can still faintly see it), and sitting on our plywood-frame cheapass couch with a little tub of Safeway egg salad and a spoon. The elegant lady mixed herself some Bacardi and Diet Coke (zero carbs) and paged through this wrinkled copy of People that Beef had brought home from The Smoke. If I hadn't known it was her Elegance day, I would have thought it was her pre-bathtub-suicide feast. I swear that girl is trashy.

Squirt

So I finally worked up the nerve to talk to Beef about trying to get me to squirt. He was lounging around the pool house watching Yan Can Cook on PBS, and it was kind of late, so I figured then was as good a time as any. Here's how the conversation went:

MOLLY: So, have you ever heard of squirting?

BEEF: Hold on

M: What's he cooking?

B: I think it is like chow mein but kind of in a peanut sauce

M: Do you think we can talk for a minute?

B: Sure uh what is up

M: Have you ever heard of squirting?

B: You mean the activity

M: I...I'm not sure what you mean. The activity?

B: It is a pretty basic activity I think everybody knows how to make squirts you know

M: You mean, how to create a squirting motion like with a water pistol?

B: Yeah or just how to put your thumb on the tip of a hose so the pressure is increased and you can squirt a guy

M: I mean a different kind of squirting.

B: Hold on

M: What?

B: He's making the peanut sauce now I want to see what he uses

M: All his recipes are on the website. Can we please talk?

B: Okay sorry uh but maybe Yan will cover squirting next and then you would be sad that you missed it

M: Martin Yan is not going to talk about the kind of squirting that I want to talk about.

B: Dang then lady what is this special kind of squirting that you wish to discuss

M: Did you know that women can squirt from their vaginas?

B: Man I took the sixth grade you ain't got to explain how you go pee and plus why do you feel we needed to discuss this

M: No, during orgasm. Not urine, but some other kind of fluid.

B: Good thing my peter is hella crappy and you don't get orgasm

M: Ha ha, Beef. I want to see if we can get me to squirt.

B: Uh like do you mean you want a ton of fingerbangs?

M: Come on! It's not good to make fun of people who are being honest with you about their sexual desires.

B: Hold on is that cilantro

M: [turns off TV]

B: But—

M: Pay attention.

B: Uh so would you like the squirts to hit me or do you need them to land on me or should they just go into a champagne glass

M: What?!

B: [starts tittering, then little by little his laughter overcomes him until he is laughing out loud]

M: What are you laughing about, you jerk?!

B: Oh hee hee man I really got you on that one

M: What? "Got" me?

B: Hee hee man I know what squirting is you think I never been on the Internet

M: You know about vaginal, orgasmic squirting.

B: Well I ain't write the Dummies guide or anything but I have seen video evidence

M: Good, then follow me to the bedroom.

B: Can we play Love Shack I have it on MP3

M: No.

B: Cool

---

No luck so far, but Beef's game to keep trying. I think he gets a kick out of getting so intimate with my vagina. This hasn't come without its price, however: every time we finish an attempt, he insists I make him a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup. I guess I don't really mind reciprocating, as he really doesn't get much out of the fifteen or so minutes we spend on each practice run.