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.