I’m being poisoned. I think I’ll write into a magazine for advice.

I remember being  fifteen or sixteen years old, sitting on the couch, reading the advice column in Teen People (when your biggest worry was how to get rid of your raging bacne and how to avoid lipstick getting on your braces) and thinking, “What would possess someone to write into a magazine for advice?”

Years later, I find myself thinking the same thing. The questions are not much different (some adults still have bacne) and even more so, I find myself feeling sorry for those who write in. If you had any substantial problems, questions, etc., wouldn’t you go to your family, friends, significant others, therapist, random guy on the street corner, and ask them for advice first? Albeit, I can’t guarantee how great the advice would be, but ya get what I’m sayin’. And now, in a world where you can access any topic on the internet, wouldn’t you try that? Type in to Google any physical concern IMAGINABLE and you will not be disappointed in the discussion forums that come up. Do it. I dare you.

So as I was reading the advice column in ELLE (previous readers may recall my complete and utter annoyance of the Ask E. Jean column; E. Jean being their resident advice giver who looks like the last person ever I would turn to) I encountered a question that was unlike any I had ever imagined finding in a magazine. In a nutshell, this woman was writing in because she was convinced her husband was trying to poison her. She believed her husband was putting something in her coffee and/or in her lotions and beauty products that were resulting in her skin becoming discolored, dry, cracked, and her hair becoming dry and tangled in knots. My initial thought was, “If that’s the case, then Lance poisons me every winter” in the freezing tundra of North Dakota when my skin feels like sandpaper and my feet get so dry that they’re reminiscent of the Mojave desert.”

But she then went on to say that, as a “resolution”, she has started drinking tea instead of coffee (Why didn’t I think of that?!) Problem solved.), and has left “decoy” beauty products around and hidden her real products from her husband. Some resolution. Idiot. She tried hiding a camera in the bathroom, but believes he found it and deleted the files. It results in her desperately asking E. Jean, “Do you know a good lab where I can send the products to have them tested for tampering? Should I go to the police before I have proof?”

You guys. Where do I even begin? For starters, who is this Prince Charming she’s married to who she believes could be potentially poisoning her? Secondly, regardless of if he is truly pulling a Lifetime movie stunt on her or not, WHY, IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, WOULD YOU BE WRITING TO A MAGAZINE ASKING WHAT TO DO?!? Get out. Go to the police. Hide at a friend’s house (with new beauty products, might I add). Do anything, but take the time to sit down and write into E. Jean. By the time your letter is published and you are able to read the answer, you could be dead. Finally, why would you need proof? If you THINK, for even a second, your husband is poisoning you, why do you want to stay married to him? Isn’t that the proof enough right there?

Sadly, I don’t know how this poor woman’s story played out. She could still be married to Mr. Rat Poisoning. She could have met her demise. Or she could still be writing to E. Jean asking for a good divorce lawyer. Regardless, I can guarantee you that she has destroyed my hope in all of humanity. And for all those out there who have any questions that you believe warrants writing to an advice column, don’t. Put the pen down. Instead, ask me.

Until next time…


I’m baaaaaack!…and it’s time for a Revamp.

To all those who have missed me, and more likely, to the majority of those who have not, I am back! I deeply apologize for my year-plus absence, but home girl has had some important life events happening. As you know, I got engaged, got wrapped up in the horrifically wonderful chaos that is planning a wedding, moved in together with my now Hubs into our new house (which in itself is blog-worthy), had the actual wedding (which is, pathetically, one-millionth of the time less than the actual time and energy spent planning), all while having a full time job, and being awesome.

Over the last few months, I have had multiple requests to bring the blog back. Four, to be exact. I finally decided I would resurrect the greatness that is this when, upon Lance’s horror, he discovered I moved two full boxes of unread magazines into our home. However, it was my wise brother who made me realize that the whole “About” section of the blog is completely without merit anymore. I am no longer an unemployed, graduate student, living in her mom’s basement. I am, however, still overweight and in need of an eyebrow wax. Some things never change.

Anywho, per my broseph, part of what made the blog enjoyable was my self-deprecating humor regarding my lack of accomplishment and current sub-par status in the world. I argued to him, in my defense, that although my residence, relationship status and financial situation have changed, I am still a lost cause who will never be what we/I/the world think I should be. With all that being said, although the “About” section may change, the purpose and, hopefully the humor, of this blog will not.

I am now off to begin my dissent into the first box of mags. Be ready for all sorts of helpful advice. Or lack thereof. And if you have any random topics you think should be conquered and discussed, let me know!

Until next time…