I told you we were thinking about joining the YMCA, and we did join. And I was going every weekday, even though I still hate it, even though no one’s promises about the joys of exercise have ever come true, and even though it triggers extreme paranoia about how I smell at any given moment. I had been going every day, because it was good for me, and because dropping Penny off at the child care area was good for her.

The child care area has been great. They really like Penny, and there’s usually one child minder for the babies alone. Penny’s often the only baby, but I’ve never seen more than two or three there at a time, with plenty of attention given to them. And they’re separated from the galloping hooligan older children. Man, I’m glad Penny’s going to stay a baby forever.

Anyway, to add insult to what is sure to be inevitable injury, considering I just now kind of hurt my neck while trying to scratch my back, with Phil being gone for three weeks, I have to somehow convince myself that exercise qualifies as my alone time. No one comes home in the afternoon to give me a little baby relief, so I have to drop her off at the child care center in the Y, and then exercise, and tell myself that it’s great and restful and rejuvenating and totally the same thing as flopping on the couch in my underpants and watching Ellen while Phil takes care of the baby for a little while, but you know what? It’s not the same. I try to make myself at home on the treadmill, with my headphones and my videos and what not, but watching the elegance of upstairs/downstairs life in Downton Abbey loses something when you’re huffing and sweating and trying to stealthily check yourself for stink.

I am pretty sure I will never been one of those people who craves exercise, or feels like the day isn’t complete without a workout, or enjoys any of the benefits that high school gym teachers promise will come from putting on a stinky pinny and trying to be enthusiastic about dodge ball. There will always be something I would rather be doing. There will always be something I would rather be doing that I would never choose to do under normal circumstances. I’m saying I would always rather be cleaning my toilet.

But I’ve KEPT GOING ANYWAY. Even on days where I’ve decided to skip it, where I’m sure I’m not going to go, where I eye up the toilet and its need for a scrub, I have gone. Sometimes the decision  to go is made three minutes before I’d need to be out the door, but I have GONE.

And do you know how I have been rewarded for this? For joining a gym, putting on gym clothes, dealing with smell worries, ignoring the people who are actually working out in favor of plodding along watching television, for exposing Penny to other children and the experience of learning that when we leave her somewhere, we always come back?

PESTILENCE.

Here I am, Phil gone for three weeks, and I’m still going to the gym and taking Penny to experience life outside of my hermitty bubble, and how am I rewarded? With PENNY’S FIRST COLD. Penny’s first cold, which has coincided nicely with Phil’s trip and the cutting of four teeth, along with the frustrated baby shrieks and indignant refusal to sleep that come along with trying to learn a new skill, causing my still-immobile baby to find herself on her belly and confused in the middle of the night, needing not only to be rescued, but also a loving parent on which to rub her snot.

And so we are watching endless Sesame Street and I am dealing with a baby who insists on being held and not held AT THE SAME TIME, because “YOU ARE NOT DADDY AND I ONLY LET DADDY HOLD ME BUT HOLD ME BECAUSE I DON’T FEEL GOOD PUT ME DOWN NOT DADDY HOLD ME.”

So I’ve missed a couple of days at the gym, because she’s been miserable, and I’ve been trying to hold and not hold her at the same time, dealing with a baby who wants both to be cuddled and to headbutt me repeatedly, and also, she PINCHES, and that would be okay, kind of, because I hate them gym and also, PJs@TJ’s is next week and I still have so much to do. And she seems like she’s starting to rally a bit, or at least she did last night, so I took her to Chipotle and she was delighted to eat a quesadilla and then equally delighted to… project it back over the floor of said Chipotle. And then again all over Phil’s side of the bed.

But now I also am sick, because Penny has insisted on rubbing her gross drippy face directly onto mine, and I still have a lot to do, and Phil is still not here, and I can’t even watch Downton Abbey because I told myself I could only watch it AT THE GYM, where I can’t go right now, because Penny brought home pestilence FROM THE GYM.

It is also kind of possible that she might have gotten the plague from that time I was too lazy to put her shopping cart cover down and I turned around for a minute to ponder my choice of frozen chicken products only to turn back and find her sucking on the cart handle. But it was probably the gym.

Here is a photo from happier times.

OH, ALSO? I found an injured baby bunny in the yard and I had to take it to an emergency vet and they put it down. That doesn’t really go with the rest of the post, but I feel like it’s part of the whole package of my suffering right now.

And I’m pretty sure I did tell you, but I’ll tell you again, that I have a major event coming up at my house in… three weeks.

So I took last week off from posting, thinking, hey, no big. Phil’s going to be away for three weeks. The only responsibilities I will have will be to clean my very small house and keep the baby alive and shop for an entire weekend’s worth of supplies for 18 women.

Psh.

PSH.

A week off doesn’t matter, because I am going to post SO MUCH with all of that luxurious time I’m going to have, what with my perfect satisfaction with eating peanut butter and jelly all the time and no need to go anywhere at all.

Yeah, it’s been 12 hours and my ass has already been soundly kicked.

Here’s a picture of my baby eating bacon.

“Look! A man with a baby! A man in UNIFORM with a BABY!”

I GET IT, IT’S ADORABLE. HE FARTS IN BED, THOUGH. THEY BOTH DO. JUST SO YOU KNOW.

I’m not mad. I’m just bitter, probably. Whenever I take Penny through the grocery store, I get some smiles, but mostly a train a passive aggressive olds telling Penny to tell her mommy that her feet are so cold without sockies! So cold! Tell her you need some sockies! Sockies for those feet! Tell her, “Mommy, my feet are so cold here in the store! I need sockies for my feetsies!”

Phil, though? Phil in uniform? All smiles, no mention of sockies.

*****

I think I use Goodreads more than I use any other socially networky thing right now, but there is something that will eternally bother me about Goodreads. I think I’ve talked about it here before, but I’m talking about it again. What are you, the blog police?

Anyway, I had several false starts with using Goodreads (I’ve been  member since 2009) and didn’t really get into it heavily until recently, because I got TOO OVERWHELMED. It’s a simple site, but I, like most people, have been reading books for about a berjillion years. That’s roughly 30 berjillion books.

So, I would start listing books that I’d read, and pretty soon, I’d become hopelessly overwhelmed with the task of adding EVERY BOOK EVER. I don’t think I ever even got to one berjillion. So I’d give up. If I couldn’t add them all, I JUST WOULDN’T ADD ANY.

Coincidentally, that’s very similar to the stance I have on eating potato chips, but usually goes the opposite way.

So the only way I was able to make Goodreads work for me THIS time is to tell myself that I would only list books from that point FORWARD. I have a couple of favorites listed, but aside from that, I WILL NOT fall down the rabbit hole of books that I’ve read since the dawn of time.

This makes me constantly self-conscious, though, that people will think I started reading at 29. I COULD READ BEFORE THEN. I just can’t allow myself to tempt insanity by remembering every book I’ve ever read, because I can’t just list SOME of the ones I read before I started using Goodreads. It’s none of them or all of them. That’s how it has to be. IT HAS TO BE.

Sometimes, someone I follow rates a book. A book I READ, pre-Goodreads attempt 47. And it’s right there. No searching necessary. It’s right there on the home screen. And all I would have to do is just pick a star rating. One click, and there it is. Added to my books. That’s not so bad, right?

EXCEPT IT IS. The only way I can use Goodreads at all is by telling myself that I have an UNDERSTANDING with the larger Goodreads population. We ALL AGREE that I read books before I started using Goodreads, but I haven’t listed any of them. We just AGREE that it HAPPENED.

If I go ahead and list one, the agreement is BROKEN. Now there’s one listed. And that can lead people to assume that sure, I read books before I started using Goodreads. Or, more accurately, I read BOOK.

No. No. I can’t add any of them. So they pop up in front of me, and instead of clicking, I sit here in front of the computer and worry that people are going to think I HAVEN’T READ THAT BOOK. Then I remind myself of the agreement. But I READ THAT BOOK.

You guys, I’m just saying, it’s hard being me.

*****

So I’ve been preparing for PJs@Tj’s, which is now in less than a month, and in my every waking hour, I find myself thinking about tiny details, which stack upon the other tiny details, which add berjillions of things to my mental to do list, which I haven’t actually started, other than cleaning out the pantry, and I don’t see why anyone would really be in my pantry anyway, so, right. I have not gotten very far yet in the whole “preparing the house for a pile of guests” thing yet.

But I’ve been thinking about it, which we all know is half the battle. And here’s something I’ve been thinking: a while ago, we got this hand soap we really liked. It was some kind of Soft Soap, and the smell was blackberry vanilla. Or black currant and pears. Or something and something. Anyway, it smelled great. Next time we were at the store, though, and needed soap, we just got one of those big old refill jugs, and we’ve been refilling the same bottles – one in the bathroom and one on the kitchen sink.

So, while the bottle says you’ll be washing your hands with a delightful mix of berries and puffy clouds, it’s actually just generic soap smell.

And I wonder, does that make the soap a lie? And, as a hostess, am I being rude with this bait and switch? This soap and swap? This scrub and… drub?

Seriously, I have 18 women descending on my house in less than a month, and this is what is keeping me up at night.

*****

We’ve made a plan. Well, not so much a plan as a plan to make a plan. We’ve decided that when Penny is about five, we’re going to take her on a Disney cruise and a stay in Disney World. We figure we’ve got to plan that far out so that we can save up the money, because I’ve always said that when we do take her to Disney, we want to go ALL OUT.

I mean, we want to stay in one of the hotels right there, so that we can go back to rest as needed. And we want enough days to do everything we want. And I want to take her to that place where they do her up like a princess. We want to be able to throw money around like we have it. Sure, you can have a $75 Mickey balloon! Oh, you let it go? That’s okay, here’s a $115 ice cream sandwich. Wipe your face with this napkin, it was only $5.

We’ve also emailed both of our families to extend an invitation to join us, because, why not? We’re planning far enough in advance that everyone can make it, if they wanted to.

But just today, I started thinking that there needs to be more to this plan than just saving the money and picking a cruise.

ONE – We’ve got to start watching Disney movies, post haste. This shit is not going to be even a LITTLE BIT MAGICAL if Penny doesn’t know who the hell Ariel is, you know what I mean?

TWO – I’m thinking that by the time she’s two, two and a half, I’m going to want to start working with her on developing a real allegiance to one of the princesses.

I know you’re about to get your Internet dander all up, what with the princess culture! And teaching appropriate values! And rabble rabble! And girl power! And all of that. And to that I say this: Look. Shut up. Because, come on. Did you grow up thinking that you were an actual princess? I mean, did you grow into the total warped asshole of a she-witch that the anti-princess culture people seem to believe will result from exposure to made up, cartoon fancy ladies? By the time you were of reasonable age, did you understand that your suburban town house bore little resemblance to a castle and no one cared when you lost your stupid shoe?

You did, right? You turned out to be a functioning adult? With only a moderate number of tiaras? AND managed to also enjoy Disney movies as a child?

Yeah, so, now that we’ve established that THAT’S possible… I’m thinking Belle. Or maybe Ariel. I mean, Ariel’s a pretty predictable choice, but come on. Obviously the superior princess.

THREE – We’ve got to concentrate on NOT raising an asshole at all, even more so now. Because we’re not going to tell her we’re going until we’re about to leave. You know, like all those YouTube videos? So, we’re going to want a really sweet, really genuine reaction of joy from her when she finds out we’re about to blow all of our money ever on a cruise and a trip. And then we’ll put it on YouTube.

FOUR – I probably have to get a passport.

FIVE  - I should also probably learn to swim.

Anyway, I’m already excited. Four or five years is just enough time to build this up in my mind enough that I completely ruin Penny’s enjoyment of the whole thing by trying to force some FREAKIN’ DISNEY MAGIC on her at every turn.

*****

LASTLY, we are considering joining the YMCA. Which seems silly, you say, because there are 800 gyms on base, but look. I can’t go to those. I just can’t. I know people say, “Everyone is there to work out! No one is looking at anyone!” But come on. People look at people. It’s human nature. And while we’d all like to think that no one cares, just a few days on Twitter will net you at LEAST three people saying, “At the gym today… ” and commenting on someone they saw. It’s not always mean or even… anything… but it belies the “no one is paying attention!” crap. So while I’d like to be one of those, “Whatever, I’m above all that” people, I’m not. I cannot go to a gym on base, full of people whose job it is to be in great physical condition.

And I really don’t want any more of that “no but really, no one is paying attention to anyone else” stuff. I know you’re lying. You know you’re lying. There’s no point in trying to get someone to go exercise where they won’t be comfortable, because they will try it once or twice and not be able to stand it, and then, worse than the guilt of not trying, you have the guilt of QUITTING.

So is it silly to pay for a gym membership when you can go to a gym for free? I don’t know. I don’t think so. My mother has had a membership to the Y for a berjillion years, and there’s a gym in her office building. She wouldn’t go to that one. She wouldn’t be comfortable. So it’s the choice of paying for a place you’re comfortable, or not working out at all. So far, the choice for me has been “not at all,” so I’m beginning to be quite convinced that paying for something that is also available for free, in this case, is not totally ridiculous.

It’s not, right?

*****

I can’t think of where else I’m ever going to work these in, and I need more people than Phil to appreciate me, because he doesn’t laugh, he just says, “Yeah, that’s funny.” Even when I can see him TRYING NOT TO LAUGH. Won’t even give me the courtesy of a laugh. Anyway, two things I have come up with recently, regarding Penny:

1. Count Yak-ula.
2. She had a yak-cident.

So, my daughter. What a delightful little asshole she is. Let me tell you about her.

Words: None.

Movement: Can still only roll back to belly. No locomotion.

Teeth: Two!

Firsts: Christmas. Plane rides. Waves.

Loves: Riding in the shopping cart, obvs. Collecting adoration from retirees in the Commissary.

We shop a lot, okay?

Food-based likes: Noodles, apples, bananas, puffs, waffles, banana toast, broccoli, chicken noodle soup, chili, whatever you are eating right now what’s that you got there I want it.

Music-based likes: The Rocky Theme, 90s summer hits, anything with the word “Penny” in it, any song that can be altered to be about Penny. Dashboard Confessional.

Hates: Having her nose touched.

Annoying features: The two fisted punch of teething and travel-related sleep disturbances. Weird raspberry/spitting thing.

Weird-ass features: Squawks. Shrieks. Shakes with excitement over just about anything, but mostly approaching food. Bounces while laying on her back or while being held. I don’t know, you’ve got to see this shit to believe it. She’s an odd one, this Penelope.

Finds hilarious: Fake sneezes. When an adult mimics her weird-ass bouncing. Sheldon. Attempts to “eat her belly.” Weird jokes that only she understands.

Finds terrifying: Other babies.

Anyway, Penny hasn’t really made any super developments over her last month. We were really busy with the holidays, of course, and she did great. She was perfectly content to be passed around strangers and was a champion flyer. She cleaned up at Christmas, gift-wise, and loves every single present equally. So she thinks. I have not yet broken out the parachute.

I’ve thought this before, but I think it again this last month – it seems like we’re really figuring this stuff out. She started out this shrieking mystery of unnamed needs, but at this point, we know at a glance what’s up with her. We know when she’s tired, when she wants to eat, how much she’ll probably eat, how to calm her down, how to put her to sleep, how to handle her in public, how to distract her when she’s about to lose her mind, how to make her laugh, how to entertain her. It wasn’t that many months ago that I didn’t think that any of that would ever be possible.

I know that eventually we’ll hit some terrible phases, but at the moment, we continue on the uphill climb that started when she started smiling. Which she still does. All the time.

And she also waves, which is hilarious, because while at first it looked like she was waving “hi” and “bye” appropriately, now it seems she waves to signal that she’s tired or cranky or wound up. She definitely waves, she just doesn’t exactly get when she’s supposed to.

She also recognizes Phil as “daddy,” but hasn’t quite put together yet that I’m “mama.” I don’t really refer to myself that way – you know, “Mama’s here,” or “Mama’s got you,” or “Mama is going to put you in the closet if you don’t can it.” I probably should, but while I talk to her ALL DAY LONG, talking in that way doesn’t really come too naturally to me. Phil’s great at talking to her and playing with her and reading to her. I, on the other hand, basically talk to her all day like she’s a girlfriend come to visit and hang out while I do laundry. She’ll probably call me “Hey.”

Whatevs. That’s fine. We know we’re buds, and that’s what counts.

You know what month eight really was? The month it started boggling us how different she’s become. We can’t believe it. We say, “Remember when she… ” and “Remember how she looked when… ”

It’s not that she’s gotten so big, exactly. It’s more like… was she really ever that SMALL?

Can no longer be counted on to just LEAVE THAT BEAR ALONE FOR TWO SECONDS I JUST NEED TO TAKE ONE PICTU– COME ON!

1. Penny’s 8 month post. I know I’m not going to keep these posts up forever, and like last month, I’m wondering if this is going to be the month that it finally stops, but I HAVE GOOD INTENTIONS. It’s just that every time I go to take the picture with the bears? Penny throws up on herself. Enough to ruin a picture, but not enough to justify changing her outfit.

“Oh my GOD. I ALWAYS change my baby’s clothes when he pukes on himself! ALWAYS!!”

WELL INVITE ME TO YOUR AWARD CEREMONY FOR MOTHER OF THE PLANET AND I PROMISE TO FEEL SUITABLY INFERIOR.

I hope this isn’t the month I finally allow my true laziness to come through, though, since this was the month that contained Penny’s first Christmas, as well as some actual milestones. Like WAVING. You guys. She waves and waves. Last night she wouldn’t sleep, so she was laying in our bed, and it was like she was COMPELLED TO WAVE. And she waved and waved, but she only waves with her left hand, and she was laying down. So it wasn’t so much waving as it was a rhythmic slapping of Phil’s face while he tried to sleep.

I’m not going to lie, Internet. It was hilarious.

Seriously, though. She wants to wave when she should be sleeping. I don’t know how to communicate to her that she’s pretty much nailed it and doesn’t need to practice anymore. Not very Tiger Mom of me, I know.

2. Our trip to Pennsylvania for Penny’s first Christmas. Penny was an amazing traveler. She got all kinds of compliments about her behavior on the planes. It was much easier than we possibly could have hoped, with the only real difficulties being ill-timed poops and how uncomfortable it is to hold a lap baby in those small seats. Even travel with cloth diapers wasn’t especially terrible.

Santa only brought Penny a couple of things, including some new pajamas and a PARACHUTE.

The pajamas are particularly awesome:

The whole of the Christmas trip would be a bit too much to cover at the moment, and to be honest, one very small thing has really soured me on the memory of it all. I’d rather write about her first Christmas when I’m a little less irritated. Irritated is a very gentle word for it.

I assure you, though, Santa came out looking like a chump with his few simple gifts. Grandparents, aunts and uncles filled in where Santa was stingy and Penny now owns, among other things, her very own iPhone case and apps, a baby doll and stroller, and an entire new wardrobe.

Santa got schooled.

3. Baby led weaning. This style of feeding the baby is really working out well for us, especially since Penny popped up a couple of fangs over the holidays. She’s sitting behind me right now, enjoying a mid-morning snack of apple scrapings.

Do you see her scrapings? She just learned how to do that yesterday. And she was DELIGHTED. Shrieks of glee. She positively gorged herself on teeny, painstakingly fanged scrapings of apple. It was hilarious, as you could tell that she was totally shocked – she’s used to just sucking and gumming on her apples. She was grinning at me around a mouth of apple mush, like she thought she was the first baby in the history of the world to spring teeth and learn how to use them.

She’s gotten very excited and kind of demanding about food. On the plane, Phil and I each had a sandwich and she was giving his the eye. So, as we usually would, he pulled off a small piece of bread and a little turkey shaving for her, and she WAS NOT HAVING IT. She dropped them and strained and reached as far as she could – NOTHING BUT THE ENTIRE SANDWICH WOULD DO.

She wants whatever you’ve got.

Anyway, it’s simple enough to say that Penny is eating anything and everything, but I’ve gotten a good number of questions about the way we choose to feed Penny – what we feed her, if we cut up her food, what about choking, etc – so it would probably be best to do a more detailed post explaining how Penny has handled being thrown into the deep end of food with no spoon feeding and no purees. I will do that. I swear.

4. Cosmo! I’ve had the newest Cosmo for the longest time, and I can’t work up the desire to do this one. Know why? Because Scarlet Johansson is on the cover. I don’t know, something about her really chaps my ass.

You know how people have lists? You know, the people you’re allowed to totally get with and your spouse can’t get mad, because, come on, the list? Phil doesn’t really have a list, but one time when I asked him, he said, “I don’t know… Scarlet Johansson, I guess?”

AND I VETOED HIM. Even though you’re not really allowed to do that with the lists.

I just don’t like her. Something’s not right. She looks like she just smelled her own butt all the time. Unless she’s playing some super cute character, but even then I can’t get into it, because I remember all these pictures of her where she looks like she just smelled her own butt. I feel like if I ever talked to her, I’d be wondering if I smelled like a butt the whole time. She has this air about her that makes me think that SHE thinks that everyone in the world but her smells like butt, but you know what? It’s probably her own butt, because I think she’s up it.

Anyway. Next month!

Here’s mine from last year.

1. What did you do in 2011 that you’d never done before?

Last year, my survey was basically entirely focused on getting married and being pregnant, so obviously this year will be the year of Penelope. That’s pretty much a spoiler alert for this whole thing, so you can probably stop reading now and not miss anything.

Anyway, I had a baby.

2. Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

I didn’t really have any other than to have a baby and keep my shit together. I did have the baby, and while I didn’t entirely keep my shit together the whole time, I did have it nicely lined up by December 31, which I am counting.

Also? You guys? I never watched all the Colin Firth movies in existence. I tried to watch Mama Mia and that basically ended the entire attempt. Because, wow. Terrible.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?

Well, me. My cousin, also, just about 6 weeks before me. And my uncle and his girlfriend had another, bringing my grand total of cousins on my dad’s side to one billion.

4. Did anyone close to you die?

No.

5. What countries did you visit?

Stealing last year’s answer, as I intend to do for the foreseeable future.

None. You can also retroactively write that down as my year end wrap up answer for every year since 1981, though it isn’t really fair to count 1981, since I was born in December of that year and didn’t even have my birth certificate issued until early 1982, let alone a passport.

6. What would you like to have in 2012 that you lacked in 2011?

A dog that doesn’t eat trash (not food trash – PAPER).

A dog that doesn’t escape over the fence on the regular.

Time to watch Naruto.

I don’t know, I want the same things as everyone, I guess. More time, more money, more sleep.

7. What dates from 2011 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?

I’d have to look up the exact dates, but every single bad news OB appointment, in complete, minute detail.

April 29, when Penny was born. April 30th, when Penny was taken to the NICU. Every single day between then and May 8th, when we brought her home. August 10th, when Penny was admitted to Children’s. Every single day between then and when we brought her home on August 15th.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?

Three months of bed rest, you guys.

You think calling laying in bed for three months an achievement is ridiculous?

Well, I think you have a funny haircut.

9. What was your biggest failure?

June through September.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?

Yes. YES. Last year I joked that pregnancy, so far, felt like an illness or an injury. A few weeks later, that’s basically what it turned into. I spent months working with doctors (okay, they worked, I laid) on the balance between keeping the baby in as long as possible and also, at the same time, making sure I didn’t die from it. I don’t know if I effectively communicated my feelings on the matter at the time, but that was PRETTY DAMN AWFUL.

11. What was the best thing you bought?

Penny’s jumperoo was a gift, but still. Hands down the best piece of baby equipment we own.

Also, Benefit’s High Brow.

I shared some bacon chocolate with Sarah Lena in Austin, and while it was pretty not so good, it can stand in as a purchase representing the trip to Austin.

12. Where did most of your money go?

Penny. Bills. Penny. A trip to Pennsylvania for Christmas. More Penny. Diapers.

13. What did you get really excited about?

Not being pregnant anymore.

I’ve had a pretty down year in terms of excitement and anticipation.

14. What song will always remind you of 2010?

Penny really loves Cee-lo’s Fuck You.

15. Compared to this time last year, are you:

– happier or sadder? I think it averages out to about the same.
– thinner or fatter? Well, thinner, because I’m not pregnant. But I’m at my pre-pregnancy weight, yet at the same time, fatter. So. Up yours, pregnancy.
– richer or poorer? Poorer.

16. What do you wish you’d done more of?

Sleeping when the baby sleeps. Cutting myself a break in those early weeks, when I thought I was supposed to be done sleeping when the baby sleeps by the time she was 5 weeks old.

17. What do you wish you’d done less of?

Holing up in the house for the months after Penny was born. Stressing out about things that weren’t going to happen. Travelling back and forth to hospitals. Sleeping in hospitals. Anything involving doctors and hospitals.

18. How did you spend Christmas?

In Pennsylvania with my side of the family. It was a long day. Penny was a great traveler, though. Really very impressive.

19. What was your favorite TV program?

The things I always watch got kind of shitty this year. I’m not impressed with House, I don’t like SVU without Stabler. The Big Bang Theory is still good. Phil and I watch a lot of Mythbusters and all those pawn shows and storage unit stuff.

I did watch all of Grey’s Anatomy this year, having never seen a single episode before, and I really enjoyed it.

20. What were your favorite books of the year?

Let’s see. According to Goodreads, my top favorites were probably Before I Go to Sleep, Graceling, and The Daughter of Smoke and Bone.

21. What was your favorite music from this year?

Nothing, really. I listened to a lot of Reel Big Fish, because in my mind it’s still 1998.

22. What were your favorite films of the year?

Exact same answer as last year:

I am pretty sure the only one we saw was Harry Potter, and it was awesome, as always.

23. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?

I got my eyebrows done and I cooked some spectacular meatloaf, exactly like I wanted. I turned 30.

24. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?

I don’t like this question. SKIP.

25. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2011?

Stretchy.

26. What kept you sane?

Naps, again this year. Prescription medication. Starting to drive again and getting out of the house without AND with Penny.

27. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2011.

Honest to God, sometimes it IS that bad, and you do what you’ve got to do.

While I never really had any specific goals that I wanted to accomplish before I turned 30 (the failure to accomplish certain goals is what I assume makes 30 feel like a THING for some people), I guess when I was younger I always assumed things about 30, in the same way that younger people assume things about older people. I don’t know if I can really put my finger on anything specific, but when I was in college, or just out of college – I was still living in my college apartment, and I dated this guy – I’ve talked about him, he had a really square head. Square Head Kyle. And he was a bit older than me – as close to 30 as I still was to 20, I think. And while I didn’t bow down before him, all wide-eyed at his wisdom and experience, I kind of just assumed things. Like when he bought a car, I was like, yeah, that makes sense. He’s a grown up. He can buy a car.

But then you get to be 25 or 26 or 27 and you buy a car or you do whatever it is that made sense, and it’s like yanking back the curtain. The whole getting older experience is like reliving that scene from the Wizard of Oz, year after year. “HEY, IT’S JUST SOME SCHMUCK BACK HERE.” And then you, too, are that schmuck.

I’m not a big believer in bucket lists. I mean, no offense meant if that’s your thing, but I can’t get my mind to that place where they make any kind of sense. Maybe I’m not a goal-oriented person. Maybe I want to see what comes in life on its own. Maybe I think the recent Internetization of the concept of a “life list” by certain sectors has made the whole thing seem like kind of a ridiculous and exaggerated joke of itself. Maybe it’s pretty likely to be that last one.

Regardless, I have expectations of 30. Expectations I had long before I was 30, and expectations I developed as 30 approached. Not that I assumed that when I woke up 30, these things would happen or be. Just things that I expect that, along the way TO 30, a person will know or do or gather in some way. There are things that I feel that the schmuck behind the 30 curtain should have to offer as a person. And I will tell you about them.

A person who is 30 should be able to put a meal on the table. I’m not saying anything about affording a meal or providing for a family. And I’m not saying that every 30 year old should be able to cook. I’m saying if you’ve made it all the way to 30, you should be capable of throwing down dinner without talking into a speaker. Maybe you can cook. Maybe you’re more like me and rely heavily on frozen Stouffer’s and steam in the bag vegetables. Maybe you know a really good catering place and are exceptional at placing food artfully on plates. I don’t know and I don’t care how you do it. I don’t care how OFTEN you do it. But when the situation arises, a 30 year old should be able to pull some edible shit together.

A person who is 30 should know that there are truly very few things in life that they HAVE to do. You don’t have to get the puff in your eyeballs when you go to the eye doctor if you don’t want to. You don’t have to wear make up if it’s not your thing. You don’t have to date anyone or get married or have kids. You don’t have to buy a house if you like renting. You don’t have to like everyone. You don’t have to accept every invitation that comes your way. You don’t have to be solely responsible for the happiness of anyone else. That last one is what will make you have a lot of regrets, I think.

A person who is 30 should be over getting affronted at Happy Holidays/Merry Christmas/What the shit ever. I don’t care if you don’t celebrate Christmas or you don’t have any holidays in this “season” or if you’re the asshole everyone secretly hates, the one who always wants to “helpfully” inform you of why what you just said or did is offensive to someone, somewhere, in some obscure way. Do you plan to exist throughout December? You do? WELL, I AM WISHING FOR YOU THAT YOU ENJOY IT. Grow up. Seriously. I’m hoping that you’re freaking merry on December 25, whatever the hell you decide to do with yourself that day. No one stabbed you in the eyeball. They wished you well. Walk on and forget about it. Dick.

A person who is 30 should be VERY AWARE of how small a part of his general surroundings he is. That means knowing that the world is not revolving around you at any given moment. You shouldn’t still be placing yourself at the center of the universe in all ways. Like when you block the whole grocery store aisle with your cart. Or when you encroach upon the time of others without even thinking about it. When you expect to move to the front of the line/get extra days off/leave early/get free stuff because you have a child. I don’t know. This covers a lot. A person who is 30 should probably have figured out how to move around in the world without trying to force it to move around her.

A person who is 30 should be able to buy/make/offer a thoughtful gift, even with only a little bit or none money. Of course it is easy and often the best idea to grab a Starbucks gift card for the office holiday gift swap, or to buy local store gift cards for teachers, or that kind of stuff. But for people you know, you should know by now how to do a little research, ask a few pointed questions, and take some time out of your busy life to THINK about it instead of running through the aisles of Target and grabbing whatever looks good at the last second. It’s not always possible, of course, but you should know how. Like a book on a favored topic, or an offer of free babysitting, or something they mentioned one time that you remember that you know they won’t even remember that you remember. You can do that by now.

A person who is 30 should be able to tolerate inconvenience but also advocate for herself. If something doesn’t go your way, it always sucks, but by 30, you shouldn’t be that guy anymore. The one shrieking at a poor underling with no power, making everyone in the place uncomfortable. No one likes that guy. I know there are still a lot of That Guy over 30, but I think by 30 he should at least know he’s being a total knob. But at the same time, you shouldn’t still be bending over and taking it when someone or some company or whatever does wrong by you. That’s kind of weenie, and no one is going to jump up and do it for you. You should be able to make your case yourself and ask for resolution. In whatever situation – business, personal, whatever. You shouldn’t be a dick or a weenie. Ha. Two penis references.

I guess there’s probably a lot more stuff that I would expect the schmuck behind the curtain to know by now, but I can’t go on forever (I probably could, you know me). What do you think?

PENNY IS SEVEN MONTHS OLD!

I feel like I’ve spent this entire month fending Penny off. She’s so violent. She wounds. When we lay down in bed for a nap, she swings a tiny arm all the way across her body to punch me in the face. If I turn my back, she PULLS MY HAIR until I SCREAM. She pinches and claws and kicks.

And she LAUGHS through it ALL.

It’s just awful. It’s awful.

Let’s see, what else happened in Penny’s seventh month?

Thanksgiving!

Thanksgiving was great because as I’ve mentioned before, we’re doing baby-led weaning. This allowed us to lay out quite a feast for Penny. I brought banana, Mum Mums, and pickles from home. Penny’s Aunt Laurie also provided her with some soft baked carrots and sweet potato, and we threw some mashed potatoes and green beans on her high chair tray as well.

At this point, Penny is eating all of the above, plus apple, raspberries, watermelon, Cheerios, broccoli, yogurt, noodles, and basically whatever else looks good. She is still eating her normal amount of formula, and two to three times a day, she goes in her high chair to make a mess of herself. At first, she was just playing around, but every day, she’s managing to actually EAT more and more of the food. This is such an easy, low-stress way to handle baby feeding. We’re really enjoying it, and so is Penny.

Broccoli has been a particular favorite.

I have tons of adorable messy-face pictures, but look, I am not trying to hurt anyone’s feelings here, but posting messy-face pictures is something I solemnly swore to myself I would never do once I had a kid. I have a very delicate gag reflex. Seeing your adorable child with wet, mushy food all over her face kind of makes me want to yak. It’s not that your kid isn’t cute. It’s that no one is cute with food all over his face. Except Penny. But I am cognizant enough to know that only I can see the cute under the thick, gross veneer of banana yogurt. And even I have a hard time. I admit it – sometimes, when she’s particularly dirty? I flee the scene. I won’t even look at her until Phil has given her a wipe down. There’s a reason she’s sitting next to me eating Cheerios and raspberries right now and not yogurt. It’s because Phil isn’t here to handle the degoopening.

Penny at seven months old:

Nicknames: Pens. Buttface. Stink McButtersen. Babe. Babes. Baby Baberson. Jerk.

Special skills: She can sit, if you put her in a sitting position. Her pincher grip is kind of coming along, though she still tries to eat the back of her hand once she has something pinched between her fingers. She just discovered her feet, a little behind the curve, and can stick one in her mouth. Unvelcroing diaper covers.

Most annoying features: Still very clingy. Has moved back into our bed after several months of sleeping in her own space. Seems to think 3am is party time. PULLS MY HAIR.

Most desirable features: My dad asked me if I do nothing but stand around all day, waiting for Penny to smile so I can take a picture. I do not. Penny finds EVERYTHING to be a reason to smile. Everything. She smiles constantly. All day. At everyone and anyone. Also? She won a baby photo contest, hosted by Perinka Baby Clothing company.

Penny poses with her sweet-ass prize.

Dislikes: When you don’t have at least one eyeball on her. Eggs. Having her nose Nosefrida’d. That’s… pretty much it.

Likes: Bath time. Food time. Bottle time. Jumper time. Floor time. Car trips. Shopping cart rides. Strangers. Her dad.

“WE’RE HERE FOR PICKLES!!”

Penny is, as I’ve stated in the past, continuing to get more awesome with time. Oddly, before I had a kid, I would have assumed that a kid turning out to be awesome would prod me in the direction of having MORE kids. However, even aside from the fact that I never want to go through pregnancy again, as Penny becomes more awesome, I feel MUCH less inclined to have another kid. The more awesome she is, the more I want to hog her just for Phil and I. I don’t want to share her or my attention with a hypothetical second baby. I know people have second babies all the time and it totally works and no one gets the shaft, etc. I’m not saying I’m being logical. I’m saying this is how I FEEL. Damn, Internet. I’m just going to get a diary.

Besides, even knowing what I know – how you manage to get through it, how things do get better even though it seems like you totally ruined you life, how the baby gets more and more delightful – there is NO WAY IN HELL I will ever go through another infancy.  No. No. NO. My kid is awesome. She’s AWESOME. But she’s a BABY. And babies are TERRIBLE. The idea of starting over again makes me feel like my heart has squeezed itself into my eye sockets.

I will stick with this one awesome one, thanks.

*****

Have you seen that commercial where the lady is unloading her groceries and the husband is all, ew, gross, fiber! Yuck! Blagh! Everyone hates fiber! It is universally known that fiber tastes like tree trunks and scrotum and conveniently ignores that fiber can be found in all kinds of delicious foods and then used in even more numerous delicious recipes! BLAH! FIBER! TREE SCROTUM!

And the lady is like, doodly doo, whatever, as she unwraps and starts to eat a Fiber One bar.

AND THE HUSBAND JUMPS INTO HIS ARGUMENT WINNING POINT! He’s all, how dare you preach to me the benefits of a douglas fir tainted with TAINT, while you stand there and eat a CANDY BAR!

And then in my mind there’s the big outrage that I reserve only for television commercials, improperly placed apostrophes, and people who cut in line like you aren’t even going to notice they cut in line.

IN WHAT WORLD is a Fiber One bar – or ANY granola-based bar-shaped food – even REMOTELY comparable to a CANDY BAR? In no world, that’s what world.

I’m not going to go so far as to say a Fiber One bar tastes like a festive mix of bark and ball sack, but I will say this: I got a good deal on Fiber One bars a week or so ago – they were $2.50 a box and there was a military store coupon for $3 off 3 boxes. So I had a BUNCH OF THEM. So I consider myself kind of an authority. One, CANDY BARS have a lot more CANDY. Two, I was eating the chocolate one (“chocolate”) and you know what the main flavor profile I noticed was? CELERY. It tasted like CELERY.

I’m not even saying celery is a bad thing. I enjoy celery. I ate more of those Fiber One bars, even. I’m not complaining about the BAR ITSELF. I’m just saying, who do you think you are fooling, Fiber One? YOU ARE NOT A CANDY BAR. No one would EVER mistake a Fiber One bar for a CANDY BAR. Not even a foolish television husband, who then eats one, blissfully unaware that he is HAVING FIBER, because it doesn’t taste like wood and nuts.

I don’t know. The whole commercial makes me so mad.

*****

I was reading this book lately, and I hated it, for about 800 different reasons. But I’m only talking about one reason today. Actually, it’s not even a reason I hated the book. It’s something the book reminded me of. The whole book was pretty terrible and this thing falls under that general terrible umbrella, but it’s not something I’d add to the list of specific ways this book made me wish that you could drown a book.

There was one part of this book that talks about a woman who didn’t groom her area, and wore a bikini, letting all of the area hair-ea poke out and about. I believe this was referred to – if not in the book, then at least in other places – as a “70s-style bush.” Which made me insane. Insane.

SEE, in calling it a “70s-style bush,” one is implying that different eras have had different kind of area hair-ea styles. That just like you can peg combat boots and a flannel around the waist as a 90s style, so too can you spot a vaguely grungy, somewhat angsty bush and know instantly that it’s been styled up in a nod to My So Called Life.

WHICH BRINGS ME TO MORE POINTS.

1. Bush is just crude. I mean, there are way more impolite words to use for the area hair-ea, I suppose, but bush. I will stop using it for the rest of this post.

2. To be able to call it “70s-style” indicates that you have seen ENOUGH lady styles to know how to categorize a lady’s downstairs choices. Do ladies who choose to wax walk into their waxer in the same terrified way I approach a new hair stylist? Are they too running the risk of walking out with the pubic hair version of The Rachel?

3. To criticize or even point out or EVEN SUGGEST THE POSSIBLE PRESENCE of a “70s-style” in the pants, you are making an assumption, an assumption that has started to drive me past the brink of okayness with people who make such an assumption.

See, these days, there seems to be an assumption, or an understoodness, that the area hair-ea will be tended to in some way. Look, I am not coming out in favor of or against a raging wilderness. I’m just saying that I think the general assumption – IF IN FACT THERE MUST BE AN ASSUMPTION – should be ones geared more toward a natural state of things.

Lady magazines, such as COSMO, as well as OTHER LADIES, seem to imply that the choice to not tend to the lady garden is now not the norm. That you are supposed to. That you are expected to. That you are somehow obligated to shave, trim, pluck, wax, or otherwise shape the area hair-ea into some kind of pleasing form. It is now the assumption that any lady walking around has FULFILLED HER LADY RESPONSIBILITY and HANDLED the situation.

Worse is when a LADY MAGAZINE OR OTHER LADY implies that you should be doing this or that or ANYTHING in your personal wine cellar because it is EXPECTED by the man in your life. Look, as far as I am concerned, when it comes to underpants parts, a man can expect in one hand and go handle his own penis in the other because male expectations have little to do with how I tend to the sculpture garden. A man may request. A man may have a preference. A man may not EXPECT anything of personal lady grooming.

I am just driven INSANE by this assumption of what goes on inside the underpants of a “normal” lady. You can’t assume what’s in my underpants. You have no idea. And right now you’re thinking, “Well, TJ, I think I can make at least ONE assumption about what you’ve got in there,” BUT NO. YOU CAN’T. I HAD A C-SECTION. IT COULD BE A LANDSCAPE OF SURPRISES AND VOLCANOES FOR ALL YOU KNOW.

My point is – my points ARE – that NO ONE believes that a granola bar, fiber-fortified or not, is a candy bar and ALSO that I OBJECT to the general culture of UNDERPANTS ASSUMPTIONS AND EXPECTATIONS.

Oh, I know, you thought it was never coming ever again. That I had given up on helping you out in this way. But did you ever think that maybe I was giving you a chance to decide if you’d really like to read an entire Cos– HAHAHA, I kid.

Anyway, usual stuff – Cosmo has this page inside of it, near the front, that lays out all the important points of the magazine for you so that you don’t actually have to read it. I take it one step further for you, providing TJ Notes, so that you don’t even have to buy it.

Adele is on the cover this month, with the tag line, “Why She’ll Never Regret Falling for Mr. Wrong.” I’m sure Cosmo will drag that whole thing out to a couple of pages, but I’m pretty sure she has no regrets because now she’s rich and famous and he’s not, which erases regrets in two ways: One, with money, which can erase many, many things. And two, with a whole bunch of IN YOUR FACENESS to the ex, which, come on, makes up for any hassle and pain. You broke up with her, now she’s loaded. I can understand why she’d have no regrets. She’s basically the winner. No one regrets winning.

As always, 34 pages and one Barrymore into the magazine, you will find the “Ask Cosmo” section. I think I’ve been doing this long enough to know that one, Cosmo is almost always wrong and two, my answers are way better, so here we go.

Q: I’m freaked out by all the stories about stars’ phones being hacked and their naked pics being leaked all over the Internet. Is there a way to keep my secret stuff safe?

A: Two part answer, lady. Part one: are you a star? No? Then no one actually gives a shit about your nudie goods. Part two: Are you an idiot? I can only assume so, if you’ve got naked pictures of yourself on your phone. As a non-star, your pictures are safe. As an idiot, someone is surely going to find them anyway. There’s basically no hope for you.

What’s sexy right now: Showing off a lacy bra. Oh, you mean, to your husband? No? You mean… just, out there? Like your shirt is cut too low and there’s your bra? For everyone to see? Cosmo, I overrule you. Revealing something that is usually covered for everyone to see is not sexy. Hinting at something is sexy. Or revealing something to a specific person, that is sexy. Putting your grunties out there for the world to look at is not sexy.

Also, I don’t see how going to DJ school is sexy. It’s like Cosmo didn’t even get the highlighted and annotated dictionary I mailed. I don’t see how Cosmo has time to write a whole magazine if they don’t have time to even open their mail.

So I’m reading the Adele article and guess what? She doesn’t regret Mr. Wrong because now she’s rich and famous. BAM. Nailed it.

(This is how far I got before nap time. It’s now 3 hours later. “Why didn’t you write during Penny’s nap?,” you ask, as if you know everything, ever. Well, I didn’t say WHOSE NAP TIME it was, now did I, smart butt?)

This month’s The Naughtiest Thing I’ve Ever Done was supposedly written by a supposed woman who supposedly slept with her supposed professor. All those “supposedlies” should translate to, “Wow, this sounds completely made up.” Next month: The Naughtiest Thing I’ve Ever Done: Completely made up a story about sleeping with my professor so I could gain some kind of anonymous non-fame in a magazine widely regarded as a joke by anyone above the age where they might have found sleeping with a professor to be a fantasy of some sort. Not that ladies don’t sleep with professors. I just don’t think that this lady did. Because it sounds made up. Like some of the blogs I read. (The Internet isn’t that stupid.)

It seems that once again Cosmo is running the 101 Things About Men feature, and I maintain that there simply are not 101 things about men to know, but I do have to hand it to Cosmo this month. Right at the front of the feature are three pictures of men – Jude Law, Marc Anthony, and Anthony Kiedis – demonstrating the recent apparent “trend” of creepy porn-esque mustaches. And it’s true, Jude Law and Anthony Kiedis look disgusting and creepy. But Marc Anthony looks how he always looks. 

I see what you did there, Cosmo, and I liked it.

Apparently, a lie 50% of men tell is about how many people they’ve slept with. Apparently, 50% of men date women who are insecure and intrusive, but probably some of them mask it behind the “we have no secrets” front as an excuse to demand unnecessary details. Just because you have no secrets doesn’t mean you tell each other everything. Phil and I don’t keep secrets from each other, but he doesn’t know how old I was when I started my period.

His Top 5 Sex Dreams, Number 3: He’s getting it on with a vampire.

Cosmo, have you met men? I’m just curious.

Stud Meter! The top of the stud charts this month is Colton Haynes, whoever the shit that is. Apparently he’s the star of Teen Wolf? And there’s nudity? In Teen Wolf? Look, if it’s got nudity and no van surfing, Teen Wolf it is not.

At the bottom of the stud meter is Matthew Fox, because apparently he got drunk and punched a woman in the crotch. Hey, look, if you flip the Stud Meter upside down, you have the Hilarious Meter!

This month’s Fun, Fearless Fashion is all centered around the color red. Wearing red during the holiday season – how novel, fun, and fearless.

YOUR HIDDEN WINTER SKIN RISK! ATTENTION! ATTENTION! DO I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION? The sun still comes out in the winter! It’s still the sun! It still has rays! There’s no magical winter light-ball that’s letting you see your way to work, home, and skanking around. That’s the SUN! IT’S STILL THE SUN! The cancer sun. YES! THAT SUN! STILL THERE!

Q: How can I rock the pink eyeshadow trend without looking like I am hungover or have a cold?

A: First, have green eyes. Second, I don’t care. Third, ladies, look, we need to talk. Stop saying “rock” in this sense. You are not “rocking” those jeans. You are wearing them. You are not “rocking” pink eyeshadow. You’re wearing it. Besides, your eyes aren’t green. You look hungover. No, but seriously. Stop saying “rock” when you mean “wear.” You sound ridiculous. You’re probably the same person who talks about grabbing a “tee.” YOU ARE NOT ROCKING THAT TEE. I am going to rock you. With a rock. That’s how you do it.

Next, we come to one of the cover features, titled 100 Best Sex Tips of the Year. Of the year people. These are 100 sex tips from just this year, confirming my belief that if you neglect your sex life for too long, they up and change it on you.

Let’s see if we can find some groundbreaking sexual discoveries for 2011.

7. Slip on cashmere gloves, and slowly stroke his member.

Don’t do this. Times are hard, you guys, and even if they weren’t, we don’t use cashmere on penises. We also don’t call penises “members.”

11. Spike a pasta dish with saffron. A 2011 study proved the garnish is an aphrodisiac.

Oh, yeah, let’s just bust out all the cashmere and saffron. Let’s gold-plate my vagina while we’re at it, huh? Also, WHO WANTS TO HAVE SEX AFTER A BIG PLATE OF PASTA? I want to lay around and moan. Alone. In elastic pants.

All of the rest of this is definitely 2010 stuff. NICE TRY, COSMO.

The Fierce Sex Every Couple Should Try: It sounds insane, but werewolf action, inspired by WILFs (that’s werewolf I’d like to, well, you know) on –

COSMO YOU ARE SERIOUSLY FUCKING WITH ME RIGHT NOW, RIGHT? Did Cosmo seriously just coin to term WILF? WILF. WIIIIIIILF. Say it with me. WILF. WILF. If I pointed out a WEREWOLF to you and called him a WILF, could you ever be my friend again? No. No, in fact, you’d be obligated to slap me across the face and punch me in the crotch, Matthew Fox-style.

Goddamnit, Cosmo, I wish you had a crotch right now.

Sex Q+A - Look, Internet, I’m not a sex expert – or a “sexpert,” as Cosmo would say, right before doubling over from a punch to the crotch – but I’ve had some. I have proof. I call it Penny. So, here I go, with some As for the Qs.

Q: What’s the best position for having sex in the bath tub?

A: You tell me that, and I’ll tell you the best position for squatting over a cup so your UTI can be diagnosed.

(This is how far I got before second nap time. I got up part way through to finish this for you. This used to be way easier.)

Here’s an article about how women should stop being so polite (and start getting real). No, seriously. It’s about how, as ladies, we sometimes act in ways that are detrimental to ourselves in the name of being polite. Here’s a shocking example: if you don’t ask your boss for a raise, you probably won’t get one. You won’t get one because you’re too polite. Or, because you have no idea how the world works. Or, because, like the Internet, you have a misguided idea about “niceness” and it’s place in the world.

NO, SERIOUSLY, THOUGH. It’s not “not nice” to advocate for yourself. It’s not “not nice” to not like everyone. It’s not even the end of the world to not always be “nice.” You know what’s a stupid word? Nice.

Once again, I come across one of Cosmo”s “shameless” sections, which always centers around money. To dedicate sections to money-saving tips and even just common sense ideas – such as this month’s tip on finding cheap airfare – and then call them “shameless” seems to indicate that we should feel shame – or would, without Cosmo’s permission not to – about finding deals, saving money, or simply being wise with our spending.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m never against money-saving tips. I’m just against money-saving being categorized as something sneaky, or secret, or as a “no one has to know you didn’t break the bank!” kind of thing. I don’t think searching for a deal is something to be ashamed of. I don’t think looking for the best price reflects on you as the act of a poor person. I don’t think being wise with your money makes you appear cheap or broke or anything unflattering. I don’t see why Cosmo continues to back-handedly continue these ideas.

YOU ONLY COST $4, COSMO. YOU’RE NOT EXACTLY A LUXURY HABIT YOURSELF.

Hey, let’s do that thing where I read the title of an article, don’t read it, and then write the entire thing myself.

20 Reasons to be Naked This Winter, written by someone, ignored, and rewritten by TJ

1. Heater is stuck on.
2. Locked in the bathroom, it doesn’t occur to you to get out of the shower.
3. Too lazy to do laundry yet too finicky to wore jeans you already wore the day before.
4. Same as above, but more valid, because a baby pooped on those jeans.
5. Locked in a heated “who can be naked the longest” battle with… anyone.
6. Attempting to shame yourself into shaving your legs by constantly having to look at them.
7. Attempting to Stockholm Syndrome your significant other into being okay with you never shaving your legs.
8. You have a great rack.
9. You were going to have sex but fell asleep on the couch while your partner was brushing his teeth.
10. You got out of the shower and realized you had no place to go so, fuck it.
11. Waiting for your husband to notice you have no clothes on and ask why so you can passive aggressively bitch him out for shrinking all your clothes in the wash when he was JUST trying to HELP.
12. You hate your naked body slightly less than you hate the way all of your clothes make your body look.
13. Baby oil slip and slide in the hallway.
14. Trying to get overstaying house guests to leave.
15. Because you have no concept of “good naked” and “bad naked.”
16. Because you imagine yourself to be some kind of natural, deep, in with yourself and the earth type of person and haven’t connected that to the fact that you have no friends yet.
17. You’ve given up like the grandparents in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, but you’ve taken to your tub instead of a living room bed.
18. Over-holidayed and you’ll be DAMNED if you’re going to buy bigger pants.
19. You grew a suit of body hair, rendering clothes unnecessary.
20. A victim of crippling paranoia, you painted your entire home flesh-colored and stripped off all of your clothes in order to hide during the inevitable impending break in during which your precious Hummel collection will be stolen. You also paint the Hummels flesh colored.

Not too bad of a job, I think, especially since I myself am never naked.

Anyway, Internet, there’s absolutely nothing redeeming about the last few pages of this magazine, so I’m just going to sum them up for you, bullet-point style:

- This month in the pretty girl is murdered/gets cancer section, a pretty girl is… murdered! Apparently, the most dangerous part of a relationship is when you break it off. So, basically, Cosmo says to stay with that dickhead forever or DIE. Judging by Cosmo, you’re especially at risk if you’re unusually pretty. OR, it could be that Cosmo only finds your death sad and tragic if you’re particularly pretty.

- This is how Cosmo thinks you can double your “going out” wardrobe. Get all your best stuff, go over to a friend’s house with all your lady pals, put on a “good beat,” and swap clothes around until everyone is hot. Or, until someone is crying and left with her own clothes because no one likes them/she doesn’t fit in everyone else’s. Also, seriously? Musical sequined tops? Is this real life? Does Cosmo live in real life?

- Oh, the fashion section. It’s the holidays, so basically, wear something disco-bally and you’re fine. I guess. So much of this stuff exposes back. Am I the only one who feels more modest exposing a inch or so of cleavage than showing my entire back? Am I a Back Prude? Am I alone in my back prudery?

- Lastly, here’s Cosmo’s big tip for boosting your health this holiday season – use hand sanitizer after you touch something germy OH MY GOD, Cosmo, and I thought I’d been phoning it in recently.

BAM. TJ NOTED.

Old notes:

November 2009
December 2009
January 2010
February 2010
March 2010
April 2010
May 2010
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