Saw my paternal grandma and made plans to see that side of my family tomorrow night... which is good but difficult? Because talk always turns to my dad and I'm never quite sure how to handle it. Anyway, I really don't want the message of this blog to be CHELSEA MCQUEEN HAS DADDY ISSUES!!!!! But I do. And some days it totally feels like there's a glaring neon sign behind my eyelids, declaring it. I'm sure that means I have to actually, you know, unpack my feelings and examine them, but GOD sometimes I just cannot even give a fuck about that. It's not like my feelings are going to pack their angsty baggage and go (NOT THAT I'D COMPLAIN). I can always examine them later, because that's a philosophy that's worked out well in the past.

Anyway, I don't care for feelings and prefer to be actively, furiously shallow- so I picked up an issue of Glamour. Two, actually! One's a special SUMMER edition which means it's all about being KIND OF naked but not that naked or else you'll burn yourself when making Engagement Chicken. Regular Glamour has an article about nail ideas which got me all kinds of excited until I saw the ENGAGEMENT MANI for when you totally want everyone including your 100000 cats to know that you should be ENGAGED, and goddammit, if you could find someone to choke down your ENGAGEMENT Chicken, you probably would be!

Flipped to an article about how to wear leather tastefully and on the adjacent page is an ad for Justin Bieber's new perfume, which is weird because he's got this chick all over him- is that exploitation?! How old is he?! WHY IS A TEENAGE BOY TRYING TO SELL ME PERFUME? Because everyone knows how teenage boys always smell so wonderful (not that I've smelled one in a while). Though I love that instead of doing a his n hers set, he's only selling to girls. I feel like it's good to be honest, Biebs, and I'm happy that you've accepted that most men don't want to emulate you. I don't actually dislike J. Biebs, I'm mostly bitter and angry that his eyelashes are BETTER THAN MINE because life is soooo unfair.

60s inspired fashion spread: "Fantasy moment: You've got the chubby baby and chiseled guy. Now all you need are the clothes." Babies are like handbags, but I don't even know where to buy one. Also, my favorite thing about handbags is that I'm never going to have to give birth to one. Handbags>>>>babies. Unless that baby has magic powers, but you know what? Babies wouldn't even know what to do with magic powers because THEY'RE BABIES. I'd love a magic handbag. I'd totally give birth to that. Even better if there's a baby, or, like, an iPad inside it.

Anyway, I really loved the pictorial with Ryan Seacrest's girlfriend. I didn't read the article, but FEATHER BOAS. And BLONDE. God, Glamour is making me wanna be blonde so bad, which is their goal, and why women read magazines- they make us feel like we're just not good enough, but ALMOST THERE. Just a LITTLE tanner! Just A TINY BIT thinner! Just put on those $600 shoes! You'll be THERE! I started reading Glamour/Cosmo when I was 11ish, around the same time I started wearing makeup, and fuck, that's almost 10 years devoted to the pursuit of Barbie doll perfection, and thinking about it makes me wanna scream, it's so fucking ABSURD. Wear makeup, but not too much makeup OR ELSE HE'LL THINK YOU'RE A WHORE! Work out! Starve! Why are you putting a down payment on a house when WHAT YOU REALLY NEED IS EVERYTHING IN THIS EDITORIAL?! What's the POINT of college if you aren't earning your MRS?! Engagement chicken! Scrunchie tricks! FUCK.