Since all my friends are in pre-Pennsic frenzy mode and my husband and son are on the road, I was in need of some entertainment. So I found myself staring at the magazine rack trying to find something of interest. Do you know they have magazines for everything now?

Like to scrapbook? There's a magazine.

Like painting, reading, music, art? There's a magazine.

Like to body build, or just stare at those who do, there's a magazine.

There is even a magazine for fishing, biking, hair dressing, and old TV show reruns. Do you like running really fast? Runner's magazine. Running for long distances? Cross Country Runner Magazine. Can't really run... Jogger's magazine. Can't jog...Walker's magazine. Rather get sh*t faced on a Saturday night and watch repeats of Jay Leno? I haven't seen it, but I'm sure there's a magazine.

Anyway... being drawn to the brightest color, I picked up an issue of Cosmopolitan. There's a girl on the cover with a red shirt, wind blowing through her hair and looking better then anyone has a right to. She's also surrounded by eye popping articles like "The Hot Issue", "Shocking!", "The Sex He Craves", "His Lips, His Eyes", "The 4 surprising Things Guys Find Hot"," I Bet You're Wild In Bed", and "Sexercises".

Well, as most of you know, I am a want-a-be writer. So I say to myself, for research purposes and all that's holy, I best better buy this magazine and find out if there is anything I'm missing. I mean, I think I'm pretty up on most things , but this claims to tell me the secret of over a thousand men and what they are aching for... How can I say no?

So I buy my Cosmo and head for the door. The pages, I tell ya, are burning in my hand! This is sooo going to be worth the 4.29 I paid. Seriously, 4.95 for an in-depth evaluation of the male brain. A bargain by any standards!

Getting back to work and hardly being able to wait, I start thumbing through the pages. This is when my happy little bubble is popped.

Let's start with the MAN MANUAL on page 62. EEP! OK, nice looking boy. I'll give you that. But the operative word here is...

BOY!

CHILD!

MAN-CUB!

Let's go to page63, EEEKK! Turn the page quickly... AKK! I have more hair on one leg then that kid has on his chest! (And that's after shaving!) And what the hell is that thing growing under his lower lip? Is it a soul patch or did he just forget to wash his face after making mud pies?

OK, OK, Man Manual is not working out for me. Actual, its making me feel like a freken pedophile. So quick quick quick, I flip through a few more pages. Hmmm, cute clothes, ahh, a couple makeup hints, good good... But is this why I bought this thing? Nooooo! I could get that from any of a hundred mags out there all dedicated to beauty!

I want secrets revealed! I want research to fine tune my plots! (Oh, look, cute pocket books on the back cover...) Stop That! Get Back to Work!

Ahh... here we go... Sex advice from Anthony, Raoul, and Andrew....

Wait just a minute!

It says here that this Andrew is 21 years old! Say it with me now... TWENTY ONE FREKEN YEARS OLD! What the hell can a 21 year old tell me about sex, love and the things that spin around in the male brain?

All right, all right, calm down. Let's forget the fact that my stepson is 21... no wait... he's twenty two...

***Oh good grief!

Andrew, 21

"I want to be a stud the first time I have sex with my future girlfriend or wife..."

***Oh for Pete's sake!

he goes on to say...

"... and booty calls are good practice..."

Apparently a *booty call* is sex with no strings... There... see? I learned something. I learned that the nerd that graduated high school without getting laid is fanaticizing about having sex with someone that he doesn't have to worry about later with dreary details like, birthday dates, favorite ice cream flavors or even her first name for that matter.

***Hello... paging Shallow Hal!!!

Now I start to wonder about the young women out there, who are reading this mag. Do they believe this crap? Do they really think 21 year old Andrew is the key to the knowledge they seek?

Ok, to my adult, unattached, female girlfriends, here's the scoop. Boys are like a paintings. They can be pretty to look at, but they don't become a work of art until they pass the age of thirty at the very least! Until then they are just made with finger paint which messes up your polish and leaves crud under your nails!

Well, that's all the rant I have time for. 4.5 hours and counting till I am out of here and on the road to Pennsic! Have fun everyone and hope to see ya soon! And if you need reading material, try scarp booking. It makes a whole lot more sense!

Yana