So it’s been ages since I’ve posted published stuff, I know. Sometimes I cheat by adding a new cheap blog entry, but it’s been awhile since I’ve added any new articles. It’s going to happen this weekend. That’s the plan, anyway.

Sometimes I wonder why I’m doing this stupid site. It’s good practice, I guess (and if you know why, you’re in the loop, and if you don’t, you probably don’t deserve to be), but it’s also a constant reminder about how little time I actually have these days. I mean, I don’t even read my magazines anymore. They pile up in my front hall, and I keep telling myself that one day – ONE DAY – I’ll read them. But I don’t. Occasionally I flip through them in the hopes of finding a steal-worthy idea, but mostly I just look at them and remember what life was like when I was actually allowed to read for fun. Sigh.

Know what my first magazine EVER was? (And I’m not talking Chickadee here, cause that would be lame.) No? Of course you don’t. But I do. Seventeen. September 1992. September – the best month because it’s back-to-school-time. All the mags are fatter, filled with more ads, and best of all, filled with more clothes that actual people (read: not airbrushed models) can wear. ‘Cause fall clothes don’t tend to be designed for the especially skanky. Sigh. I was in love love love with that magazine. I had it for years. And it started this whole sick addiction. The cover model had a plaid skirt on (it was 1992 – of course she did) and inside, there was a spread showing her carrying school books with one of those leather strap belty things they used in the 19th Century (or Germany or something). How I wanted one of those! Backpacks paled by comparison. I even experimented with belting my own books, but I couldn’t get them to stay inside the loop. (How did they do that?)

I’m remembering this because I was talking about it with someone the other day. We were doing a – what’s the first magazine you remember reading? – kind of thing. I’m not just crazy. Promise.

Jen

P.S. 2018-05-21: I wish I could tell my 25 year-old self that using vague and overwrought song lyrics as titles would one day make me want to shrivel up and die.