I Read a Cosmo

Back in the days before my uncle was married, he had this attic, see, and in this attic was lots of pornography. Lots of pornography. Wall-to-wall, he had every Playboy Magazine centerfold from 1964 to the present, carefully removed from it's original binding and taped perfectly square to the wall. And the walls were covered. The ceiling was covered. Besides the floor, not an inch of viewable area was uncovered by the ink tones of flesh, lipstick and bearskin rugs. Filling ones vision completely, it was like one of those Imax theaters, right down to the inexplicable sense of vertigo felt by the viewer during the first few minutes, as though it were simply too much porn for the average human being to behold all at once. Before any of you condemn my parents, aunts and uncles for letting us kids play in the attic while they sucked back whiskey and cokes in many a smoky poker game, I want you to know that I learned two very important lessons from my uncle and his attic o' porn: Nothing is shocking or creepy, as it's all been done before, and 9 out of every ten pictures of naked ladies involves high-heels and a step ladder.

But not even my uncle's meticulously mapped-out timeline of pubic grooming trends throughout the 60s, 70s and 80s could have prepared me for the strange and frightening things I encountered when I purchased -- for the first time, and with no intention other than to write about it here -- my very own issue of Cosmopolitan Magazine.

Yes, that's right, I bought a Cosmo. You may ask yourself how the average 20-year-old male goes about purchasing such a magazine without appearing, well, creepy. The answer is that he doesn't. But when you've got a brown paper bag full of magazines from the cigar store tucked under your arm, and a bottle of extra virgin olive oil amongst the groceries you're attempting to purchase, odds are that the Safeway cashier already thinks you're on your way home -- or possibly to your car -- to pleasure yourself anyway. I didn't have anything to lose, and I'd always been kind of curious... and who knew? Maybe "The 5-Minute Jeans Trick Guys Go Gaga Over" would come in handy one day. Perhaps at a job interview.

My first stop was "Cosmo's Guide to the Ultimate Summer." "Alright," I thought, already excited over the promise that I would "learn the most seductive swimsuit strut." Here are just a few of Cosmo's smart tips on how to seriously grab your summer by the cajones and hang on for the ride of your life:

• Learn to love oysters.
  While going into great detail about how, exactly, one is supposed to consume "these slick, jiggly delicacies," including the often-overlooked yet critical "chew" and "swallow" steps, a reason as to why exactly it is that one should learn to love oysters as opposed to any other food is never mentioned. But still, I'm with Cosmo, if spending your summer on the beach eating oysters makes for sexier, savvier and "self-esteemier" me that I was promised, then by all means, get me a bowl of cocktail sauce and don't worry about the Smints, 'cause it's gonna be a long three months.
  
  
• Fake a flirty French accent.
  I have to admit that I've always wanted to slink around Vegas in a tuxedo and an eye patch, a martini in one hand and a cigarette in the other, speaking in a hard-to-pin (and easy to fake) accent. I can't honestly say, though, that my reasons for wanting to do so have anything to do with propelling myself toward greater self-esteeminess. Though Cosmo, sadly, once again, neither explains how this can increase ones sexiness nor their savviness, it does offer these words of advice from Sam Chwat, voice coach to the stars: Turn 'th' into 'z'; roll your 'r'; when pronouncing an 'o,' make a very small circular shape with your lips; and drop the letter 'h' altogether. Now try this phonetically mapped-out phrase: "Pahrdohn moi, want to trrro ze fhriz-bee?"
  
  
• Complain at restaurants and get results.
  Breaking with tradition, Cosmo explains the reasons for sending back food regardless of whether or not there's actually anything wrong with it. The idea here is that, upon seeing your dissatisfaction, your gentleman friend will pick up the fight, possibly with a line like, "I'm not sure if you're aware of this situation, but I need your help in taking care of it." I would certainly agree that, while you may know which one is the oyster-fork, you couldn?t be expected to speak directly to the waiter when sending back your meal. Why, just imagine what would happen if one were to say to the waiter: "Pahrdohn moi, but zeese oystairs arrrre noht sateesfactoray." Not only would you seem like a pain in the ass, but you'd sound stupid too!
  

It is at this point that I'm seriously wondering how fun a date with the average Cosmo reader would be.

As for the dirty, terrible things for which my uncle could not possibly have prepared me even if he had an attic the size of Montana, I will not go into those, as thingsihate.org is a family publication. I will say, however, that the words "penis," "vagina," and "smear" are all used generously throughout the magazine when describing such things as the importance of viscosity and squeezing.

With headlines like "1,001 of The Wild Things that Make a Man Whimper," "7 Little Words to Seal the Deal on His Devotion," and "Keep Him Home on Your Range With Chic, Lacy Lingerie and Cowgirl Looks," Cosmo gets to be sad reading after a while. Everyone in their target audience, it seems, must suffer from severe external validation problems. There's an obvious obsession here -- whether it's with being attractive and desirable to men, or being more attractive and desirable to men than other women, I don't know. Whatever it is, I'm sure it isn't healthy.

The last headline on the cover of this particular issue of Cosmo reads: The Worst Dates We've Ever Heard Of! Compare your nauseating nights out to these encounters with the sleaziest, cheesiest, creepiest losers of all time.