I LOVE SETH ROGEN. I LOVE CHIHUAHUAS. OH, PLEASE, SOMEONE HELP ME...

Last night I ran into Whole Foods at 10:47 p.m.
With only thirteen minutes before closing time, I made a beeline for the wheatgrass I so desperately needed and headed to the checkout. Of course, there was the inevitable poky person in front of me, so I had to wait as she complained, counted coins, and cursed the cashier. To waste time, I looked up at the magazine rack. And nearly died.

I saw this:



Now. I am not really sure if I have ever mentioned it, but I have the world's biggest crush on Seth Rogen. No, really. I'm not even sure if Kevin Griffin (from Better Than Ezra) would win over Seth if it came to a "Battle of the Crushes." I mean it. Maybe that is a good thing. I mean, Seth Rogen does kind of remind me of my husband, so that's a good thing...right?

(But...curly hair...*chases after Ben with a home perm kit*)

(Really...notice that both Kevin and Seth have curly hair, while Ben's hair is about as far from curly as it gets.)

You might also not know about my MAGAZINE BUYING BAN. At the beginning of December, I put myself on an until-further-notice magazine buying ban. For two reasons. Well, three.
One: I filled the paper media recycling bin every week, and I don't read the daily newspaper. Ugh, waste of trees.
Two: I was buying, at that point, about 40 magazines a month. 40! Fashion, fitness, yoga, spa, news...you name it, I read it all. Yeah, go ahead, do the math. How sad.
Three: Magazines serve one two purposes in my life: to make me feel like crap about myself/my eating/my exercise/my fashion sense and TO MAKE ME WANTWANTWANTWANT. I mean, that is what they are for...they are driven by advertising dollars, so they make you feel "less than" unless you buy what is in the ad, and then feature pictures of things that you simply MUST HAVE until, of course, you get them from your favorite online store and that $600 handbag is really made just as crappily as the $50 one. Yeah. Talk about "going to hell in a handbag." Oops. It's "handbasket." Whatever.

So, I said NO MORE MAGAZINES. I did fill out some survey for a free year of Self and Shape, which kind of suck as far as magazines go, but are nice for treadmill reading. I had a few slip-ups, and one time Ben bought me BARK, but come on...

The grand total of magazines that have actually been paid for by this household since December 2?

Four.

That is, er, ten percent of what I used to buy in one month. In over three months. So I consider that a triumph.

However. Back to Seth. I seriously considered buying that Vanity Fair last night. But I didn't. See, at the moment, $4.95 for a magazine seems like a lot to me. I have a lot of stuff I need to pay in order to put myself in a better position for the future. And maybe I haven't been perfect, but I have been improving.

And chihuahuas. If you don't know of my "I must own 10 chihuahuas someday" goal and my love for the breed, you haven't been paying attention. I wanted my first chi when I was about 6 and the neighbor girl had them. My parents said "no, they are mean...and we have the Labs."
Humph. How boring, for a little 6-year old girl who could not decide if she wanted to be a tomboy or a ballerina princess. Labs were great for the tomboy part, but ballerina princesses do NOT have drooling, doggy-smelling, duck-retrieving dogs.
So the stars of Beverly Hills Chihuahua (which I loved, by the way) on the cover increased my interest...probably more than Seth did, to be honest.

But still, I told myself "no."

Besides...I don't even read Vanity Fair.

So...if any of you out there are offended by Seth's cute little jiggly belly, or by the bow-tie/barrel ensemble, and you would like to get rid of your copy (or even just your cover!) of this month's Vanity Fair, please let me know. It would be much appreciated.

Because nothing in the world is sexier than a man with a little beer belly, wearing glasses, a bow tie, and a barrel, holding a chihuahua and gazing at the camera. Nothing.