the idiot's guide to self-help

The inevitable thing has happened. I've flying kicked Agatha Christie novels aside... and embraced the terror that once was. That is to say, I've become addicted to buying and reading self-help books.

Within the last four months, I've bought at least ten of such books with dubious titles like: The Man-ual. The Surrendered Single. Unleashing the Inner Seductress Within. Crazy books with topics like how guys appreciate girls in miniskirts (duh!), how breaking up is a lot more liberating than living in Kenya, how to feel happy by jumping rope (and looking fitter and better at the same time), how to be a great kisser, etc.

There were some entertaining reads with some gem of advice thrown in between the pages, but others were major dud. I really don't need to know that a guy thinks about sex thirty times a day. I all ready know that. Heck, I do that. (I'm normal. I also happen to have more testosterone in my system than the average girl. That's why a specific part of my body isn't prominent enough.)

Anyway... you know what? I did this dumbass thing. Which is to follow the advice of this stupid book. Which is to hang out at certain locations in hopes of snagging an eligible guy.

So I went to the bookstore... and all I met were aunties and uncles browsing through the self-help section (ack!). Then I went to the hardware store... and all I met were grungy-looking construction men. And then I hit the bars... and all I met were unbelievably nerdy looking desperate men... and some cute foreigners but I am not interested in foreigners.

So what if I am the media! The only people I run into are the same media people day in and day out - and if I was never attracted to them the first time I met them ten months ago, how am I supposed to be attracted to them now?

Fucker...

I'm going to eat cookies and fume.