(Thanks, K!)

I’m throwing up my arms at this one.  After the whole Marie Claire thing, I no longer have the energy left to continue The Great Insulting Girl Gamer in Media Debate.  Maybe Microsoft marketing and Marie Claire writers can all go on a team-building retreat together and bond.  And maybe make out a little.  Hot.

Also, that girl in the photo has an overly photoshopped pygmy arm.

Nothing zests up the day like a no-bullshit direct blog title.

So to give a bit background, I have to confess that I used to read a lot of women magazines.  I like shiny things, I enjoy looking at clothes, and I’m heavily into buying shit.  Blame good advertising.  Blame weak will power.  Whatever.  But I realized that I really had some issues when I ate bagged ramen everyday for 3 months during my junior year in college in order to save enough money to buy a pair of Marc Jacob shoes.  So after that, I swore off chick magazines.  In addition to the same recycled “50 WAYS TO PLEASE YOUR MAN IN BED” in every issue, I realized that chick magazines were nothing but ads and product pushers.  So since 2003, zero women magazine contact.

Then came May 2008.  After a few days of a Disney-tastic honeymoon, I was sitting in the Orange County airport, waiting for my flight.  My newly appointed husband was hogging the PSP and trying to beat my ridiculously high Lumines score.  So I decided buy a magazine to kill time.  Blech.  Their selection was small, and it was down to either Marie Claire with Tina Fey on the cover, or the Saints Row 2 EGM.  And since I get EGM for free and I actually did the cover for that particular issue, I thought my money was better spent on something I hadn’t read.  So I picked up Marie Claire even though Tina Fey was photoshopped into a lovechild between Jaclyn Smith and a rubber chicken.

Then I see this on the back page:

Wow.  Really? Marie Claire– I understand that the last page may not be the meaty principal vessel for your “editorial vision” but still, you think your Sex-in-the-City wannabe intern can come up with a less annoying and a genuinely wittier caption?  When I first saw this, a maelstorm of unadulterated rage grew.  Is this how you’re trying to sell a product?– by blatantly offending another demographic?  This issue was from May 2008.  Halo 3 was released in September 2007.  So not only is your boyfriend ignoring your needy ass, he also sucks giant wyvern balls if he’s still trying to beat the game eight months later.

A few weeks go by and I was buying some Altoids and Walgreens.  I saw a new issue of Marie Claire on the newsstands and thought to myself, “No way they’re going to put another numbskull gamer diss comment on the back page again.”  Sadly, I was wrong.  Because HERE IT IS!  UNDERNEATH THE PHOTO OF A DIAPHRAGM.

So I’m sure Joe Perry is just thrilled to be relevant AND have his photo placed beneath a rubber vagina disc!  The honor!  Does no one on the Marie-Claire staff have any knowledge about pop culture outside of sugary cocktails and Nicholas Spark novels?  Shopping Hero?  Are you serious? That sounds like a game designer’s nightmare.

And what is the moral of story?  I’m not quite sure.  I feel like I got slapped in the face by a bouquet of fallopian tubes because I’m a gamer and enjoy games.  The depressing thing is that Marie Claire isn’t that terrible compared to the other estrogen-laden lady mags out there.  They do some really interesting cultural and political pieces.  But this back page shit is just lame.

And to spite Marie Claire, here’s a photo of me in my ebayed designer wedding dress playing Rockband- “Here We Go Again” on Expert at my wedding.  Get some better writers or interns, please.

So I bought some shoes.  They are so expensive that when I paid for them, I felt like I was splitting my soul.

Hence, I call them my horcrux shoes.

Yeah, I know it’s a dirty title.

I remember when I was a kid, my sister and her friends were talking about how when they turn 25, they’re going to start taking better care of their skin and start using anti-aging goop on their face. I, for one, have never taken care of my skin. Meh, 2/3 of my personality is purely dedicated to laziness. Taking a shower in the morning is already a laborious task, why the hell would I waste time rubbing creams and butters on every inch of my epidermis? My mom and my sister has always been obsessed with taking care of their skin. My sister’s bathroom used to overflow with bottles, jars, and tubes of every permutation of scented moisturizers. They were also obsessed with Creme de la Mer, *the* luxury skin cream that costs almost $200 for a 2 oz jar. WTF?!

Well, suddenly this weekend, it dawned upon me that I’m a lot older than I think I am. I wouldn’t say 25 is officially “old” but you know what they say, a woman’s worth depreciates drastically with every year gone by. And I enjoy looking hot (it’s a fun hobby). So I panicked and went to Sephora in attempt to equip myself with some serious skin-care ammo.

Oh boy was I lost. I didn’t know what to get. There were mists. There were lotions. There were body butters. There were elixirs. I don’t comprehend the alchemy of moisturizers at all. After talking to a friendly employee (who wore lipgloss that complimented his complexion, yes, I said “his”), I was even more clueless since he gave me so many suggestions. In the end, I just picked up Philosophy’s Hope in a Jar.

I’d figure the product’s name is direct and good enough for me.