I just remember that in elementary and/or middleschool my on-and-off bestfriend H. owned a billion well-loved editions of some generic pre-teen hottie-guy magazine. There was nothing better then scoping out the hunks from Boy Meets World and then planning your wedding to Jonathan Taylor-Thomas. It's funny to think about my little sisters doing this with the cast of Twilight and Yo Gaba-Gaba... or whatever.
I hate magazines. But only in public. I secretly love reading up on what eyeliner works best with what embarrassing moment, and why, as a Leo, should I stay in bed this month and start watching Glee. It's pop culture for the stupid and everyone should have as many guilty pleasures as I do.
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