Vince Gill and Amy Grant smile up at me from the magazine cover of a popular women's magazine that's been sitting off to the side of my bedroom bureau waiting to be chosen for my reading pleasure. Valuable articles like Hidden Heart Risks and 75 Look-Great Fixes for Bad Hair Days gleam in white against a dark pink background. I've been waiting for the right time to sit back and relax and read at least a few of these pieces for a while now. Quite a while. This issue is from February 2010.
I don't want to give you the idea that I'm some kind of magazine hoarder. Anymore, that is. Not all that long ago I tossed several issues that had been given to me by relatives and friends (and which I had taken very willingly) once they were done with them, without even tearing out any of the ageless household tips or three-ingredient recipes. This was necessary when I noticed a thickening layer of dust that covered the pile of semi-forgotten issues applying for its own zip code under my bed.
I have been in homes with a perfectly splayed gathering of magazines positioned in a Martha Stewart sanctioned basket in their guest bathroom (you know who you are, and I am admittedly jealous of your subscription status with various publications). Even those magazines are constantly refreshed so that new faces stare at you each time you are seated - as if anyone is going to admit to flipping through them while... never mind. Seriously though, I have yet to be in the company of visitors in these households where someone comes out of there and says, "Hey, did you read that article in Good Housekeeping about Michelle Pfeiffer? I folded the first page over for you." Wait -- at what point exactly in your... your reading did you fold it?
I'm only teasing - I have flipped through these magazines on occasion. I'll just never admit which ones.
Getting back to the issue at hand (I wasn't even going for the double meaning, but there you have it), the last survivor of my periodical expulsion, let's review what was happening then.
Peter Facinelli (the vampire dad in the Twilight movies, which, in my wait-until-it-comes-out-in-DVD opinion were pushed to the cobwebs of everyone's mind by the Hunger Games movies that followed) was still married to Jennie Garth.
Valerie Bertinelli was the spokesperson for Jenny Craig (and supposedly, much to Kirstie Alley's delight, she has put weight back on - there must be a celebrity blog out there where you can find all the scandalous details).
Have you noticed a pattern above? The "inelli" thing and the Jennie/Jenny thing? That wasn't even on purpose but I find it necessary to point its weirdness out.
Matthew McConaughey was still tossing out quotable comments about how women shouldn't try to change the little boy in a man. He wasn't married to his Brazilian model wife for another two years but they started popping out their three kids before that. Maybe he makes her tell people she has four.
The best new products of 2010 were promoted. Now I really want one of those flexible grilling skewers.
I found a healthy makeover recipe for buffalo wings (my spouse won't appreciate this) and some "almost vegetarian" recipes (which is right up my alley, considering I bought a Martha Stewart vegetarian cookbook and turned one recipe into a poultry dish because it lacked flavor, pretty much defeating the purpose). Naturally, I tore out these pages so I could stuff them into one of the folders stuck high in the kitchen shelves that hold a few hundred other appetizing instructions for meals I have never made.
It's been fun to reminisce and glean valuable information at the same time. But the main reason I kept this magazine in the first place was to read the article about Vince and Amy, which I can't do right now because I've taken up too much time writing this blog and now I want breakfast. I'll just set it right where I had it on the side of my bureau. I'm sure I'll get back to it soon.
Then again... maybe I should put it in the bathroom.