Advice For The Birds

Just like I occasionally need a Big Mac, though it inevitably sends me running for the toilet within 15 minutes of ingestion, every now and again I need to buy a women's magazine-even though I always wind up feeling like an alien species afterward.

You'd think, being a woman who's marginally involved in the media, I'd constantly be snatching up the latest ladies' rags to see what's up with my gender, but you'd be mistaken. Not that I'm such a smarty pants, but most mags geared to my demographic are remarkably silly-dare I say, downright retarded. Whereas men's magazines cover topics like, say, the war (sure, they're stuck in between features on Scotch and furtive bra-removal techniques, but still), women's periodicals are almost exclusively devoted to either losing those pesky last five pounds, ridiculous clothing I couldn't afford even if I did suddenly find the inexplicable boho-chic look appealing, or tricking some fool into marrying me. (Oddly enough, even packed with such ample ammo, the stories contained are almost never even the slightest bit funny!)

But like I said, occasionally I succumb to their lure (inevitably, three to five days prior to menstruation, when I'm at my womanliest). This month I was perusing the racks when a screaming yellow headline on the cover of Cosmopolitan reached out and grabbed me: "50 Ways to Be a Better Girlfriend."

Always deeply concerned with being the best girlfriend I can possibly be, I plunked down my $3.99, but then wondered if I should've made my boyfriend pay, as it would appear he'd be benefiting most.

Plopping my ass down at the kitchen table, I cracked open a beer and turned immediately to page 258. "Flirt like crazy-even if you're attached. The male attention is good for your ego," was the first tip. Though it sounded dubious, I decided to test it out.

There weren't any other men around to show my boobies to, so I just yelled into the living room and asked the Large Greek if he thought it would help our relationship if I started flirting with other people.

The roar of a kung fu movie turned immediately to silence. "WHAT?!?" he yelped, not unlike a little girl with an unfortunate hormonal disorder. He stalked into the kitchen in his tighty whities, all red-faced and perspiring, and started sputtering about what a stupid idea that was and how would I like it if he started flirting with other girls. BF didn't realize my queries were all in the name of scientific research. He kept yelling even though I couldn't stop laughing.

"Bitch your guy out when he pisses you off," was another bit of proffered wisdom. I've got this tip down. Even prior to reading it in Cosmopolitan, where I was assured that this was a "turn-on" for most men, I've never been one to hesitate about letting my bitch flag fly. I am deeply saddened to report that, far from getting all hot and bothered, my experience has been that the person you're hollering at generally gets mad right back at you. In fact, it's about as much of a turn-on as flirting with others and then laughing in BF's face.

This one cracked me right up: "Gwyneth and Chris Martin are my relationship role models," shared one tipster. Yuck! Mr. and Mrs. Sanctimonious Milquetoast are two of the dullest and most remarkably annoying people ever elevated to celebrity. Don't you just want to douse them in oatmeal and send them far, far away? I know I do. What about Bobby and Whitney? Bobby reached his whole arm up and yanked an impacted doody out of Whitney's colon; now that's love. Or Kate Moss and Pete "Drugs Up His Bum" Doherty? Sure, one or the other could OD at any given moment, but at least there's an element of suspense involved. But Gwynnie and Chris? Please. And besides, that's not even a tip!

If it weren't already glaringly obvious that Cosmo was clueless, I then stumbled upon this little gem: "Allow your guy to take care of you when you've got a nasty bug." No thanks! When I'm sick, I like to be left alone. Sure, keep me stocked with tissues and my beverage of choice, but otherwise, go away. This boyfriend of mine, though, he has other ideas. "Let me rub you down with alcohol," he inevitably offers. Huh? How is that going to make my diarrhea go away and, more to the point, how would letting him do that make me a better girlfriend?

Which brings us to my favorite tip. If your man tells you he loves you and you're not ready to say it back, you should "shut him up with a kiss rather than crushing his ego with an 'I know.'" Oh, please. When the guy offers the ILY first, both of you know full well that you have the upper hand for all eternity. He said it first! Nah, nah! If he's any kind of sport, he's not going to begrudge you a victory lap around the sofa. If he's a keeper he'll even high-five you.