I've been reading a ton of men's magazines lately, such as GQ, Esquire and such. I love them. They are always deeply entertaining on many levels. I've been trying to come up with a post about why I so enjoy these periodicals. Luckily, this month GQ published an article which pretty much epitomizes the goodness of men's magazines for me. It was entitled Find Your Inner Bro, Bro! (Sadly, the entire article is not included with the link. However, the slide show is quite nice.)

It's a very silly article about the whole "bro" phenomenon, done as an index of bro-related terms such as:

Brotidian pleasures: Eleven pm SportsCenter, Cheeseburger Hot Pockets, YouPorn.

Has-bro: A man who used to be a bro but lost his brojo. William Shatner; Jack Nicholson; Broe Biden; Huey Lewis

Hebro: A member of the Brosen People. Adam Sandler; Seth Brogen; Jason Segel; Judah Friedlander; Asher Roth (officially half-Brosen).

You get the idea. Funny! So at first, this article was pretty much what I expected. Not exactly deep thinking. But then they listed The 137 Greatest Bro Names. I will give just a sampling here.

Vincent Van Brogh
Broam Chomsky
Helmut Brohl
Slobrodan Milosevic
Rimbraud
William Jefferson Clinton

And then there was this hilarious and totally unexpected entry.

Russian Literature: Pound for pound, there is no canon in the history of literature as bro-ey as that of the Russians. 1. Fyodor Brostoevsky (created legendary self-defeating brotagonist Raskbrolnikov; wrote Brotes from the Underground) 2. Leo Brolstoy 3. Aleksander Brolzhenitsyn (surely you've read The Gulag Archipelabro?) 4. Nikolai Brogol (Dead Brouls, The Brovercoat) 5. Fyodor Brologub 6. Vladimir Nabrokov (author of Brolita)

See, that right there is why I just love men's magazines. On the same page, I got some low-brow jokes about Taco Bell and Matthew McConaughey's fake tan right alongside these surprisingly high-brow jokes about Russian literature. You would never find this kind of article in any women's magazine. I've read them all. Apparently women don't want too much humor in their magazines. Well, okay, Cosmo often has some funny stuff in it. But nothing like this. Nothing that's simultaneously stupid and smart, satirical yet affectionate, high and low. Men's magazines embrace every part of their readership. They offer something for every part of a man's personality, and they seem to assume that every man will have most or all of these differing parts. Every issue will have articles about sports AND fashion AND dating AND work AND pop culture AND cars AND often even about cooking. Women's magazines seem to offer so much less. They pretty much never write about sports, for example. But I like the sports articles and I have to imagine I'm not the only woman who does.

That's why I love men's magazines. They are just better magazines. Better in every way.

So run right out and pick up this month's GQ, folks. 'Cause the advice column from Austrian fashion journalist Bruno is pure comedy gold!

Seeing the fireworks filled me with sweet, pure delight. Happy 4th to you all!

We found out, at long last, exactly when my dear husband is departing for Parts Hot & Crappy. August 11 is the official day of departure.

What a relief to know something concrete in this Fog of Work. Now I can get down to business with some seriously anal-retentive planning in the baby-sitter department.

In yoga today, the teacher said something that moved me so deeply. She said, "On your life's journey, just like in yoga, no effort is ever wasted."

No effort is ever wasted.

Oh, lord, please let that be true.

Welcome to the next decade, l_l_u_w_d! Everybody go say hi to her and give her some love!

Cleaned up my home. Moved a couple things about to open up the feng shui in my kitchen -- because who doesn't want more Prosperity and Fortunate Blessings in their life? I figure every bit helps. Moved some clutter out of Love & Relationships. Cleared the table and put on a fresh tablecloth in Family & Community. Recycled some papers and old magazines from Offspring.

Yes, here it is, folks: yet another attempt to control my life, this time via the power of magical thinking. But at any rate, I did get a nice clean place out of it, magic or no magic. That's got to count as a win.

I got a massage from a coworker. It was one of the most thorough I've ever gotten and my tweaky left shoulder feels oh so much better. What a relief! I'm gonna go sleep like a baby now, kthxbai.

Had some clients, but nothing crazy. Went out to dinner with Norman and his friend who's visiting from out of town. Had a delicious salad at the Austin Grill, and a lot of guacamole. Mmmm. I love that stuff.

When Norman goes abroad in the middle of August, I'll be taking a hiatus from my work at the VA. And that's making me a little sad. I'll really miss that work and be looking forward to getting back to it.

This morning in yoga, we were doing all this work on our hams & glutes. We were lifting our kneecaps, blossoming our sit-bones (that is the way bi-colored python rock snakes always talk in yoga class, oh best beloved) and extending our spines, and I complained -- okay, maybe whined is the right word -- that my hams were burning. And the teacher actually laughed at me. She said, "I love these people who complain that they have tight hamstrings while they are palming the floor!" Which I was. And I started to laugh too because I realized that she was right. I was doing THAT THING. That thing where nothing's ever good enough. I saw it happening and it was pretty funny.

And then drlaurac and I had a conversation and she reminded me that perfectionism and being controlling are basically two sides of the same evil coin. Being a perfectionist is essentially a form of trying to control everything about yourself that you can. And people become controlling because of fear and anxiety. Hah. That feels pretty right.

And then barbarienne and I had a frank exchange of personalities, which started out very stressful for me but finished up as oddly freeing. So that was better than I would have thought. I can always count on her to call me on my bullshit. What a precious attribute in a friend!

So all in all, this felt like a day when I made some progress. Also, this was a day which only confirmed my feeling that the Universe is always sending us lessons, and if we don't learn them, then we get the make-up work, and then if we still don't pay attention, we get remedial summer school. So I am sincerely hoping that it's time to move on to the next lesson!

And best of all my husband is home from his trip. Ahhhh.

I was nowhere near that Red Line Metro crash. However, one of my clients got trapped in the ensuing traffic SNAFU and had to reschedule for tomorrow.

And the kids started camp, and everything is full of sparkly unicorn farts!

Spent the whole day chilling with lotusice and her excellent family and barbarienne. Ate delicious fajitas. Felt really good. Tired now!

Whenever I began to feel a little tightness creeping into my body, I simply reminded myself that I'm in Tortuga swilling rum and pinching asses right now. There's nothing to worry about in Tortuga.

Amazingly enough, this stupid mental trick worked like gangbusters. I had a terrific day today.

And from the department of "Let's Call It Progress," latest intel suggests that husband is departing for warmer parts in the middle of August. Which means he'll probably not be home in time for Thanksgiving. Stupid slow-moving agencies! Ugh.

Also, a client brought me a huge bag of used books! Hot, naughty, nasty romances with naked dudes on their covers. WINNER!

Let me take a while to contemplate this stress which is so bedeviling me lately. What is it? It's nebulous and full of nothing. It actively avoids my gaze. It pretends to be nothing, or it hides in plain sight as a headache or an upset stomach. It stays away from my mind and instead sinks down into the body as a coldness, a heaviness or as lethargy. It is like a ninja; it stealthily creeps into my being and tries to harm me while I can't see it.

In this sense it is similar to insomnia. Insomnia is horribly self-reinforcing. As I lie awake, I feel so tired and frustrated that I can't release myself to sleep. The more angry and uptight I get, the farther away sleep goes. Likewise, my stress is itself the source of my stress. The more I feel miserable and frustrated, the more I begin to thrash about, the more stressed-out I become. The more I focus on my stress and the uncertainty of the future, the more my stress assumes monumental proportions in my mind and forces out the possibility of relaxing and releasing.

I'm not stressed-out about any particular thing that I can currently identify. I've made a good plan, one that's easy to follow. I have good routines in place. I'm not worried about money, or my ability to deal with my kids. I'm not very worried about coping with Norm's absence; maybe I am a little worried about it. I think maybe I am a bit worried about how this separation might affect our relationship over the long term. There it is again! The cloud-like stress! Worrying about how my marriage will fare 2 or 3 years from now is a classic sort of nebulous, formless anxiety. It's really a worry that says, "oh, some magical, unstoppable force will wrench my life away from me and I won't be able to do anything about it." There's no direct method to calm this sort of anxiety. The only solution is to surrender to the Universe. I can't ever protect myself from every single source of chaos in the world. That's not actually possible. I have to let myself trust life.

Hah, I had an amusing thought. If this stress is like a ninja, what opposes ninjas? As we all know, pirates are the natural foes of ninjas! And indeed, the piratical mindset is a fine antidote to this cloud-stress-ninja. Pirates don't depend on a settled home or any form of solid ground. They only go to Tortuga to take on crew and get drunk. They allow themselves to be carried by the powerful forces of the ocean, trusting it and riding it skillfully. They trust that the ocean will bring them good things, and when good things heave into view, that's when pirates spring into action, vigorously grappling with their prey. And pirates understand when it's not time to fight, then it's time to mend equipment and take on more ammunition and supplies, and after that it's definitely time to relax and get rip-roaring drunk, savoring any pleasures to be had -- because in the morning the tide will go out and it'll be time to get back on deck.

I guess I need to access my inner Captain Blood. I need to let myself relax here in Tortuga for another little while. In only a few weeks I'll have to get back under sail, ready for battle. But right now I'm in harbor and I ought to let myself enjoy that a little. ARRRRRRRR!! ME HEARTIES!!

I'm at the pool! It's the best place in the world. God-sized motrin is working its magic on the headache. Ahhh.

Another visit with Cowboy Yoda. He's so perceptive. It's like he's very, very gently trapping me under a large forked stick. The whole experience is always a bit scary. Ugh.

As much as I really want to achieve a higher level of mental health and well-being, it's just so unbelievably scary turning over those rocks and looking at whatever's been hidden beneath them all this time. Even when I know perfectly well what's under there, I still don't really want to look at it even while alone, worse yet in company with another person. And of course at this stage of life, I now know enough to understand that I don't actually know everything I'll find under the rocks, either. There's bound to be a couple of horrible surprises in there somewhere. However, I know from experience that the only thing worse than digging about for these things is letting them come for me, ambushing me and crushing me when I'm just trying to get on with my life. So I'll keep digging, thank you, although I reserve the right to not enjoy it very much.

Still, I am bolstered by one true thing I learned during my last big crash: I am the architect of my situation. It was extremely painful to discover that I was responsible for a lot of my own misery. But it's empowering to understand that I can improve my situation now and for the rest of my life.

Siiiiiiiiiiigh. So tired. Got a headache. Limbs rubbery. Ugh.

Three-day sale at Eddie Bauer! Oh how I love their colors this season. Got a handful of tank tops to wear for all that exercising I've been doing. Got a couple of cute little sweaters to wear over the tank tops, because now that I am an old lady I need sweaters even when it is hot out.

Didn't get any pants. The pants all had that Super Adventure Pant thing that EB loves so much, unfortunately along with the Evil Fattening Pockets that they also love a little too much. You know what I mean. The vertical pockets at or near the seam which gape open if you breath deeply or eat anything at all, ever. Ugh. The only way I'd wear those pants would be if I really WAS on an adventure -- and no one else was there -- and they were literally the LAST pants on earth. And seeing as how no one else was there, maybe I'd just not bother with pants.

So that was my day! Tacos and watermelon for supper. Tomorrow is the last day of school. We'll be off to the pool!

Went to IHOP for breakfast. Delicious as always. Brought the leftovers home for later. Why are portions so weirdly large everywhere? It freaks me out lately.

My schedule at work is pretty bare today, but my hand was hurting me a little on Friday so I feel good about getting a break. My only regret: did not have time to play Rune Factory Frontier this morning. Alas. Maybe later.

Sale at Eddie Bauer tomorrow. Time to shop!

Happy Birthday to slobbit!! May you kick more ass this year than ever before!

Insomnia sucks ass!! But I still dragged myself to a very good yoga class and then got a massage which I SORELY NEEDED.

And then had some nice lunch with my honey. And leveled up a little bit in RFF. And now I'm off to work, hi-ho, hi-ho.

And let's all pray that I sleep well tonight, ugh.