Psychedelic.

Alright. So, I just suddenly remembered The Ashes (see followers--I am too lazy to create a hyperlink) has the guilty pleasure of reading young adult novels. Well, I have discovered my most shameful pleasure is reading trashy, trashy teen magazines.
I mean, they're just awful. It's like Playboy: some great articles, but that's not why most people buy it. They like the celebrities and beauty and health questions, also known as sex questions and am I too fat questions. Personally, I like to look at the fashion and take the quizzes ("Are You a Good Flirt [that's what it tells me]?" or "Are You a Twi-Hard [not so, I'm afraid]?"). It's fun. I've also noticed that over time, the shopping and things has gone from 'saves and splurges' to 'outfits under 50$' because nobody wants to read about the 200$ clutch they can't afford anymore, I guess.
It's not as if I don't read good and decent magazines, because I do. I enjoy Maclean's quite a lot; it is a magazine full of strongly opinionated but open-minded writers aimed at readers just like them. It's great. I like Elle Canada because it is kind of my life force. I don't know why, I just really like the Elle Guy article and usually the other articles are really insightful for every day life. Plus, the high fashion photos are inspiration for art a lot of times, and I often save certain pages and tape them to a variety of things because the photography is very unique and even rhythmic. Depending on the photographer, of course. I also know that both Chatelaine and Homemakers have AWESOME recipes, for meals and desserts, some of which I will attempt to make in the near future (as in possibly Christmas). And I also read the Walrus at Chloe's house, and I quite enjoyed that too. I should get me some of that.
Anyway, I just love teen magazines. They're great. I know they're really not, but I can't help but dive into one every chance I get, even if I just end up making fun of it the whole time. Actually, sometimes I can't handle the stupidity of them so I skip the section entirely (flirting tips, for example), but otherwise, I think they're a fine form of amusement for half an hour or so. Plus, the bright colours are great for collaging, one of my favourite things to do.
Anyway, this isn't even what I was going to blog about. I was going to blog about ym adventure to the store. I was counting my steps while I walked in the cold wind with Clara to get some milk and, yes, a trashy teen magazine (although that was not in the original plan). I counted them in groups of eight, like music. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 2, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 3, 2, 3, 4, etc. When I got to ten groups of eight, I counted that as one on my fingers, as in one group of ten eights, or eighty. I believe in total I counted to 14 on my hands, from my house to the store and back, excluding steps inside the store. 14 x 80 = 1120, so I took 1120 steps to walk to the store and back. I don't know why I did this, or why I felt compelled to blog about it, because it's turning out to be a relatively short blog particularly in comparison to my spontaneous magazine blog, but here we are. Or should I say here I am, since I can't really know if you're even there. I guess that's why I call you ghosts.
Oh goodness, I just got another blog idea. I won't do it here, because this simply cannot be that long, but be prepared! The next blog: ghosts. My ghosts. Not the normal kind. As it would be assumed, all things considered. All persons considered.
Oh yeah, and I end today with a super faded period. Conclusive, but soft around the edges.