How I Came To Own A Book Called: Nourish Your Inner Martyr

Tuesdays are always a problem.  I have an hour of free time every Tuesday between work and hanging out with my favorite eleven month old rockstar kid.  This particular Tuesday however, I seriously wish I had just gone shoe shopping instead. 

“I’ll only go over there for a second,” I resolutely whispered to myself.  “Just to see.  I’m strong, I learned my lesson.  I know better…”

And then I took a few fateful steps and entered the “self-help” aisle in Barnes and Noble (where pride goes to die).  And after picking up 5 or 6 books thinking I should limit myself to only buying two (!) a new thought came into my head: “Fuck.  Why do I always end up in self-help?!” 

For starters, because I hate books written by Jodi Picoult/Nicholas Sparks that tell girls they can cry their pitiful ways into love- and those books are being peddled like crack-cocaine in Compton (or so I’ve heard).  And because I don’t really get biographies (there are movies for this shit), and because I don’t care what highly-effective people’s habits are, or how to get the most likes on my facebook posts (most recently about how awful healthy oatmeal is.  Seriously).

I’ve always thought the most fascinating things about book stores was how much pure information was stored there.  There’s also a lot of bullshit, since Democrats won’t stop publishing books.  But God knows I always think- I could totally be a better/more impressive/funnier/wittier/more knowledgable person.  I just need the book to tell me how.

Or a blog to remind me I’m an idiot.

But seriously, the book you choose to spend money on, take home and maybe read says a lot about who you are who you think you are.  Throughout the store, there are pages that can teach me how to write (pssshhht), how to give the best blow jobs (psshhht… ??), what happened to Rome or why I have daddy issues. 

And then I found myself eating not one but two cookies staring at books called Skinny Bitch and decided to give Amazon a shot in the future.

*Sorry, typos abound in this post.  My sugar intake knocked a few points off the IQ apparently*