As the days dwindled toward my birthday, I became keenly aware of the vast amount of advertisement directly targeted at me. And well, it ain't pretty, folks. It's down right disturbing.It seems the list of products to make me me a better cook, to organize my house, to get me in shape, to  keep me young and beautiful and just in general, to make me better while also inducing comfort is as insane as the run-on sentence I just wrote. Whether it is Space Bags or Face Lift in a Bottle, I have noticed that all the women are right about my age. And they (and therefore, I) have a problem. And this product will solve my problem!I am a lover of self-improvement as much as anyone. But things are getting ridiculous. No wonder I'm the neurotic mess that I am.It used to be that the standard was "I can bring home the bacon. Fry it up in the pan and never, never let you forget that your a man". And at that time, a bottle of Enjoli seemed to be the fix to that.But now I am supposed to have a house decorated by Nate Berkus after having been purged of all unnecessary things by Peter Walsh utilizing Container Store products. And as a mom, waiting until school is much too late for my children to learn to read. And of course, there is a product to fix that,"My Baby Can Read". This can then be followed by teaching them French, English, German, and Italian via "Muzzy". It seems, my bra gives me back-fat and I have parenthesis on my face which of course, can be fixed by some new injectable junk to remedy those persnickity half circles. In other words, I don't just need to "look good for my age", I need to look young -- unnaturally so.And then I thought I had found the worst "As Seen on TV" product -- the Pajama Jean -- but no, there was more. I don't need to just bring home the bacon and fry it up in a pan. It seems to make him never ever forget that he's a man, I need to start stripping. Yes, that's right. For just a few monthly payments of $19.95, I can get a video teaching me how to do a pole dance and yes, it comes with its own collapsible pole.Now I am all for keeping it spicy with my husband. And if the pole works for you, swing on, baby! I just feel like the marketing to my insecurities has gone insane! I don't want a pole, restalyn, or pajama pants masquerading as jeans. I don't want to be a MILF! Men get sexy and distinguished as they age, I get a four letter word.So what's a girl to do? I could spend hours ranting over the disparity of the sexes, the ridiculousness of Madison Avenue and QVC, or I can do one simple thing.I can turn off the TV.(Let's see how that works out.)