Since 2006, I've been collecting these books of fluff and fantasies about eras long gone by, that people frequently ask me, "What the hell are you doing with all these trashy books?!" Well, I don't have a straight answer for that. I love them, sometimes hate them, occasionally want to throw them against a wall, but restrain myself from doing so. And people sometimes tell me that I should either burn them or sell them.
What, a girl can't have her own collection of these in her room?
Anyway, I've seen the Smart Bitches, Trashy Books webpage, and am nowhere near their caliber of literary critique, although I do have a very big potty mouth, so that's to be expected along the way. I've always wanted to write reviews about the books I've read (and video games I've played, and movies I've watched, etc...) but never really thought about an actual literary analysis until recently (my VERY cute grad-student English teacher bases his class on a lot of discussion, and I do very poorly on it, yet still have a good grade).
Not that I should feel intimidated by those Smart Bitches. I think they're older than me anyway, so they can claim the "being wiser" thing, while I claim youth and inexperience (thank you, The Young Victoria). I'm pretty sure it's true.
So I'm risking my college career, my health (lack of sleep due to persistent reading till the dawn breaks), and my social life just to fulfill a fantasy. People think I'm crazy, but it's no biggie (hah, yeah right!)
Welcome, all ye readers to A Daily Dose of Unreality!
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