Update on Europe

I received my passport in the mail on Monday.  Now the next question is, how am I gonna pay for Europe?

My one-month brush with love, ten years later

Okay, so this is a story from when I was eleven.  I'm writing this now because a couple of hours ago, I realized that ten years ago to this month, I was in love.  I was also eleven years old and in sixth grade.

This is my Unreality.

I felt it was appropriate to post here for this kind of situation, so here it goes.

I was planning on going to Europe with my family this summer.  Not immediate, but first-level relatives (cousin, aunt, uncle) with whom I'm close to.  They'll be going to Paris and London, two places I haven't been since I was nine years old.

Well...now they'll all be going, because I can't.

People advise me...

...that I should be writing my own books.

It's a possibility.  I'd like to.  I'm supposed to be extending the story I wrote during this past semester (which is now over, thank God, so I can finally get to work on this thing) but I'm not sure if I'm ready to be branching out and writing my own romance novels.

Sometimes I even ask myself...

...why do I do this so much?  Why do I buy so many romance novels, only for my money to fly out of my wallet and into the bankbooks of the authors whom I idolize.  And not just authors, it's anything that I purchase that benefits the bank accounts of someone else.

From my point of view

A twenty-year-old college girl with seventy-plus books about romance on her shelf.  From Shana Abé to Sue-Ellen Welfonder, and many other authors in-between, I can honestly say I am obsessed with romance novels.

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!