Feeling: Like my head is an overinflated football
Listening to: Josh Groban. Le sigh.
Reading/Watching: Frickin' everything, man. Not enough time in the world for all the books.

Can I put words to how much fun it is to wander around a *huge huge* bookstore? I know it makes me a dork, but this is something I'm proud of. :)

I needed to read the final book in a trilogy I've been reading, but it was nowhere to be found in libraries or at Half-Price, so I buckled under to obsessive curiosity and bought it at Barnes & Noble (damned corporates and their wide selection). By the way, how annoying is it when people say Barnes & NobleS? I hate it. Kinda like when people say "'Youston," "mischeevious," and "sherbert."

Anyway. I spent a good hour and a half wandering around, going from the classics to the vague "fiction and literature" (I love that delicate distinction), to the sci-fi and fantasy. I am a weird dichotomy-reader in that I love fantasy and dead-British-chick books. Terry Brooks, Weis & Hickman, Piers Anthony, Jennifer Roberson, Melanie Rawn... and Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte, and Georgette Heyer. One fetish gives me an 'in' to any geek-clique I wish. The other alienates me from a good part of the world (or at least, anyone who doesn't drink tea with an elevated pinkie finger).

I forgot how huge B&N is; it was like being at a carnival, smelling the new-book smell, looking at the covers (thinking wistfully of the day one of them will have my name on it), reading dust jackets and imagining what I'd buy if I had a thousand dollars to spend. Or even just a hundred.

But I really wish there were a guy out there I could be geeky with, when it comes to books. Someone who doesn't listen to me gush about novels and then say something awkward about how they "never got into reading." (like I mind? that's like me explaining to them that I "never got into football." falls into the *inconsequential* category.) I need a guy who doesn't regard my book-obsession as a freakish flaw, or a rival he must contend with.

Chris knew how to do it; when I was buried in words (like Belle, walking through the village, weaving around people), he would gently pull down the top of the book, get me with those brilliant blue-green eyes, and smile goofily, "Hellooo." It won over the swords and sorcerers every time. But he was a bookworm; he knew how it worked.

Nowadays guys will hover uncertainly, ask, "Uh... what're you reading?" and then ask the dreaded question, "What's it about?" and I'll have to answer, and they've denied me five minutes (which could have been spent on five pages) for no reason at all.

What I want is a guy who sees me reading, grins ruefully, then squeezes my shoulder and walks by, thinking, That's my girl. (Or better yet, sits beside me and pulls out a book of his own.)

Just realized this is my 400th entry. Rock on with my bad self.

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