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Mind Sex.

Love the artwork.

As much as I love to write, I also love to read. Blogs, magazines, newspapers, and especially books. I love the way they smell, the way they feel, how the rips, or creases, or pen marks on certain pages can remind you of where and when you read that specific book in your life. It’s a story within a story. To say I was sad to find out my local Borders was closing would be an understatement. Me and Jeyel actually contemplated on pouring a 40 to its memory. I know that I can easily purchase books just as efficiently on Amazon, but there’s no online equivalent for me sitting on the floor in the corner of the bookstore with a white mocha engulfed in the pages of some of my guilty pleasures, i.e. Maxim, and US Weekly. Don’t worry, I actually buy books too.

Kindles are cool, and extremely convenient, but I’m old school. I have a sketch book right next to my Wacom tablet, and own a daily planner I purchased from my old college although I write my schedule on my iPhone as well. I fear that I may forget how to handwrite with all the typing I do. And I’m too careless with expensive things to ever bring a tablet onto the beach. As posh as technology is, I find an actual bound book in my beach bag more aesthetically pleasing. Besides, my Maui Babes browning lotion would fuck up a Kindle real fast.

The lighting in this library does it for me. Real intimate.

Lately, I’ve become more and more obsessed with home libraries. Thanks to Pinterest, and Tumblr (which I’m both on, come find me!) I constantly find myself clicking and repinning pictures of dream libraries. Next to a walk in closet, it’s probably my next most unnecessary home necessity. My dream library would smell like new books mixed with lavender, and consist of big windows, a rolling ladder, an old victrola, and a huge bean bag or big, comfy couch in the middle of the room.

My friends like to give me shit when it comes to men. “Does this one read?” or, “OMG he reads, you should marry him!” seem to be popular phrases. Blame it on the one guy I dated who didn’t know how to use the shift button on his phone, and never spelled to, too, and two correctly. While they’re just joking around (kinda), I realized that I don’t know too many men that read books. Not that men don’t, and not that men are stupid. I just don’t know too many who read for leisure.

But fellas, it’s a good look. Contrary to popular belief, some females do care about more than your bankroll and penis *gasp*. We wanna make sure your head down there matches your head up there. A man who reads books is sexy. A man who reads good books that I will want to borrow is even better. And a man who reads my blog? Well, you just know what’s good for ya hah! IMO, books are like porn. And I want a library that is the literary equivalent to the San Fernando Valley. Maybe me and you can start a book club together 😉

Don't think this is someone's house, but I would LOVE to study here.

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