I'm a real classy broad.

So maybe you've noticed, maybe you haven't, but I added a little sidebar doodiebopper that features what book I'm presently reading. And considering my reading list in the past three months has included the entire Twilight series, Chasing Harry Winston, and now, presently, He's Just Not That Into You, I'd just like to tell you now: I'm embarrassed by my reading list. I swear I'm deeper than this.

I swear there was a time pre-child that I used to have philosophy study sessions with people while we waxed Nietsche and Kant. I drank chai and I read things like Steinbeck and Tolstoy. I used big words and my deepest question of the day was significantly more insightful than, "Jesus, kid, WHAT did you eat to produce THAT?"

Unfortunately, I only get time for myself in increments of about an hour at a time and damnit, I just don't have the time or emotional involvement to wrap myself around real books. But I swear I used to be classy and real sophisticated like. And I swear that I have Of Mice and Men and Atlas Shrugged on my reading list. No. Really. I do.

Right after I finish reading this book and this week's Star magazine and perusing Perez Hilton for the umpteenth time today.