01.08.05

I went out dancing last night.

Danced too much.

Danced to *gulp* 1980s butt-rock, as well as *gulp* disco, 1970s funk (that was the best), but drew the line at Michael Jackson anything.

Was astonished and impressed by the breakdancing going on. Oh, to have ever been that young.

Had one half of a beer.

Spilled candle wax all over myself while re-lighting a candle.

Stayed out too late and got up too early this morning.

Tried to nap; all of the sudden I'm freaking queen of phone calls.

Only managed to watch one Elvis movie today, Viva Las Vegas.

Have a headache.

And a bellydance gig tonight at a bar that I'm not certain exists. Though I have been assured that it does by several people--guess I'll leave early and give myself some time to find it.

By the way, tonight's outfit is a symphony of silver, red and black--and my pink ballet slippers. Pits are shaved, wig brushed out, padding in bra. Oh yah, baby, I'm breaking a heart tonight; even if it's only my own.

Dangerspouse, I don't know that I can provide pictures. After all, I'm dancing after a fashion show, and everyone will be distracted by vacuous young things wearing strings and such. Maybe pictures of them would suffice?

Now to figure out a hidden drip pump of caffeine for the evening...

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