cuteness

This is an entirely egotistical blog.

I look darn cute this evening. I finally got enough rest and drugs in me to feel pretty normal. So, since it was a friend's birthday today and I'd been planning on going up and chilling with her for awhile, I took a shower this evening and put on clothes--clean ones that happened to be cute. Hey, if I'm going to celebrate a friend's birthday, I can't just wear my shlubby sick person clothes.

And, since I'm being egotistical, I'm going to tell you what I wore. For one, I wore my "Annelle" boots which have sentimental value, especially with the friends that I hung out with this evening. I wore my new jeans that I got yesterday as well as a fuschia tank top and a beige jacket. The compliment about the jeans: "Don't take this the wrong way, but your ass looks good in those jeans." Ha! Made me smile. Maybe not the best language, but the compliment was much appreciated. (Oh! Scandalous!)

[took a blogging break in here to change out of cute clothes and to prevent further dancing]

It was so much fun to hang with fellow English majors. I don't want to sound exclusive, but they're a great bunch of people, and there's a way that we relate that's unique and, well, I guess it is kind of exclusive. But not in a mean way, it just kind of happens circumstantially. I'm just beyond the fringe of it myself, getting closer to the core group. I need to start writing more so that I can bring stuff to Ave and participate. [removed topic: depression killed my creativity and it's still not quite to where it used to be. must find again!]

I was surrounded by adult smells up there. One was the smell of tobacco smoke. It was pungent and, dare I say it?, delightful. Why can something that's so bad for you actually seem good? *sigh* That's one habit that I'd probably be willing to take up...except it easily becomes an addiction, and I've had it with addictions. They suck. Also, I believe I smelled alcohol on someone's person, but not sure. It might've just been cologne and guy sweat masquerading as alcohol. Either way, it was a reality check. I'm growing up. I'll be twenty-one in a few weeks and that's the end of youth--in a sense. I'm going to be an official adult--not that I'm even interested in the privileges normally associated with that age--and it's kind of scary. With growing up comes a boatload of responsibilities. Carefree days of youth can be kissed sayonara. Isn't this ironic...the song that just came over my speakers? Bittersweet Symphony by The Verve. Hm.

Anyhow, back to me. (Remember, this is an egotistical blog, and I fully intend on going all Peter Pan on you and proclaiming, "Oh the glory of me!") So I got back to my room after all this, still dressed all cute, and feeling more alert. I turned on my music and started dancing in front of my mirror--this is a typical activity for me. (One must perfect one's moves, mustn't one?) And I've come to the conclusion that my future husband--whoever he might be, should he exist at some point in the future--shall be captivated by my hips. Let me explain that. Similar to some of the Song of Songs passages, but not quite the same extent, I dance with my hips...a sort of pseudo belly dancing move.

Eh, it's the reason why I don't dance in front of people. I'd probably get kicked out of school if I performed that move in public...at least on campus. Now I sound slutty. That wasn't the intention, b/c it's not particularly ho-ish. Just at this point in time, in the circumstances I find myself in, it would be inappropriate. (I'm so digging myself a hole right now, but I feel this urge to keep explaining myself. And I'm too lazy to go back and delete and rewrite. Plus, it's more fun for the reader if he/she can read the inner conflicts of my mind. Or maybe I'm purely delusional.)

All this to say, I looked cute, I dance provocatively--which is why I DON'T dance in front of anyone--and I'm obviously still sick. Otherwise, this blog would never have been written. I'm embarrassed now. I'm going to go hide my head under my pillow.