I bought a red dress. Whether or not I'll dance with men remains to be determined. (Hint: It's less likely than I'd like it to be.) At least I will dance, which I like to do.

We shouted at cellists during the concert, from the balcony no less. They turned away in fear. One yawned! They were probably a little freaked out. I can do better than this, right? I must be more courageous. Oh please.

I'm pretty afraid of rejection. Why should I? The cellist thing was so awkward, even though I had nothing at stake. What, am I hideous? I am not hideous, I am an attractive human being with an interesting bosom wearing a red dress. Hell, I am pretty, and really my most unattractive bits are parts of my personality that occasionally come forward in full force. You don't need to dance with my nasty personas, really, just dance with my bosom and my smile.

Things I hate include: the ratio here. Everyone is taken.

Ar.

2002-11-23, Dancedancedance

before / after

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