Do you have a dress that you just love love love to prance around in? A dress that you can only wear on obscure days to be sure you don’t desensitize its gleam? A dress that no matter how dark your mood can lift you up to the clouds of glee?

No? That’s a pity. I have such a dress.


A frolicking ballerina dress that is made complete with black lace sleeves, black booty shorts (so I’m not required to sit like a lady), black tights, and black combat boots. As much as I adore this dress I could never wear it nude, as in with just the dress and panties and nothing more, that’d be weird, I’d feel bizarre and unauthentic to who I am. This “get up” makes me feel ME and I shall be twirling copious amounts tonight in result.

In other news, my roommate and I have decided it’s essential we take a ballet class.

As in tomorrow.

And in other OTHER news, I’m not sure when I became a photobooth girl. I don’t like it. It’s kinda a weird masochistic thing, as taking photos of myself make my skin crawl, and sets of a downward cycle of “danger” thoughts, but at the same time, these self-photos make it possible to more accurately portray a sense of energy or idea, a concept of madness or anxiety or a happy dress in which words won’t suffice. Also, I used to be an actress. In, like, the fifth grade, but still, I was an actress. And as an “artist” of sorts I’m very much about a “performance” and in taking photos for a blog, in a sense, I’m able to perform in a way I can’t with words. But I also blame Ren for the further abundance of photobooth photos this week — she mentioned that she enjoys blogs that include such photos (as in ones that include me) as they add “more life” to the blog.

And truly, if there’s anything I’m all for, that is living.

OKAY! Class party time.