everybody dance now

so, folks, here's the deal. I am tipsy, having just consumed a large strong margarita on a yet-reducified guateabstinance tolerance. I spent the morning dancing around to mixed cds, doing dishes and attempting to turn off the music to do reading, but getting sucked into just dancing crazy around the big empy apartment instead.

This apartment would be fucking fabuloso para una fiesta. Pero no se si S&M lo querría...

But really, what I want is a dance party, right here, right now, in my house, with awesome folks dancing to awesome music.

But really, what I have right now is a big empty apartment, with awesome animals who don't know how to dance, and awesome roommates who are out at some kind of midwifery potluck.

"Midwifery potluck" is like the opposite of "dance party."







I am writing a blog because my friends are far away, and not here dance partying.





grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr



um. relevant updates:

1. new glasses (unsure about the "wacky" factor on the sides, but dealing with it. Also my hair mostly tends to cover the sides anyways):






b) I think eloise might be going on the inside-belly-hip, like jumping out of my underwear, which I think is hilarious and awesome because she is soooo un-sexy. I will ignore Tara's parentish rant, but stick with peyton (the many-tattooed)'s advice to get the first one somewhere relatively invisible or coverable.




Only worry: if I get pregnant, and/or very fat, will she get all warpedy looking? Will I ever get pregnant given my strong feelings about the state of the human population and the world? Will I ever let myself get so fat that my belly tattoos would warp?

Serious business, peeps. ser. i. ous.