I Hate Thinking of Titles.

I'm reading a book and it's making me wonder if my life is dull because it just is, or if I'm dulling it up myself. I heard something outside last night and didn't even worry, because if it was a rapist or kidnapper instead of a cat, I was sure I could just dull him away with my dullness. And that's what kind of night last night was, at least after the caffeine wore off.

Before that when I was still fully caffeinated, there was Jazz On Tap. First things first, I ran into a group of very cheerful, very friendly girls. I guess they were my age, or a little younger. They asked to see my top, said it was cute, asked where I danced, asked my name, told me theirs. There was an Ursula and an Anna, which I remember even though the Anna said I wouldn't. I walked out of the bathroom confused and smiling. Confused because...friendly people? There?

Then Jody, as we call her, sat out of warm-up for no good reason and Stretchy Boy (tm Sagen) got pissed. He's so fun when he's pissed. And Chelsea, as I'll call her, lamented her old dance school after she was made to take a giant sparkly piece of crap out of her hair. Under my breath I suggested that if she missed it so much she should go back. She didn't hear me, I wouldn't have said it if she could. Aha, I knew nothing had changed about this thing. I did think Chelsea had changed, because I'm stupid.

Our dances went well. Hats were successfully thrown, spotlight made us feel like secret agents, no one broke anything (body parts or otherwise). In the audience, in our cluster of Amanda, Lauren and me, the snark was in full swing. I had to shush Amanda: "They look like crack whores!!" Indeed this particular group DID look like crack whores, but I think a mother of a crack whore was sitting right in front of us. Then there were the heart-wrenching lyrical pieces, which made Amanda contemplate her outlook on life. "Yes," I said, "me too, I'm contemplating suicide." We laughed, people glared. We did try to contain ourselves, honestly, but sometimes that just doesn't work out.

I got a package from my TWoP pal in San Francisco yesterday. "Don't Kill The Freshman" by Zoe Trope. This girl is me, after I've gone to Oregon and become slightly hippie. She has a Live Journal which she updates regularly. A little girl with an online diary gets a book deal and becomes famous. I'm jealous. But the book is wonderful.

2004-03-06 @ 3:36 p.m.

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