when you get home at four thirty three AM after dancing your heart out, you are a legend.

ergo, i am a legend.

i bet that you look good on the dance floor....

but not as good as me. i went black and white...


the music wasn't eighties so using molly ringwald as a muse was harder, instead i jumped to emphasise lines i loved and did something like the twist other times. boys, i noticed, were really, really, rocking the air guitar. which is always good to see.

girls who like boys, who like boys to be girls...

probably because i looked so hot, boys were asking me if i was a lesbian. apparently my friend and i were flicking off the boys. which is true because they were all ten years younger than me, but also concerning. if i just give the vibe off of not being interested in the boys around me i really will die alone. but at least at my funeral they can say i was legendary, for reasons including dancing.

oh you've got blue eyes, oh you've got green eyes, oh you've got grey eyes...

and now i feel like crap. but on the upside i'm booked in for yum char in 45 mintues. just what i need.... deep fried shrimp toast. mmmmm. i took a photo of myself to see how crap i look. but even though i'm so tired i'm typing this with my head leaning against a pillow and i can barely see the screen, my eyes were surprisingly open for the photo. i have trained myself well. i am also legendary for selfportraiture. clearly.