Operaball yesterday was amazing. My dress was, as per usual not completely done, but it’s less than a day’s work from actually being finished, and it was good enough that I felt rather pretty. I danced alot, and I finally learned the troika, which was surprisingly easy. And we did loads of tarantellas. I love the tarantella. My waltzing was a bit out of practice, but after about a thousand long waltses that too went well. And the menuet *shrugs* I’d forgotten the menuet over the last few years, which sucks. I like the menuet and all the bowing and «look at my dress»ness of it.
My secondary school friend Stina, whom I haven’t heard singing since secondary school had the last of the little concert and I’m amazed. She was really good.
My legs are aching. I should dance more, and I’d have killer leg muscles.
After the ball, me and Karl went to some intern-party at Chateau Neuf. People asked if I was getting married seing as we were still dressed for the ball. And I had a few beers, which I hardly noticed. We ate some sausages (I have fallen in love with the meatball sausage. With sour cream sauce on it. That’s the most delicious meal I’ve eaten in a long long tome) And then walked home aroud 4 o’clock.
And then I came home. Took off my corset and fell asleep. I assume the «took the corset off»-part is what made the alcohol suddenly take action after I fell asleep, which again explains why I’m dreadfully hungover now, after only two beers and a small glass of drambuie. Every single muscle is aching. If this post lacks coherency… i blame those very few beers.
There’s a voice in my head that says «you want a carton of milk and come chocolate covered almonds. So I think I’ll go down to the shop. Perhaps buy a børek, some milk and some chocolate and curl up in bed and watch art school confidential.
I like living.
PS. I saw becomin jane on the cinema this past friday. It’s recommended.
PS2. Art school confidential was pretty much the most provoking and depressive film I have ever seen. As expected. but more so. I want to hit mister clowes in the head with something hard.