There are a lot of times in my life when I wonder how exactly I get myself in certain situations. Sometimes it’s a bad choice; sometimes it’s the haphazard goofiness that I attribute to a glitch in my personality. It teeters on the classic literary fatal flaw.
Take the choreographed belly-dancing that I mentioned a couple of posts down. A couple of weekends ago, I found myself in a small dark basement lighted only by a multicolored semi-strobe light and fog machines. Drink in hand, I sat watching two girls in a faux white trash outfit with Clockwork Orange makeup do a belly dance routine to a strangely remixed, yet supposedly “cool” music.
Posted by firewings 
