Dancing With Fire (yawn)
It’s always really weird when you think you’re just randomly looking at photos on the internet, and then one of them turns out to be of YOU.

And if it must be known, I skipped the performance shown in many of these photos, my logic being “Oh, if everyone is THAT room watching bare-breasted fire performers, then there’s more space in this OTHER room for me to do my dancing thing.”

Oh yeah, you know: that dancing thing. The thing you’re supposed to do at parties instead of a) watching esoteric performances b) smoking cigarettes outside c) standing against the wall and bitching about how these parties just aren’t the same any more. (Plus, my appreciation for bare-breasted fire performances has diminished to non-existance. Yeah, yeah, everyone’s a critic, but if I wanted to see boobs and fire, I could just take off my shirt and hold up a lighter and writhe around seductively.)