First: the fact that I am, at the age of 33, once again attending school dances is both super weird and extremely fun.

For Kendrick's Winter Formal Masquerade I had all these grand plans of floor-length ball gowns (and I do happen to own one - for no apparent reason, as my life does not typically involve outings to places where ball gowns are required) and sculpted waves and…I don't know, I thought I was really going to go over-the-top fancy, because I never get to go over-the-top fancy and that sounded like it'd be fun.

And then I realized that what's missing in my life lately is a little partying. Like, old-school put-on-a-sexy-dress-and-high-heels-and-stay-out-late partying. I don't want to swan around eating canapés; I just wanna dance. And so I decided to dial down the formality and go with a dress that I could move around in, a hairdo that looked messed-up to start with (so a little extra tousling courtesy of a Pitbull song wouldn't be a big deal), and one hell of a mask.

I have this fantasy.

It's informed half by Michelle Pfeiffer's cashmere-swaddled character in What Lies Beneath and half by Carrie Bradshaw in the second Sex and the City movie, when she flits around in silk teddies and long strands of pearls, with a dash of every Nora Ephron movie ever thrown in for good measure. Basically, it's a fantasy wherein I live in a big, rambling house full of white furniture and Williams-Sonoma cooking appliances, and spend my days in a light-flooded office typing away on a typewriter (this, from Diane Keaton's character in Something's Gotta Give, I think), but instead of wearing what I'd actually wear in a situation like this, which is the same pair of leggings and the same beat-up shirt from some college I visited but never actually went to every single day, I'm wearing, like, fine knits and such.

For serious, guys: Kendrick has been gone for the past week (he just finished finals and is now home for a solid month, whee), and it was three days before I changed out of my Vassar shirt and hole-y leggings. I'm not even exaggerating. Three days. Same outfit. (I showered once, and put it back on, because I am lazy like a slug.)