dancing around in your underoos, a playlist;

{click image for playlist!}

so, this is pretty self-explanatory; i spend a lot of time prancing around my apartment serenading my pillows with a crochet hook as a microphone. a lot of imagining that i am stevie nicks or one of the ronettes happens. i somehow, miraculously, have a captive audience that is not stuffed with cotton. i somehow have a lot of feathered hair extensions or a bouffant. it happens.

now this isn’t your typical “dance party” mix. i guess i should preface that the kind of dancing i prefer to do is of the interpretive, white-girl, awkward sort. lots of hand motions and prancing and leaping and so on and so forth (sorry, new roommates). and even if you’re the more modest type the following are totally acceptable things to do when it comes to (hopefully) enjoying this playlist: dancing in borrowed boxers from your brother, baking banana bread, painting your nails a lovely shade of forest green, putting on one of those sinister-looking greenface masks, writing a letter to your grandmother (just not when “BMFA” comes on), or dramatically looking out your window when you’re on a bus, in a car, in your room, or on a plane.

underoos optional. twirling to noah and the whale is not.

{image source}


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