Jack Johnson at the Bowl tonight means lawn rules: you bring your own everything. The basket is packed, the apron is apparently all I decided to wear while doing it. Tell me what you're bringing to the blanket.
Jack Johnson at the Bowl tonight means lawn rules: you bring your own everything. The basket is packed, the apron is apparently all I decided to wear while doing it. Tell me what you're bringing to the blanket.
I sat down to sketch one face and The Neighbourhood's hometown return at the Forum keeps dragging my eyes off the page — their records have been running since morning. Guess what I keep drawing instead.
Cavetown with Chlöe Moriondo at the Wiltern later, so the whole afternoon has gone soft and slow and somehow nothing has made it onto my body yet. Tell me you'd pick something out for me.
Glitter is already on the coffee mug, the rug, and apparently me, because Empire of the Sun at the Bowl tonight demands sparkle and I woke up willing. The dress hasn't made it past my hips yet. Tell me you'd help with the rest of the shine.
Bruno Mars and Raye at SoFi tonight, and I've been up since dark arguing with my closet about it. The dresses lost the argument hours ago. Tell me which one you'd put back on me.
Mumford and Sierra Ferrell at the Forum tonight, and the folk mood hit before the coffee finished brewing. The sweater gave up its shoulder somewhere on the way to the mug. Tell me you'd save me a seat on the lawn.
Hayley at the Bowl wrecked me in the best way and the buzz never wore off on the drive home. The clothes lost the fight somewhere around the front door. Tell me you'd help me come down slow.
Roxette at the Greek tomorrow and Joyride just turned my living room into a sold-out show, hairbrush mic and all. The dress code so far is a slip and zero shame. Tell me you'd be my front row.
Chat Pile at the Belasco tonight and the jeans gave up before I did. The real outfit is still lying on the bed untouched. Tell me what you'd put me in instead.
Curlers in before the coffee even finished dripping, because the Growlers close their run at the Greek tonight and beach-goth hair takes hours. This slip was supposed to be a base layer, not the whole look. Tell me which boots survive the pit.