María Becerra lands at Costa 21 tomorrow and my ten-minute break just became ticket math and bad decisions. The break room's empty, my blouse noticed before I did. Cheap seats or the expensive mistake — pick for me?
María Becerra lands at Costa 21 tomorrow and my ten-minute break just became ticket math and bad decisions. The break room's empty, my blouse noticed before I did. Cheap seats or the expensive mistake — pick for me?
The week's lineup dropped and A Wilhelm Scream plays Wednesday — my wallet is still in a coma from the food fair, but punk has never once respected my finances. The bathroom mirror verdict says the blouse already agrees with going. Talk me into the ticket before my lunch break ends?
Perú, Mucho Gusto is free today and my stomach already RSVP'd for both of us — twenty-five regions of food and my wallet doesn't have to die for once. The outfit fight ended fast because nobody misses the last day of a food fair over a hemline. Tell me what I eat first.
Halloween is officially over and I'm collecting my candy tax in the kitchen, cat ears still on because taking them off would mean admitting it's done. The roommates' stash is funding this operation and I regret nothing. Tell me which piece I have to save for you.
The one night a year I'm supposed to dress up and the costume fitting went completely off script. This is as far as it got. Tell me what you'd have me wear instead.
The apartment's empty and I've got nowhere to be for the next two hours. Tell me what you'd do with that.
Three days until Halloween and the collar is the only thing that passed inspection — the rest of the outfit didn't survive. Tell me what else you'd put on me.
The Rasmus is tonight and my kitchen has declared dinner before pants a constitutional right. In the Shadows better still slap, because I refuse to scream it alone. Tell me you'd share the pot with me anyway.
The Ploho outfit search ended the way it always does — me winning by forfeit. One last night of nothing between me and the mosh pit. Talk me into at least the boots?
Six Feet Under tonight and I prep for death metal my way — roommates are gone, the boots are on, and nothing else made the cut. Come judge the warm-up before I head out.