I was running through fields of hitchhikers, as the story goes

[mywholecry]

I’m going to a The Academy Is... concert next week in Knoxville. And I just realized that I’m the least scene person ever, so I’m having a clothingdilemma. Which is weird for me, because I tend to just throw things on and be, like: “. . .fashion? Fashion!” with jazz hands and shit, though I only do jazz hands, like many other things, in the privacy of my own home.  

I own a lot of cardigans and flats and pearls, and I inherit clothes from great grandmothers and thrift stores and occasionally my brother. Generally, I look like I’m twelve years old going on a healthy sixty five.

So, currently, for the concert, I have a Death Cab t-shirt and copious amounts of eyeliner. Kerri actually owns an Academy t-shirt, and Mamie owns many a pair of skinny jeans (someday, when I can wear them with no poetic irony involved, I swear to god it’s happening), so I might have to go stand with the parents of the little thirteen-year-old scene kids  who hang out in the back, talking about the good all days before all these crazy emo bands starting seducing their children to the ways of straight-edge teen angst.