Absinthe at Caesars is exactly the kind of show where the audience gets teased as hard as the performers, so I'm dressing to match the energy. Zipper's still losing the fight though — want a say before I leave?
Absinthe at Caesars is exactly the kind of show where the audience gets teased as hard as the performers, so I'm dressing to match the energy. Zipper's still losing the fight though — want a say before I leave?
Pilates won this round — I'm flat on the studio mat, done for, and nobody here has the authority to make me move. Come drag me up or lie down beside me?
Shower's done, makeup hasn't even seen a brush, and Tom Jones at the Wynn already has me acting unwise tonight. You're picking the dress, right?
Sleep gave up on me, so the pool and I made a deal instead — the whole deck is dead quiet and the water is perfect. Come sit on the edge with me?
Boy Harsher owns House of Blues tonight and dark synth nights have me wired past midnight instead of sleeping. Snack run in nothing but a tee, and the kitchen light is doing all the work. Come talk me into bed or into the front row?
Corey Taylor left my ears ringing and my voice somewhere downtown, so the second I got home everything came off. This is the part of the night I don't usually share — think you can handle it?
Schoolboy Q takes over Brooklyn Bowl tonight and I've decided the responsible move is not moving an inch until the last possible minute. Doors are hours away — come give me a reason to get up?
Keith Urban takes over Fontainebleau tonight and I'm easing into it the country way — flannel, bare feet, breakfast still on the stove. Talk me into the boots, or talk me out of the whole plan?
Earth, Wind & Fire at the Venetian has me rehearsing in the living room instead of actually getting ready. This dress does whatever it wants once the horn section hits. You're my plus one, right?
Turnstile plays outside tonight and I'm packing the cooler like it's a competitive sport. Lawn shows have their own rules — you're on blanket duty.