Mumford and Buns

Told you I was going to do it, Jamie.

On Monday, I went to the Mumford and Son’s concert with my BFF Jamie. If you don’t know who Jamie is, well, she’s the one who always comments on my blog posts…the only one…singular…not plural. Ahem. We were really looking forward to this concert because we know every single song and have been obsessed with them for FOREVER (meaning: we thought the Opening Act was Mumford and blurted out “HER” when the word was “ME” in the song. Winners).

Anywho, since school has decided to take advantage of me, like a jock with a roofie, I had to drive to the city of smog inhaling Angels after class. Doesn’t sound that bad does it? Well, not initially, but then I had to go and wake-up at 5am. Um, I’m sorry but if it is still dark outside then my face should be planted on a pillow with drool all over it and I should be having dreams about Collin Firth feeding me Bahhhhhh-gels. What? It could happen.

Driving in LA was what I was looking forward to most. There are so many fun car games to play, like:

1.       Don’t hit the hipster crossing the street; or

2.       Honk as loud as you can and for as long as possible

After successfully dodging a man wearing jeans so tight that I am sure he will never utter the plural of “ball” again, I took a nap in a Target garage, and then made my way to the concert line. Boy oh boy was it a lucky day. GUESS WHO I GOT TO STAND IN FRONT OF? You’re probably thinking it was someone famous. No. It’s better. Recovering druggies. I was standing there. Alone. For an hour. I heard more about Jesus, needles, and wagons than I have in my entire life. The best (worst?) part was when Jamie finally arrived and said “I read that blog post and I was like ‘I want whatever Lauren’s snorting or shooting-up.’”  I kid you not. They got silent after that. 

I am going to sum up the next 5 hours:

1.       Pretty sure God shat wannabe hipsters into that concert hall. Jamie and I looked like Housewives compared to all of the emotionless, scarf/oxford/suspender wearing hipsters.

2.       Deodorant. No one wore it. What the shit, people?

3.       Opening Act, aka, Erykah Badu’s and Amy Winehouse’s crack baby.

4.       Amazing Mumford concert. AMAZING. Just next time, I would prefer that they don’t snort coke for 3 hours before the show, so I don’t have to wait 3 ½ hours for them to hit the stage. Thankyouverymuch.