Festival season is officially upon us and I could not be less excited. As a couple hundred thousand 20-somethings (and a few of their moms that think they can still pull off a cowboy hat) prepare to dry hump each other behind the porta-potty, wearing one sandal and the same bathing suit they’ve been sweating in for 3 days with nothing more than a Bud Light shower, I’ll be avoiding the freeways and deleting my Snapchat until all the dust clears.I offer you a few of the reasons why my couch and box of wine sounds like a way better idea:
1. Nobody left me a trust fund.
As much as I love a negative bank account balance, I cannot justify spending 2 months salary on a concert where I am guaranteed not to remember a single performance. Between the $400 tickets, $13 beers and the HJ you had to give to get into the VIP section, the pricing seems a bit rapey, doesn’t it? It would be one thing if I could walk to the front of the line to hand over my entire paycheck, but you’re literally paying Scrooge McDuck money to stand in line for 45 minutes. Not only that, but its been scientifically proven that once you try to walk away with the 2 drinks you ordered for yourself, some asshole that’s already blacked out WILL run into, causing you to spill $36 worth of warm beer.
But hey, at least the chlamydia is free.
2. You are required to dress like an asshat.
Exhibit A: The ‘Godfather’ look.
Why is it that every person who attends a festival turns into either a hippie or a redneck? Even your friend Marsha the paralegal is trading in her pantsuit for a crop top and some cowboy boots for the weekend, hoping the babies breath in her hair makes her look “chill” enough to be invited into the late night orgy that will be happening in the back of Brad’s motorhome. (Brad being the guy with the Coors Light hat that put a spout on the Jim Beam bottle in hopes of trading a shot of bottom shelf booze for a quick look at what’s under your pasties.)
Now I’m all for slutting it up on the weekend for a couple of free Grey Goose and tonics, but have some respect for yourselves ladies. You’re trading in your dignity for the same alcoholic beverages that Larry the Cable guy drinks.
3. Grass is the worst.
Do you remember in elementary school when you had assemblies out on the grass and if god forbid you wore shorts that day, you ended up itchier than Charlie Sheen’s mustache? This will be your entire reality when you go to a festival. Maybe you’re drunk, maybe you’re tired, either way you will end up sitting/laying/passed out on the devil’s landscape and you will not be a happy camper when you wake up from your whiskey induced coma with a completely different kind of rash than you thought you’d be leaving with.
4. Everyone turns into David Hasselhoff, but without the cheeseburger.
We all have that one friend that disappears from the bar around 1:15am and doesn’t resurface until noon the next day. You assume they got home fine because the majority of Uber drivers aren’t murderers and their phone isn’t going straight to voicemail. Now imagine you’re lost in a sea of drunk, horny cowboys, the cab line is over an hour long and Dominoes won’t deliver to the middle of a field in Indio. One of your friends is puking, one is passed out on a tree and the other is making out with a stranger who’s trying to get his hand up her denim skirt. You want to make an Irish exit so you can charge your phone, but you realize you’re pretty much screwed and now you’re crying about that time that Steven Walker dumped you in the 8th grade.
And as if all that isn’t bad enough, some asshole didn’t get the drunken solidarity memo and is filming the entire scene so you can all relive it in the morning.
5. Justin Bieber goes to Music festivals.
I feel like I didn’t need the other 4 reasons.