Monday Bear

or Hey, Are You Going to Wizzie Man?

or Hey.  Give Me Some Fucking Weed.

or Hey.  Give Me Some Fucking Crepes.

So, Bonnaroo was last weekend.  Nobody died this year.  Only 71 people were arrested, although everyone there should have been.  Headlining were Metallica, Pearl Jam, Kanye West, and MIA.  We didn’t see any of them.

Thursday morning before we left, Matthew was looking online for stores that carry this certain piece of recording equipment so that he could illegally record Sigur Ros, among other performance acts.  After checking everywhere but Wal-Mart, we found the recording piece there.  Outside, what did we see, but a couple of guys, giving out free beer for Bonnaroo-ers!  Not just any beer,  but Budweiser Chelada.  Budweiser Chelada is beer tomato juice + clam juice.  We found out that the reason it was free was because it was disgusting.

Clamato:  Hey Budweiser.  We have a huge surplus of clam  juice.  Do you think we could collaborate and kind of, you know, mix them together?
Budweiser:  Oh, you know, I… I would love to, but V8 just called, and we agreed to do the same thing with them.
Clamato:  Come on, I’m sure we could work something out…

Bam!  Chelada.

Anywho, when we got there, we immediately noticed that we were cooler than most everyone there.

Reasons we were cooler than most everyone there:

• They had stupid hair.
• They were riding a VW van, because it’s so “hippie”.  It’s especially “hippie” when it breaks down on I-24 and when it releases twice the pollution into the air as my car.
• You were obviously there to get laid.
• You were obviously there to see Metallica.
• You kept yelling “Bonnaroooooooo!”
• You took a shower.
• You changed clothes.
• You gave me more material for my “poser hippie” bit.

The first night we were there, the only show we saw was Janine Garofalo.  She was disappointingly unfunny.  I mean, she was funny to me, because I had been wasted since 4PM.  So wasted, in fact, that when we were waiting in line to see her, the part of the line in front of me left, and I followed them, thinking that the huge black guy in the group was Matthew.  For the rest of the night, he kept me on a leash.  Literally.

There was a large white man in a shirt behind me.  Outside of the line, there was one of those guys with one of those stupid little tricks, either the two sticks with the giant yoyo, or the two sticks with which he throws a third stick around.  Anywho, the guy behind me was saying, “whoa, look at that guy.  That’s amazing.  I can’t even open a fucking straw!”

I like fat-ish guys who wear shirts.  It makes them jolly.

(this is a huge step for me)

Janine Garofalo was okay, because I was drunk, but I’m sad that I can’t remember much about the act.  The only thing I remember is, “How the hell did all these origami cranes get here?”

Walking out of the circus tent, we saw Heather, my friend from the dorm our freshman year.  She laughed at me because I was drunk.  We gossiped about the two lesbians in our former dorm who are now in a confirmed lesbian relationship.

Oh, and as a sidenote, you can’t bring beer into Centeroo.  You have to buy it for $6.  (Organic beer for $7).  Did I buy that?  Noooo.  I carried my giant margarita in my water bottle.  Nobody knew the difference, except that my breath smelled like acetone.
I also carried Matt’s pirating equipment in my panties.  Because I was wearing next to nothing, the people never patted me down.  Girls are the drug mules of Bonnaroo.

Aside from the Canadian girls with their drum circles, the worst part of Bonnaroo was the bathrooms Port-o-Johns.  By the end of the week, it smelled like a zoo.  I propose that next year, they have different rows of toilets for men and for women.  My reasoning behind this is that at night time, men cannot see where they are peeing.  Another thing that happens at night time is a lack of toilet paper.  When these two factors come together, it calls for disaster.  Normally, if someone pisses all over the seat, you lay down a nine-layer barrier of toilet paper between the seat and your ass.  Hopefully, when you pull your skirt back up, the toilet paper isn’t stuck to your sweaty/pissy thighs and sticking out of the top of your trousers.  At nighttime, though, you are bound to sit on five other people’s piss.  And you can’t wash your hands.

But Liz, can’t you just hover?

The answer is no. Normally, I wouldn’t be afraid of touching the walls in a place where people expell and where I can’t wash my hands, but you see, there is shit on the walls.

Yeah, shit.  Poop.  Excrement.  On the walls.  On the door.  Everywhere.  Matt found a whole turd on the toilet seat.  Not a smudge.  Not even diarrhea.  A turd.

Speaking of Matt and Bonnaroo toilets, I have a story.  Matthew got up in the middle of the night (still plastered) to piss.  He began the duty, but he didn’t notice the typical semi-splash indigenous to the Port-o-John.  He realized (oh noes) that toilet lid was down!  Quickly, he cut it off and slid over to the urinal cup.

By “cut it off,” I meant “turn it off,” not “literally, grab a cleaver and hack it off.”  FYI.

One of the first things I noticed about Bonnaroo was, of course, the food.  It was much like a fair:  Pizza stands, hot dog stands, lemonade stands, etc.  Foods that people tend to crave in a festival-like environment.  Something stood out to me a little bit, though:  A crepe stand.

Crepes?  Really?  Not to insult my fellow festivalgoers, but I’m assuming that none of them have ever even eaten crepes.

“You know what I’m really craving?  Some crepes.  Dude, lets get some.”

Every morning we were there, I asked Matt if we could get crepes for breakfast.  It stayed funny for a while.

Then, when we were walking out of Centeroo for the first time on Thursday afternoon around 3PM, some dude, who was totally wasted (wasted-er than I) walked by us and looked at Matt with a sense of anger and violence in his eyes and said, “Hey!  Give me some fucking weed!”

Frightened, I said, “We don’t have any!” and briskly walked away.  Weed guy stormed off murmuring, “Fucking assholes.”

I rushed back to my campsite and drunk dialed everyone I know, including my mom, and especially Alley Jo, to tell them about my life experience.

Hey!  Give me some fucking crepes!

(That’s me up there, by the way.)

Day 2

We really wanted to see !!!, who was playing at 4-ish.  We also wanted to see The Firey Furnaces, who were playing at 1-ish.  We really did not want to see Minus the Bear, who was playing right between them, but we were willing to sit through it in order to have a good view for !!!.
So Matt had this splendid idea for me to not be allowed any food or water past 10AM to prevent me from needing a bathroom break, thus losing our place next to the stage.  Being the delicate flower that I am, especially in 90 degree weather with a bunch of sweaty kids around me, I was feeling quite woozily by 2-ish.  My main objective for the afternoon was to not pass out, as A.) that would cause a scene, and B.)  that would probably cause us to lose our place in front.

Not that we didn’t already lose our place, due to some 200lb yet 4′11″ chicks who demanded a spot in the front, along with about 30 other girls who didn’t like to wait their turn.

Luckily, a gaggle of friendly homosexuals gave me a bottle of water and nursed me back to health.

Oh, and did I mention that I was completely baked, totally against my will?  Well I was.  -Everyone- around us was smoking pot.  I was trying not to inhale it, but my efforts were futile.  I, who had never smoked the stuff before, let alone been altered by it, learned on that day that pot makes me paranoid.  Who’d have thunk?  That makes the crowds much less enjoyable.

Minus the Bear, by the way, was rotten.  More rotten than I expected.  And a 7 foot tall guy was standing directly in front of me.  The kids seemed to love them , though.

I was feeling much better by the time !!! came on, and I was having a great time dancing with a cute little shirtless Asian boy (whom, Matthew, I swear I thought, and still think, that he was/is gay.  I know you saw him kissing a girl, but we both know that doesn’t mean anything.)  One thing that I’ve never been a fan of, however, is crowdsurfing.  Especially when it’s not that kind of concert.  Matthew saved my poor little head from being kicked several times.
The last straw was this sweaty jackass who was dancing way too much for the amount of space he was allowed.  He bumped into me dozens of times, the last time knocking me over into Matt and our surrounding viewers.
Turns out Matt isn’t a big fan of pot, either.  It makes him angry and violent.  My big, strong, handsome, 150 lb fiancee punched this guy.  He physically defended my honour, something I never thought would happen.

I’m not going to lie, I thought it was pretty sexy.

I had fun on and off for the remainder of the concert.  Matt wants me to teach him dance like the gay (?) Asian boy.

Walking back to our campsite, we decided that we are much too old to be in the front of anything.

As a sidenote, I just took a poop break, and my poop was so crazy, I had to take a picture of it.  I never thought that I would do that.  I promise I won’t post the picture (unless 7 people tell me to) but I just thought you would like to know.

That night, we saw Reggie Watts (Fuck Shit Stack) and Zak Galafinkadtg;iwrthsl;akjhdfgh;da;owkm at the comedy tent.  They were quite funny, although I didn’t get many of their jokes.  They were all about… drugs…

Day 3

This day was dedicated to Sigur Ros.  I spent 2 hours in line talking to a 15 year old boy and his dad waiting to get my record signed by them.  Tune in next week for details on why I would like to sleep with Jonsi, even though I know he is gay, unlike the Asian boy.

Before waiting in like for the album signing, we saw Gogol Bordello.   Some chick’s floppy boob constantly popping out as a result of dancing to Gogol Bordello in a bikini top.  And waving a fan about.

Actually, I take that back.  On day three, after I had seen approximately my 7th breast, Matt had complained that he hadn’t seen any.  Not even mine.
The reason I was seeing so many was because there was this “Free Breast Painting” booth at someone’s website campsite.  And I totally called it, too.  I said, “Just watch.  It’s a bunch of frat boys who just want to see boobies, and the only chicks who go to it are going to be fat ones who want to get laid.”

And it was the truth.  A cop was over there at one point.  I don’t know if they were getting busted, or if he just wanted to see unpainted boobs.

After getting our record signed, we went to watch Iron and Wine at another stage.  It was kind of boring, so we only stayed for about 3 songs.  Besides, the hula hoops were calling my name.

I hula hooped for about 12 hours.  Some dudes were taking my picture.  Normally, I wouldn’t allow it, but face it:  We all like to be validated every once in a while, especially when we’re sweaty, sunburnt, and stinky.  Plus, they were very handsome oldaboys.

The rest of the day was a blur to me.  I replaced my alcohol intake with caffeine, because I had to stay up to see Sigur Ros at 1AM.  (I’m usually in bed by 9.  And home by 11, giggity.)

At around 10 or 11, we went to the tent where Sigur Ros was playing to wait.  Of course, there were already about 30 kids there who had the same idea that we did.  We rolled out a bamboo mat that we found in the middle of the road (I usually don’t say “finder’s keepers,” but by the time they would have realized they lost it, it would have been mutilated by a golf cart and covered in mud.  It came to a good home.) and layed on it.
Thirty minutes to an hour later, some (seemingly) nice guy came along and talked to us about the various shows he had seen and how he hates tall people who stand in front of him (he couldn’t have been over 5′6″.)  You know what he looked like?  He looked like a 13 year old boy with a glued-on mustache.
When everybody stood up for no reason and walked 20 feet closer to the stage, he ended up in front of us, which was fine for me, if you’ll recall the previous day’s events.  Plus, he was talking way too much.  There’s absolutely no reason to talk to a stranger for more than 30 minutes.
Lucky for him, there was a pair of very “willing to please” teenage girls whom he befriended.  Now, we know this guy was at least in his late twenties, via context clues.  They sat in a powwow and talked until the concert started, at least a good hour and a half.  And, of course, I listened to their entire conversation.

Girl 1:  I’ve never even heard of Sigur Ros.  I don’t really like mellow music.
Guy:  What kind of music do you like?
Girl 1:  Punk.  And Ska.
Guy:  Yeah, I’ve noticed that alot of punk fans are also big ska fans, too.  I used to listen to punk alot.  Screeching Weasel, Sex Pistols, Ramones, The Clash… I don’t know if you know of any of these.  I can’t believe I’m just pulling these names out after 10 years.
Girl 1:  Yeah, I’ve heard about some of them.

———-

Guy:  I don’t like Bright Eyes because I don’t like politics in my music.
Girl 1:  Yeah, neither do I.
Guy:  You see, I’m very, very conservative.  Now, don’t go running for the hills…
Girl 2:  No, that’s okay.  We have friends who are conservative.

I was amused and bored at the same time.

Now, I don’t want to insult my readers’ intelligence, but Matthew said I must do this or some of my jokes may be lost.  So I apologize in advance:

I thought it was cute (I use the term loosely) how the girl loved punk so much that she had heard of a few of those bands, and that she did not like politics in her punk.

So decades later, the concert begins.  It was beautiful, as always, and Jonsi was wearing a jacket that I own, thought about giving to Goodwill, but will now start wearing again, solely because Jonsi was wearing it.

Annoying/ Weird Things the Mustache Guy Did During Sigur Ros

• Look through his monocular the entire time, even though we were 15 feet away from the stage.
• Bend over every 15 minutes (not an exaggeration) to get a beer or cigarette.
• Throw is beer cans and cigarette butts on the ground.
• Talk to his neighbors.  During the songs.

Overall, it was an excellent concert.  I cried a couple times, because, well, that’s what Sigur Ros does to me.  Shut up.

Day 4

The last day of Bonnaroo.  Here was the plan:  See Ladytron, see Broken Social Scene right after that, then leave.  Widespread Panic was playing right after Broken Social Scene, so we figured we could beat the crowd.

Ladytron put on a very, very good show.  In fact, I’m pretty sure that, besides any Weezer show, it is the only show I’ve ever been to where they played all the songs I wanted them to play (namely, Seventeen and Destroy Everything You Touch).  There was this very nice hippie couple next to us.  Although I didn’t speak to her, I felt an instant connection with the girl, because she was putting on SPF 70 sunscreen.  As with most couples there, she was much more attractive than her counterpart.

Oh, and Matt saw his first set of boobs there.  Unfortunately, they were the triangular kind.  You know, the kind that you had when you were about 11, before you actually got the round ones?  She was walking around with her boyfriend holding a sign that said, “Got Brownies?”  I would have given her some if she put a shirt on.

After Ladytron, we decided to go ahead and leave, skipping Broken Social Scene, because they come to Nashville at least twice a year.  But first, I had to go take a hula hoop.  I made my own, actually.  The guy said that I couldn’t pick it up until sunset, but the sun looked like it was just about getting ready to set to me, so I told him I was going to go try it out.  I briskly walked/hooped all the way to my campsite without getting chased down by the cops.

That morning, the guy camping behind us asked us if we were on our honeymoon, because he could “Feel the love.”  I told him that if we were on our honeymoon, we would be somewhere where there’s plumbing and where I’m not afraid to touch him.

So we took down our camp and drove home after asking a horse-mounted cop how the fuck we get out of there.   Somehow, my leash from the other night got hooked on to the bottom of my car, and I think it’s still on there.

You  know how to find drugs at Bonnaroo?  Look for the black guys.  Seriously.  If you see a large black man in a plain white t-shirt, he is definitely selling drugs.  Especially if he has drugs on him.

Drug Dealer:  whispering Hash, rolls, hash, rolls, hash, rolls, hash, rolls.
Liz:  No thank you.
Drug dealer continues on his quest.
Liz:  Matt… What’s a roll?

He thinks I’m so cute : )

Liz:  Nobody here is selling pot.  I figured that’s what everybody would be selling.
Alley Jo:  Well I guess everybody who wanted to smoke it brought their own.  Except that one guy.
Give me some fucking weed.

So in conclusion, yes, I did totally have sex at Bonnaroo.

This entry was posted on Monday, June 23rd, 2008 at 4:01 PM and is filed under Breasts, Dance, Food, Music, Nasty, Party over here, Pooping, Travel. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.