COACHELLA: DAY 2

I was our bedroom's alarm clock for Coachella -- Day 2.  I think I was sneezing about 30 times in the span of a minute.  I really don't know how my people managed 40 years in the desert without Afrin -- maybe that's the true struggle we should be remembering.

I left with two friends to pick up breakfast and do a Starbucks run.  I ventured out looking prettttty much like death, in an XXL Redskins tshirt, Capri running pants, and sneakers with laces untied.  I think people who saw me had the first thought of "What in God's name...?" and then saw the ubiquitous neon bracelet indicating I paid much too much money to abuse myself for an entire three days, and thought "Ahh, yes, another dumb white girl."

After bfast, I requested we stop at 7-11 to find appropriate headgear   I'm not talking Native American headdress -- there were probably more kids wearing those, than the number of Native Americans who actually deserve the honor of wearing such a piece.  What I needed required one thing: Maximum sun coverage.  "I'm really just looking for something 'migrant labor-y,'" I informed my friends.  Lo and behold, a beautiful straw hat with a brim large enough to accommodate manual tasks under the hot sun all day, was on the top of the 7-11 hat rack.  I tried it on, and it was really a match made in a retirement community.

Dreamweaver -- is literally whoever crafted this hat.

Back at the house, I decided it was time to venture into the pool.  I slapped on my emerald green Mrs. Robinson one-piece and topped off my Blanche Devereaux look with my new straw chapeau.  One friend stretched a volleyball net across the pool -- creating a makeshift court, and in my attempt to gracefully get on the pool lounge mat I collided with the net and went underwater.  Hat -- RUINED!  (For the day.)  Sadly, I had to set it aside to dry, and moped, knowing I'd have to remember to constantly reapply my 100+ facial sunscreen.  But, to make up for that devastating loss, my friends returned from downtown Palm Springs with a pool noodle!  For me!  Friendship's the best.

In the pool, I noodled over to another friend, who reported what I missed that evening.  She told me that as the medics were interrogating us, they all sat at their picnic table watching.  One friend's lollipop kicked in full-force and she told me all he could focus on was that he couldn't see our faces, but knew we must be super high, and that there was potentially some danger in us speaking with "officials."  After the medics took my friend away, I approached their table to give them the update, and my friend asked me, intensely, "How are you?  How're you doing?  You OK?"  I didn't realize he NEEDED to hear me say, "Uhhh, yeah?" in order to convince himself, HE would in fact be OK.

My friend then informed me that her lollipop kicked in later that night.  This friend is a huge musicphile and Passion Pit is one of her favorite bands.  She said when she got to their show, she didn't recognize one song, and her mind could only process the music note by note, so every song was unintelligible   Passion Pit played a full set, and she had no idea who the band was.  She also told me that her sense of time was totally shot.  "I definitely had an hour's worth of life experience and then I'd look down at my phone, and it had been 3 minutes..."  She and her boyfriend would be speaking and she'd interrupt the conversation, asking "How long has it been since we started talking?"  He'd respond with "Umm, like 45 seconds?"  And her reactions would be along the lines of "OK.  Great.  Great.  OK.  That's good to know.  Thank you."  She also asked, in between acts when they played filler music -- "What genre of music is this?"  To which her boyfriend would reply "Like trance house dance music?"  "Ahh, OK.  I'm not really familiar with that genre, thanks."

So I basically poisoned all my friends.

After lunch, we had a fantastic game of volleyball.  I didn't keep score, but I'm pretty sure we lost.  This was despite my bringing my 7th grade, A-team volleyball skills.  I blame our loss on lack of communication and the fact that one player wouldn't get off the inflatable turtle.  You know who you are.  You know.  I could have stayed in that pool all day.  I even suggested that we bring out a laptop, go to the Coachella live-stream on YouTube, and float in the pool all day/night.  I'm convinced people just pretended not to hear me.

As we were getting dressed in our pool house suite, one of my friends told me about her night.  She committed to a plate of "Crab Fries," (which I'm assuming are french fries with crab on top).  Unfortunately the fries didn't commit to her, and she ended up throwing up in a porta-potty -- a horror I would wish upon any Kardashian.  "So will you attempt to eat them again tonight?"  "Oh, absolutely."  If there are any advertisers reading this who have "Crab Fries" as a client, here it is: "Crab Fries.  They're worth it."  And you are welcome.

This plate is more S&M than Rihanna.

Speaking of edibles, that was the item of choice on Day 2.  A rice krispie treat and a Key Lime Pie-esque baked good were shared by a few members of the group.  One friend announced, in all seriousness, that he wanted to "take the lollipop challenge."  1.  The result of Day 1's medicating was so severe that he had to refer to the consumption as a "challenge."  2.  He was 100% serious.  I questioned him -- "Are you TOTALLY sure?  I mean someone ended up in the medical tent, another person had severe paranoia, and another couldn't process music or time."  "I'm totally sure."  This guy was not kidding around.  Kind of like when he'd spike the volleyball at people's faces, which is an admirable strategy.  So off he went with a lollipop.

We got dressed and went on our wat to the polo fields.  If you want to know what the shuttle/security line was like -- just read about Day 1.  As we're waiting in line, we got a GroupMe text that read "Molly down at the first check-in  :(  Be stealthy."  My first thought was: "Who's Molly?  Do we know a Molly?  Will she be OK?  I should drink more water, dehydration is seriously no joke!"  And then saw one of my friends standing at the Sheriff's tent.  Ahhh.  Molly down, 5-0 all up in my friend's business.  Seriously.  Because those pills were in a place where the sun don't shine -- unless you're twerking at a Major Lazer show (more on that further down).  They ended up letting him go, but keeping his stash.  FUCK THE POLICE.  Actually if they were smart, they would just re-sell all the confiscated drugs for like 4x the suburban street value to kids in line.  My friend's boyfriend was frisked in line and was asked "You got any drugs?"  "No."  "Pot, cocaine?"  "No."  "Heroin, poki-balls?"  "No.  Wait, what's a poki-ball?"  Kids these days scare me.

We walked that long path to security, which some people didn't have the strength for -- hence the numerous pedi cabs up and down the road.  After getting through security, I was so distracted trying to find everyone and seeing if my friend managed to break out of Coachella Jail, that I must have missed the pedi cab driver who TURNED INTO ME.  I walked the rest of the way with a tire mark down my left calf and this monologue in my mind:

Much like your Grandma or Grandpa on an outdoor patio, The priority was finding a seat in the shade.  We sat on the grass under a tent in the beer garden, and I met up with a friend from high school.  Crazy -- 9 years at an all-girl's private school and look at us now, at Coachella!  I think that's what you'd get if you played Drake's "Started from the Bottom" backwards.  In the tent, I took out something that resembled a marijuana cigarette, but I can neither confirm or deny the contents of the item.  I will say this -- here's a picture of me a few minutes later:

A picture is worth 1000 words (that I don't really have time to type b/c I'm at work.)

As I was sitting there, fully enjoying life, able to tolerate the crowds, I noticed a random guy talking/flirting with one of my friends on the other side of our circle.  He was holding an inflatable small bird, and kept asking her what is was.  "A Kiwi."  I responded.  I knew I was right, but somehow he must've not heard me scream.  "It's a Kiwi.  You're holding a Kiwi."  She guessed, and guessed, and still the correct answer eluded her.  He'd smile and laugh, teasing her.  "IT'S A FUCKING KIWI.  It's a fucking Kiwi."  Finally, he explained, "It's a Kiwi."  I was livid.  I knew it was a Kiwi.  Like that one time at trivia I was the only one who knew "Three Dog Night" was a band from the 60s/70s, not the 90s/00s.  I think that's the angriest any of my L.A. friends had ever seen me.  So, I just kept staring down this neon wayfarer-wearing dude, playing with his inflatable Kiwi (no euphemism-o), muttering things to myself like "Fuck you, I knew it was a Kiwi, who do you think you are?  You're nobody.  You're a nobody holding a Kiwi."  And then finally declared out loud "I don't like that guy over there and I want him to leave.  He should go.  Go away."  It's apparently not all fair in love and factual questions.

After the far too brief sit, my friend and I decided to go to Major Lazer.  By "decided to go," I mean me announcing -- "IF THERE'S ANYONE I PAID TO SEE, IT'S THEM, AND WE'RE GOING."  We made our way to the packed tent, which was so crowded we ended up in the spillover crowd right outside.  The crowds were pushing so hard that any contact with my backpack sent me bumping into the people to the right and left.  So I decided to flip it around, making me look pregnant with the North Face's child.  Boyyyy was I boppin'.  I was swaying, I was jumping, I was pointing, I was clapping, I was doing any and every gerund you can think would be appropriate at a Major Lazer show.  No.  Not twerking.  My friend put it best -- "I actually think it's embarrassing if you're really good at twerking.  Because everyone knows you've been at home practicing in front of a mirror for hours and hours."  If you're not familiar with this dance "move," please check out Diplo's instagram and it will instantly be clear.

  

I vaguely remember my friend telling me she was going to go to the bathroom, but I was entranced by the music (and most likely other factors that rhyme with the word "pugs").  She left me dancing alone.  I was really working that back/frontpack, incorporating it in all my moves to the point where I looked like I was partaking in a pagan ritual, attempting to invoke the Lord of Light from "Game of Thrones."  She managed to later find me in the crowd, and after their set was done, asked "You want mango, don't you?"  I did.  Seriously the mango sorbet in a mango was the highlight of the trip.  Seeing my friends was too, I guess.

We got our sorbet and parked it at a picnic table under a tent, then looked at each other, slowly spooning frozen fruit goodness into our mouths, thinking the same thing.  "Do we really have to get up?"  After zombie brain-eating my mango skin bowl, I decided we should see Hot Chip.  On our way to the main stage I almost walked into what looked like a wall.  I stepped back and squinted my eyes, thinking that would help me see better in the dark.  I asked my friend -- "OK.  Is this thing moving really, really slowly?," while debating if I was in fact all there mentally.  "Yeah, duh, it's a snail."  I stepped back to see the entire structure -- a HUGE motorized snail moving at about 0.5 mph.  When it passed, we saw a slimy bubble trail representing the snail goo.  If only people spent this much effort on things that... matter.

We got to the main stage for Hot Chip, who were AWESOME.  One of my favorite acts of Coachella.  If you're not familiar, listen here:

Up next was The Postal Service.  I don't know, they sounded just like the Postal Service.  Whaddya want from me?  I decided during their set I should maybe smoke some more of what may or may not be a totally legal item (with proof of medical need) in the state of California.  Maybe.  A few minutes later I realized I may or may not be too high, and leaned my head back looking at the sky.  Lucky for me, the Postal Service decided to incorporate Klieg lights in their performance, and I spent the next 15 minutes or so staring at the convergence and divergence of beams in the night sky.  Who knew that could be so entertaining?  At least thousands of other people in the crowd, I'm assuming.

These are Klieg lights.  I just got you an inevitable trivia point in the near future.

After the Postal Service, my friend and I decided it was time to head back and get a reasonable amount of sleep.  We went back to the shuttles and then home.  At around 1am we were woken up by our housemates -- "OH MY GOD, DID YOU SEE PHOENIX??"  We didn't think we needed to, since we saw them at Coachella 2010.  Well, apparently we missed the showstopping event.  The Ignition Remixes of all Ignition Remixes.  "1901" x "Ignition Remix" WITH R. KELLY.  My friend described her experience: "It was totally dark and all of a sudden there was this voice that came out of nowhere.  But I knew.  I knew.  I whipped around to everyone and cried out 'THAT'S THE VOICE OF AN ANGEL!'  And then my entire body just reacted by... grinding.  Just grinding with myself."  Listen -- I'm just going to tell everyone I saw it, and it was life-changing.  Plus, I got a better view watching this:

And so, my chickadees, that concluded Day 2.  Coming up: Sandstorms, "Band or Drug?," and much more mango.