Cool Girl

Pictured: Decent life advice

"Do you want party buns?"

It's Sunday afternoon, Day 2 of CRSSD Fest, a semi-annual San Diego tradition held at waterfront park. It's approximately 119 degrees out and I am desperately seeking shade under a tree, nodding my head to an Oliver Nelson remix of Earth Wind and Fire's 'September.' a twenty something Asian girl is staring down at me inquisitively.

'What are party buns? Is it like a new drug?'

-No like do you want me to tie your hair up in little buns, your friends thought it would be funny.

I look across at Trent and Kevin. Kevin is wearing a Hawaiian shirt that is patterned with the cartoon character Gumby. Trent has opted not to wear a shirt at all today, opting for merely a pair of dad approved slacks, flooded and Dockers. I am the least stylish of the group, wearing a swim suit and a tank top that is emblazoned with the words 'Party Wave' (an old accessory from my BROseidon Halloween costume from a few years ago.)

"Ummm…sure."

-Yay! Ok, hold still.

This is rave culture.

***

As I have become fairly accustomed to doing; I planned an out of town trip at the last minute. As of Friday night at midnight, I had nothing packed, I was drunk and I was scheduled to leave in 8 hours. Why I thought going to the Daily Pint to wait for my drug dealer was a good idea, I'll never know.

As it turns out my dealer was giving himself a night off and sent a prostitute as his proxy. I sat at the bar slugging Racer 5's trying to convince a couple girls to come with me to SD while I waited for said hooker to bring me my molly.

"So you don't have a ticket yet?"

No.

"What about a hotel?"

No.

"How are you getting there?"

Either going with my buddy or taking the train…I guess I could drive, but my tags are expired.

"And when are you leaving?"

6 hours.

"Despite the strength of your argument, we'll pass."

Whatever, their loss.

Around 2am, the lady of the night brought me an Altoids tin full of party favors. I closed my tab and drove home for what I thought would be 5 hours of sleep before hopping in my buddy's car.

Buttt wouldn't you know it, I did that thing in bed where I say to myself, I'm just going to close my eyes for like 2 seconds before setting this alarm. Cut to; me waking up with 17 missed calls at 9am. My ride is already in Anaheim, I'm on my own.

The trip was not off to a strong start.

I load up 2 pink swimsuits, 2 bro tanks, a camping pad and my Altoid tin in the car and started driving south in my illegal car. ETA to San Diego 150 minutes, let's do this.

By noon I was drinking Fireball on the 14th floor of the Best Western plus.

By 2pm I was standing in line with a plastic baggy hiding under my nuts, hoping that Ahmed from Craigslist emailed me my ticket before I got to the front of security.

By 2:07 I had my first ten dollar beer in hand and the first roll was absorbing into the lining of my stomach. I was already ready for shade, with no re-entry privileges, this would be a long day.

A little secret about me is that my least favorite part of a music festival is the music. At Coachella, I prefer the campground. At Lolla, I prefer the after parties. Pretty much any time I go to a concert, I lobby for a party bus or some sort of extended pre game. For me, it's not about the music, it's about the party. Standing in the hot sun, drinking overpriced beers so my buddy can hear the set of some emerging artist that popped up on his Sound Cloud is not my idea of a good time. If left to my devices, I would rage all day and stumble in for the headliners…but I suppose this is why God invented drugs.

In terms of musical taste, I am incredibly basic. The only band I had even heard of from the Saturday line up was 'The Flaming Lips,' and that was only because they did a Super Bowl commercial. I've been listening to that Jack U song on repeat for like 6 weeks now and I still throw on that one Sebastian Ingrosso hit from 2012 on at pre games, but I join these weekend excursions because anything can happen.

***

I'm now sitting in the lawn while Anna puts the finishing touches on my party buns. I look ridiculous, two people have already stopped by and taken a snap of me. I wonder if they make it onto the San Diego story. A man covered in tattoos walks by wearing a tank top that says "Eat pussy, chug whiskey, hail satan" it's easily the most impressive article of clothing at the fest. Even the naked women with taped up nipples blush. This is rave culture.

***

I finally started to get a solid buzz/roll going about halfway through Client Liaison, an Australian electro-duo with a pension for 80's music. A girl sporting severe under butt approaches me and asks to get on my shoulders. Confused, I look around and note that there aren't many people around. 'Would you like me to just move over a bit, we're literally in the front row' I offer.

"I just kinda want to touch somebody."

Shoulders it is. The drummer smashes a Foster's, he then produces a second and tosses it into the crowd. Kevin reaches up and catches it one handed. The two of us summarily finish the beer within 5 seconds. We are granted approval from the band in the sign of a thumbs up. This is why I go to concerts.

I took this forward momentum and picked up the pace on the drinking. Being sober at a concert is kinda hellish for me since I am typically afraid to talk to strangers unless I am absolutely blasted. Fortunately after 10 beers, I turn into Casanova (in my head) and start doing things like challenge girls to cartwheel contests, ask girls to give my inflatable shark toy a kiss and host impromptu dance offs.

Next on the main stage was St. Lucia which I thought was an island in the Caribbean but is actually a pretty sick rock band out of Brooklyn. In fact, I enjoyed them so much that I decided to face the rest of my my molly and enter the Stratosphere. What followed was some weirdness that can only be described as a fever dream. I tried to track down some ketamine, Trent and Kevin fought for the love of our bartender, at one point I borrowed am girl's ear rings to re-pierce my ears. (I think they're now infected) We all ran around begging for body paint and temporary tattoos and I came out of a blackout at a Jamie XX show and felt like I was in purgatory.

I tracked back for a bit of the Zhu set, but realized it was time for me to pull the rip cord when I asked a girl if she could help me and my friends settle a little debate.

"Hey, we're trying to figure out this huge debate and were wondering if you could help us…"

-Sure what's up?

"Can you help us figure out who is the best kisser."

*EYE ROLL* Go home you're drunk.

Drunk indeed.

We get back to the hotel circa 11ish, and I finish off all contraband in sight. Kevin's brother and his friend TJ are intent on going to a warehouse. At this point I had exceeded my fill of neon painted Riverside imports so I campaigned for a Gaslamp bar.

"Let's go to a warehouse party until like 6 in the morning!"

"Can't we just go to Gaslamp and talk to a bunch of wealthy white former sorority girls?"

I lost.

First we went to a pre game, which was actually just a few people sitting on the floor tripping on DMT. I picked this as my cue to leave. I hopped in an uber and went to a bar in Gaslamp to hit on white girls.

I showed up to a spot called the waterfront. It was amazing, all of the people that hours ago were covered in body paint and temporary tattoos had showered and thrown on dark jeans and polos; miniskirts and summer dresses. The juxtaposition was striking, it was like going from a burning man party to a college crush dance. People were attractive now after removing all the dirt and sweat. The only empirical evidence that these were even the same people were the bright neon wristbands adorning everyone in the bar.

I ordered a beer and a shot. A girl in a Marisa Cooper Lacoste asked me why I did it.

"I dunno, I saw it on season 2 of The Wire."

"OMG I'm watching that right now!!"

"Do you want to go to my hotel's hot tub and talk about it? It's right next door."

"Aren't you going to buy me a drink first?"

"I am very drunk and on a lot of drugs."

"Me too."

I wish I could say that Sunday morning I woke up and immediately started smashing Fireball. I wish I could tell you I accepted the offer of the bros in the elevator that had a bunch of extra blow. I wish I could tell you I stuck around to watch Kygo play sunset and then drove to Oddball Comedy fest in Irvine where I had a backstage pass for the Amy Shumer show waiting for me.

I took a half measure. Mike Ehrmantraut would be disappointed.

In fact I took 4 shots, shotgunned 3 beers and drank 2 more. I then wandered through an Italian street fair to get a chicken caesar wrap and walked into the festival. Kevin ordered me one more beer. Apparently he thought hitting the 10 drink mark by noon would keep me in San Diego for the day.

But it is so hot and I am sweating so much that I think my BAC is actually negative. I run into a fountain to cool off and then I see Kevin and Trent talking to a few Asian girls with their hair in funny miniature buns.

"They're done! You look awesome!"

I pull out my phone and check out my reflection. My hair is in two small French buns. Apparently she has also given me a Hello Kitty sticker.

"Do you like it?"

-Uh ya, I guess.

"Hey can we ask you something?"

-Sure.

"What do guys like more a Coachella Girl or a Stage Coach girl?"

-What do you mean?

"Like rave girls or sorority girls"

I have to pinch myself to make sure this is real. I've been having this debate with my friends for years and I have always thought this. Rave girl is much closer to 'Cool Girl' from Gone Girl. Rave Girl does drugs, gets fucked up, strip waxes her pussy raw. Rave girl is sexy, rave girl shows off her ass and cleavage. Rave girl has no body fat.

Rave girl also is a little bit exotic, might have a vowel at the end of her last name. She probably smokes, has weird piercings, might even get down with tattoos.

Conversely, Stage Coach girl is the girl next door. She's blonde, she drinks beer, she had brothers growing up. She's fun, but in a wholesome, midwest charm kind of way. Her dad has money and influence. A social climber would choose Stage Coach girl and marry up. But then again, Rave girl doesn't give a fuck what you do…you probably have to hide your drug use from Stage Coach girl.

Rave girl is the Stones, Stage Coach girl is the Beatles. Conventional wisdom tells you to fuck one and marry the other, because you don't want to bring home a girl with a tongue ring to mom.

I probably only have a few of these music festivals left in my life. I think I'll go to one more Coachella and two more Snowglobes. That's probably it. They are taxing on the body, and I hate feeling the way I do right now. (Total dogshit, it's now Tuesday afternoon.)

There is a time and a place for both a rave girl and a sorority girl…so I hedge.

-"What about a CRSSD Girl?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's the best of both worlds. Party all day, clean up and throw on a dress. It's the perfect marriage of what I look for in a girl."

The two girls gushed at me for a moment as if I had just revealed to them the meaning of life. In that exact moment I was never more sure than I could have had a threesome in broad daylight.

I said goodbye to Kevin and Trent, went back to the hotel to roll up my camping pad and wad all of my dirty bro tanks into a ball. I reluctantly started driving north up the 405 back home to Venice.

Sure I could have blacked out, left San Diego at 3 in the morning and made it to work on time, but I have a big weekend coming up. I have a wedding in Chicago, and well we all remember what happened last time I went to one of those. Until then my friends...