I remain uncertain about what I can and cannot say, just as I am not sure what pictures I can and cannot post to here without getting sued. Either way, this I know–St. Patrick’s Day is a white trash holiday. I remember this every year when I get outside and and some chain smoking bleach blonde dumps her beer all over me while her boyfriend with sunburn over his state of Texas tattoo tries to strike up a conversation with my boyfriend. Can’t you see he’s wearing a shirt with a collar and I have perfect hair? Stay away from us.
Ludacris didn’t go on until 5 pm, we got through the gates at noon. So the only activity was drinking. Luckily, I kept running into people I knew from another life, years and years ago. Which, if you’re going to run into people you haven’t seen in 7 years, it’s best to do it in the rain when you’re both drunk.
All in all the concert was worth the agony of celebrating St. Patrick’s Day. Hundreds of intoxicated white people twerking on each other in the pouring rain while screaming “Move Bitch, Get Out the Way” You know I wasn’t going to miss that.
Along the way we sacrificed a winter coat, $60 each, and a little bit of dignity. It was good preparation for BUKU this weekend.
A Meal Without Wine Is Called Breakfast 