Note: this blog was written after it got a record number of requests (three). Keep the topics coming and I’ll keep writing them.
When life gives you paint, sometimes you just have to throw it on one another. (Obviously.) And sometimes, you buy a concert ticket and get coated in paint from firefighting-sized hoses. (Less obviously.) And it’s the best thing you’ve done. Like, for a while. Sure your hair got incredibly crispy – more disgusting than it’s been since that one time you got thrown in the mud – or the time you had your tonsils taken out and were doctor-ordered not to tilt back your head for a week. And maybe the paint party was 947 degrees with zero breeze. But you were also with your friends, and at a concert. Where neon paint was being blasted around – so really, how bad could it be?
The answer is none. It could be none bad.
Through the awkward and amazing, here’s how it all went down:
5:30 pm After a short carpool and hundreds of texts about where to print off tickets, we arrive at our slightly questionable hotel. The doorknobs only open up, as in literally lifting up – a trait the man at the front desk called “a Kansas thing.” Which is the hugest load of crap. As a native Kansan, I’ve never opened a door “up” in my entire life. Or if he thought it was funny, it wasn’t.
We realize we’re located within walking distance from a Waffle House and a joint KFC/Taco Bell.
5:40 pm We make friends with our hotel floor mates.
5:43 pm Our neighbors ask us if we want to take a two-story beer pong out of the hotel window. We politely decline, but hold the bong and pour while they partake. The hotel windows actually open.
6:30 pm Commence hanging out with new friends. Beer pong is played with a single ball. Everyone wearing an animal-themed shirt is the drunkest.
8 pm We leave for the paint party/concert. On foot.
8:30 pm We arrive to a locked gate, which people are scaling to enter the concert venue. There is zero security. We approach a different gate and ask where to get in. A worker unlocks the door, gives us a ride in his extended-cab golf cart, and scans our tickets. He is our new best friend.*
9pm – 11:30 pm We “rage,” get coated in paint, listen to more dub step music than I’ve ever heard in my entire life, and generally just have an amazing time.
11:40 pm Begin the trip back to our hotel.
11:50 pm Start walking up the world’s longest hill through ankle-tall grass.
12:15 am Still walking up this damn hill.
12:40 am Stop at a gas station to buy 44-ounce waters. Half our party hitches a ride in the back of a stranger’s truck.
1 am Back to the hotel. Feet are covered in mud/mixed paint; no one can tell which is which.
1:10 am I realize the dried paint looks like bruises and take a Snapchat with the caption “paint, not bruises,” and send to too many contacts.
1:30 am Second trip to the KFC Bell and first trip to Waffle House.
1:45 am Meet a biker chick who had taken a nap on the hotel couch. Allegedly, her giant-sized boyfriend kicked her off their Harley (which she purchased) and left her on the side of the highway. He goes back to their shared residence (also owned by her) and lets it be known he’s not coming back for her.
1:50 am She calls her ex mother-in-law for a ride.
1:52 am She asks for the beer that I am drinking with the polite, “Are you going to give me that beer or not?” then chugs it, guffawing that it was less than half full.
2:15 am Swimming with our neighbors’ oversized inflatable turtle is deemed impossible by the front desk on account of it being past pool hours.
The elevator is broken.
2:30 am Bed.
The Next Morning
9:40 am Paint is everywhere.
Everyone’s hair is a crunchy, pointed, dried-paint-filled mess. Except for the friend who had her hair washed by a Honduran who travels with expensive shampoo. She smells like salon.
We missed breakfast by 10 minutes; we decide it’s time for the second trip to Waffle House.
10 am There is lipstick on my coffee cup, the waitress tells me it is “Not my color.”
10:30 am Back to bed until checkout.
2:45 pm Finally home, gear up for a three hour recovery nap. Followed by the longest Monday that has ever existed.
*A fact that we mentioned when we saw him later that night in our hotel elevator.