Drunk
Budweiser sure knows how to corner a market. The goal for MIA was to be drunk enough not to notice my sweatiness or foot pain but to still remember and enjoy the music. That said, I was successful, albeit at a high cost. After losing my friend who snuck in our tequila, I regretfully shelled out for $11 drinks as my pregame buzz faded. Beer was refreshing yet got warm quickly, so I embraced the Straw-Ber-Rita (a very confusing drink concept). In my hazy opinion, the performances were great, but making it the whole 10 hours was tough and I was sober by the time Beyoncé ended. The cost of staying drunk (plus the ticket price) wasn’t quite worth it. The bright side: crab fries are my new favorite drunchies.
Rolling
I lick my pinkie and dip it into the tiny plastic bag in the inner pocket of my high waisted shorts as soon as we are surrounded by a big crowd. The bitter taste is intolerable and I quickly reach for a piece of gum. Soon enough, my body starts moving without me even realizing it. I’m tapping my foot as Porter Robinson’s “Language” is blasting through the speakers. My jaw is clenching and yet I’m floating with happiness. Elated. Everything is happening so quickly and OMG THE LIGHTS ARE BEAUTIFUL. Round two is deadmau5. Like a five-year-old, I skip around Benjamin Franklin Parkway and run in circles. I literally cannot stop moving. I close my eyes as “Ghosts N Stuff” is playing. Peaking, I can’t stop dancing. The colors can be seen from the back of my head and I am elated. Last dip and we run off to Beyoncé. I’m floating on a cloud. Beyoncé is beautiful. Her hair is perfect. Her makeup is perfect. Her wardrobe is perfect. Her rendition of “Baby Boy” is perfect. This could not get any better.
Sober
Oh GodI am so very sober at a concert festival right now, and all I can see is butt cheeks. Why. OH YEAH, I need the stamina to stand for six hours so I can get prime Beyonce standing space. Let’s do this. A$AP Rocky, I don’t really care for you or your tardiness. Flavor Flav is in Public Enemy? Probably should have known that. Oh God, now he’s trying to preach. Tooooo sober for this. Possibly getting a little crowded as Imagine Dragons comes out. AND KILLS IT. Despite the lead singer’s confusing white boy mohawk/mullet/rattail. Phoenix can only make this night better and sweet baby Jesus so much bass all over my body. The final stretch arrives; my heels are burning as my throat silently cries out for water and this giant sweaty man next to me invades my personal space. Only three rows of people separate me from the gate as it’s finally time for the Queen: Beyonce. OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod she’s com-—PERFECTION BLACKOUT.
