#tbt Remember when we went to Bottle Rock?

If you’re virtual friends with me on any number of social media outlets you’re probably well aware and definitely so sick of the fact that I went to Bottle Rock last month. But can we talk about it for a second? I had a really great time. I think everyone did. I actually think it’s kind of hard not to have a great time when you combine great music with great wine and great weather. Seriously, how great was the weather all weekend? And sleeping at your parent’s house? You just can’t beat it. I think it’s really neat that all of this happened in Napa, at a place I last associated with livestock, funnel cake, and underage drinking out of water bottles in line for the zipper. Even on Sunday, when all eighty seven thousand days of Bottle Rock were finally catching up to me, I didn’t want to leave. It’s honestly a little sappy, but I was kind of in awe. So indulge me for a second – or don’t, it’s a free country. But I’m going to talk all about my experience at Bottle Rock, if for no other reason than because I just don’t want to forget it. And my name’s in the headline, so that kinda means I can do whatever I want.

The coolest and smartest thing I’ve ever done has been surrounding myself with people cooler and smarter than I am, and this weekend that couldn’t have been truer. So let’s start on Wednesday, because that’s when my weekend started. My friend Lacey is an in flight team member at Virgin so she threw me on a flight Wednesday morning. There is never a dull moment with me at LAX and this trip was no different. I don’t check bags if I don’t have to, because I usually don’t arrive at the airport with enough time allowing me to do so, but considering my carry on was solely full of footwear, I allotted time to check a suitcase solely full of cut off shorts and crocheted tops. Turns out, I didn’t even need to because my flight was delayed. And delayed. And delayed again. Which was fine because after going through security I really needed a bloody mary. But then it wasn’t delayed? And my name being paged through the Virgin America terminal was what ultimately broke up Daniel and I, my airport bar boyfriend who was traveling to Vegas for business. So I ran to the gate with a bag of Jeffrey Campbell platforms that I never even wore only to sit on the runway for an eternity while Chloe circled at SFO with her jet lagged parents waiting for my arrival. But once I landed and got to Napa, I almost wished I had utilized the delay to sleep, or drink water.

Changing in to a screen T that read home is wherever I’m with you, you know like Edward Sharpe, a black and white banded mini skirt, black hi top chucks and a flannel, we kicked off the festivities tailgating out of an old school Mercedes that doesn’t have seatbelts with a fridge pack of Stella. Because, you gotta look and act the part, you know? I had zero idea of what to expect, considering the last time I was at the fair grounds I was blasting Ashlee Simpson’s Pieces of Me in Lexi’s Jeep in the summer of 2004, but I was excited. Our friend, and driver of said Mercedes, had designed the massive guitar entrance and speaker box sculptures and his excitement only fueled mine. Macklemore was our priority, with a pitstop at the beverage tent with the shortest line, because obviously we were parched. The tent we stopped at was cash only, which left me concerned for the rest of the weekend, but luckily that was a rarity. With a beverage in hand, we enjoyed the show. And it was everything. I expected the set to be short, considering they don’t really have many songs, but I really didn’t expect them to rock so hard. With only one minor altercation, (some fourteen year old girl told me to go eff myself? I told her I surely didn’t need to), I’m going out on a limb and placing it in my top five. Hearing the crowd singing along to Same Love honestly restored my faith in humanity. I get the goosies just thinking about it. It’s so awesome to me that such a mainstream band can make such a statement and have all of their fans singing along. Whether or not they even understand the lyrics is neither her nor their, but cool none the less. We left the festival and grabbed dinner at Morimoto because hellooo it’s day one and we had to take it easy. Bottle Rock is a marathon not a sprint.

Thursday was super interesting and very aggressive. Chloe had scored me a volunteer wristband for Thursday because I had only purchased a three day pass. Her friend’s band was playing Thursday morning on the local stage and had asked her to recruit fans by passing out bracelets. Obviously, she couldn’t do this on her own. Hence, my volunteer wristband. DeLuna was awesome. And we made some pretty cool friends in line because we arrived at 11 and doors didn’t open until noon. The only shitty part about Thursday was that when I got dressed in the morning I was under the understanding that I could leave the festival and come back. So I threw on a black maxi dress, fringed moccasin boots and the same flannel from the night before. When trying to exit – no such luck because the policy had changed seven times since I had first entered. I accepted it and moved on. Nothing some red lipstick can’t fix. And shout out to my mom for bringing me a phone charger and Chloe a pair of socks. It was on Thursday that we were introduced to the Lorenza tent. They poured a delicious rose and had partnered with Free People, where we were DIYing ombre glitter wine glasses like nobody’s business. Obviously after a few glasses, chalking my hair pink sounded like the best idea ever. Accept my hair is completely bleached with peroxide and so the tips are now stained strawberry blonde, but whatever it’s fine.  We frolicked in the grass like gypsies and had the time of our lives. We saw Primus? We saw a lot of friends? I had a balloon tied around my wrist that said hott so that no one could lose me? I wore sunglasses late night? After a tour of downtown Napa, and talking some gals out of eating at Asia Café, we ended up at Dim Sum Charlie’s and my staple flannel still smells like a campfire. But Bottle Rock hadn’t really started yet, so I guess none of this really even counts.

We meant business on Friday. And we dressed for it, let me tell you. Cut off daisy dukes. Fringed boots. Pucci print headband. A tank top with tigers on it?? And pink hair. We parked a car at Eden’s dad’s house and walked to the fairgrounds. Conveniently enough, there was a liquor store on the way, where we purchased Pringles, a tall can, and Pepto Bismol, because, you know, festival food. After dancing in the grass and sufficiently draining Lorenza of rose for the second day in a row, Eden headed to the airport, and Chloe and I headed to The Black Keys to stake out a spot. Blues Traveler, Alabama Shakes, The Shins. The Flaming Lips, WHATEVER. They were great. I’ve seen The Black Keys before, but seriously, unreal. Next Girl is my absolute favorite Black Keys song and for that to be the second song of the set left me on cloud nine the entire time. Friday night brought an interesting dynamic, in that we were herded out of the fair grounds like four H cattle in to the streets until we found ourselves at Fagiani’s with everyone I’ve ever seen in my whole life. Which is always super fun and not crowded at all.

Saturday was maybe one of the top five best days of my whole life. I can’t necessarily name the other four days, but I’d like to reserve them for things like the O-Town concert, my best friend’s wedding, the Spice Girl’s reunion, things of that nature. Our day started a little later. Because of Friday. But after breakfast at Grace’s Table with Whitney and Lucas, two of my dearest friends, and a Minnie Driver sighting, I was back in action. Eden made a pick up from the airport the night before and we were reunited with friends we had made at Easter, which is a long story in itself that I should probably explain, but remember when I said this post was completely self gratuitous? I already know the story, so I’ll digress. Saturday was awesome. Our friends were trying to acclimate themselves to the area, so they picked up a case of every Mexican beer known to mankind and we listened to Lorde on repeat until we ventured to the festival with tiny Pacifico’s in hand. I paired white chucks with hot pick cut offs and a white tank, with a cable knit sweater around my waist because sometimes I like dressing like a dad. The pink shorts really made the pink tips in my hair pop. Kings of Leon was basically my entire reason for purchasing a pass, so I was SO happy all day with anticipation. I’ve kinda tried to see them 92034720 times (the last time my ticket was refunded to me because the lead singer walked off stage after three songs at a concert in Texas only to check himself in to rehab), so Saturday was super important to me. Bad Religion was cool. But only because I was already there, chatting with my cousin, running in to people I hadn’t seen in ages. Jane’s Addiction was kind of bad ass. And Perry offering dating advice, telling the men in the audience how to treat a lady? What a keeper. But then he chugged a bottle of red wine on stage, so maybe no. But can we get back to Kings of Leon? After staking out a spot, we had some time to chill. Chill in a cuddle puddle, taking the most hilarious photos and bartering with each other for sea shells, bobby pins, and peanut m&m’s because that’s what we were using as currency and we’re amused by the dumbest things, until the show started and I seriously lost my mind. I can’t even put it in to words. So I won’t even try. Obvzzz I’ve turned the set list in to a playlist on Spotify and have been listening to it twenty four sevs in an attempt to recreate this indescribable night, but no such luck. Every song was my favorite song. The weather was so great. I couldn’t have asked for anything more. Truly. Saturday night we ventured to Oenotri to hear The Buttercream Gang, then to Downtown Joe’s because you can’t escape that place, and on the late night I found myself back in a booth at Asia Café drinking a Tsing Tao. We called it a night when the fire marshals arrived and my beer was swiped off the table because it was after two.

Super convenient that Mother’s Day was on Sunday because I could kinda kill two birds with one stone while in Napa. A little preoccupied with the events of the weekend, I arrived at home on Sunday morning in the clothes I left in the day before and without even as much as a card for my mom, completely taking me out of the running for favorite daughter ever. Luckily when my mom realized no one had picked up the breakfast she had outsourced to Emmy Lou’s, I was able to jump in and save the day – semi but not entirely redeeming myself from my poor showing prior. Breakfast was delish. My champagne flute was never empty. I was able to spend the morning with just shy of a dozen of my dearest family members and some of the most fantastic mommies on planet earth, imho. After breakfast I changed out of the cutoffs and into a tie-dyed hi-lo dress with slits so high it prompted my mom to double check I was wearing appropriate undergarments, fringed moccasin boots and a turquoise headband. My friends were obviously dressed to the nines as well, as we were all weekend, which prompted a lot of people to give us their opinions on our wardrobes whether we wanted them or not, but even more so on Sunday. Those girls are terrible, said a girl probably wearing a polo tucked in to khaki shorts in the VIP beer line. But whatever, looking the part is like half the battle. And we were at a music festival. I mean, you wouldn’t go to Spain without a pair of Manolo Blahniks. Or to The Hamptons without a Saint James nautical striped pull over. Would you? The bands on Sunday weren’t necessarily my favorites of all time. I love the two GROUPLOVE songs currently on the radio. It’s hard not to like Train. And we finally found the illusive Whole Foods Food Court and sat by a fire pit eating barbequed oysters from Villa Corona with what felt like front row seats for Zac Brown Band playing on a jumbo projection screen. Sunday night brought me back to Fagiani’s, where I met a young, barefoot couple who tried to smoke a joint and then successfully bartered their bar tab down from $40 to $20. I’m not going to say I was envious, or a little intrigued, but maybe something to aspire to?

And just like that, Bottle Rock was over.  A month later and I’m still relishing in one of my favorite weekends to date. My hair is back to it’s normal color. My voice has returned. And I can’t wait to do it all over again next year. So thanks for indulging me, mom. Here are a few photos I might have been too hungover and exhausted to show you while I was home. It's too bad we didn't duck face in any of them. 

Until next year...

No comments:

Post a Comment