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...
