“There’s nothing quite like a good road trip for me. Seeing my country – actually seeing it, as opposed to flying over it, is so cleansing to me.” I say to my friends as I eye the “Welcome to Tennessee” sign in the distance.
“Jesus, Kate, give me the fuckin’ joint.” Jill replies, as though I’m rambling incoherently. I probably am.
We’re en route to a music festival. To camp. I am nothing if not a so-called “city girl” but I can never say no to an adventure, especially when it is a road trip with my best friends. Doesn’t get better than that, for me.
We arrive and settle in to our “camp” – really a tent behind our car in the middle of a field filled with aisles and aisles of parked cars and their accompanying “camps” – and the adventure begins with some magic chocolates, which are pretty great because the chocolate covers up the unpleasant taste of the mushrooms. I’ve never quite gotten used to it.
After a few bong hits, we decide to head to a show. As we scamper from our makeshift camp (officially named: Camp Pussy Galore), I feel as light as hydrogen as my friend Chloë hands me a joint and my friend Jill comments on her boob paint-job. I have chosen to refrain from the toplessness, but to tell the truth, it’s hot as hell and I kind of regret choosing to don clothing.
Soon there’s a drum circle where 7 or 8 people are rhythmically beating drums with about 5 or maybe 10 more people dancing to the beats in the most fantastic way. Surrounding the group is a small “forest” of 10 or so trees, which also make music. The trees play different notes depending on where and how you touch them. Low on the trunk, a low note, high, a high note. We spend some time – an hour or ten minutes – exploring this scene, making beautiful music, before deciding we’d better get to the show.
When we make it to our stage of choice, the crowd is huge, and everyone is whispering the typical drugs under their breath – “sweet doses – blow – malis” is the soft hum seducing my eardrums. Then one guy whispers to me: “blue dolphins” and I instantly follow him, exclaiming loudly to my friends: “YOU GUYS. THIS GUY HAS DOLPHINS. AND THEY’RE BLUE. BLUE DOLPHINS.”
I discover they’re actually pills and purchase them, then start a campaign to advance in the crowd. Then – a short mission to figure out what the pills are, and we discover they are ecstasy, soon downing them accordingly.
We groove to some songs, but end up only hearing a few due to our late arrival. As the show and bowls/bongs packed with various items wind down, we decide to head back to our dwelling, feeling rather spent after so much driving and so much, uh, adventure. Mostly I just want to get back to our “camp” neighbors because I have an epic idea in my head about dirty hippie sex.
On the walk back to camp, Jill mentions that her boob paint is messed up and I need to fix it – being ridiculously high and thinking such activity is hilarious, I proclaim myself the Picasso of boobs and try to “fix it” by re-working her previous work, and essentially groping her in the process. The truth is, I don’t really think much about it, except to decide her boobs aren’t my favorite (I even like them less than my own) and that I should probably incorporate her nipples into my masterpiece.
Upon arriving at our site, our neighbors invite us to toke a bit, and who can say no to a goodnight toke? Or hot dirty hippie boys? Certainly not me. I swear one of them actually IS James Franco. So we shoot the shit and I wonder if our lovemaking will be better or worse than unicorns, until my thoughts are interrupted by a visual of Jill – completely naked, sans paint. She’s just chillin’. I assume she’s trying to get laid by one of the guys, thinking in her drug-induced haze that this type of behavior is a way to go about doing so?
In any case, I take it as a cue to pass the fuck out. I used to think people who did this – who realized when it was time to bail – were kind of lame, as one needs to supervise their friends in times like this. But, you know, we’re not 18 anymore, and I am not trying to have an orgy tonight. You dig?
So I head to our tent to pass out, and who ends up right next to me but Jill? I assume she put clothing on before joining me on the air mattress, but am informed otherwise when I give her a little snug. Who doesn’t like snuggling right?
Thinking about the fact that my best friend is now naked, curled up next to me, with her legs around me, and her hand resting curiously close to my boob, multiple drugs in my system or not, I feel a little uncomfortable.
“I’m going to go smoke.” I announce, leaving the tent.