So let's say you're this attractive and highly sassed female with long dark hair that is generally pretty good as far as hair goes, but is OH-SO-HELLA annoying to keep up. You're still a long (and I mean LONG) way off from throwing in the towel and chopping it off 80s mom-style, so you suck it up and spend half an hour every couple days combing out knots, products and various tree matter for the sake of your own superficial personal hair satisfaction. Lalalala. La.
Then. Suddenly. You realize that outdoor raving season is coming. Even the THOUGHT of this makes your hair DIE of FEAR and RAGE about the wind and sand and heat and river washing and that bullshit biodegradable shampoo (I don't give a SHIT what the fucking label says or how much it smells like nature or whatever, straight-up, that shit just doesn't work. PS: neither does the deoderant. I'm not saying this from using it, I'm saying it from having to smell friends who use it --- from wayyyyy further across the room than I actually want to. Sorry dudes.)
SO. Anyway. You decide that you're going to be all smart and pre-emptive, and so you pick out a rad leave-in conditioner at the Shopper's along with your sunblock, black nailpolish and bottle of 5-HTP. Aha! Now everytime you hop out of the raver river, you can just spray your hair with those amazing, oily, petroleum-based sulphates that somehow make your hair look fucking amazing. That way you won't end up with one giant dreadlock come the end of August like you normally do. Whoa. You are like, SO smart.
So you take the bottle to all your summer raves and everytime you hop out of the river / shower / just randomly because you're remembering to, you spray it in and try to comb it through. But. For some reason your hair still isn't cooperating. It seems like this year, the elements are just too much for it. It keeps sticking to itself and being annoying and frizzy and it sort of looks like the reason Axl Rose started doing cornrows. That reason wasn't good.
Fast forward to the day you get home from the last rave... okay, let's be real. Fast forward to the week AFTER you get home from the last rave and you actually start thinking about unpacking. You start sorting through all your crap... and low and behold... the leave-in conditioner is there. You pick it up to place it on your little shelf in the bathroom next to the crimper. Then you notice something strange.
There... on the label... in tiny letters... you notice that it actually doesn't say LEAVE-IN CONDITIONER at all. Instead, it says MAXIMUM CONTROL HAIRSPRAY.
SO all fucking summer long, you haven't noticed AT ALL that MAYBE, just maybe, the reason why your hair feels like a giant ball of glue is because you've been SPRAYING IT ON REPEATEDLY. And that even though the two leave-on conditioner and hairspray bottles looked identical enough on the shelf for you to grab the wrong one, it didn't even once occur to you to actually like, wonder what the fuck is going on / check the label as soon as it began riding the FAIL train. Because really, the only reading you've managed to do for the last two months were the of the DJ line-up and food cart menus. And that was kind of hard.
So yeah. Maybe NOT being on acid all the time would've been helpful for that whole situation. But you know, it also might've been helpful to like, you know, NOT be on acid while attempting to put on my fake eyelashes in the dark with a flashlight and a handmirror. It only took me 2 hours before I decided that I'm not allowed to do my make-up unsupervised at a rave anymore.
I've only just begun, my friends. I've only just begun. Stay tuned for the re-cap... I haz pictures. OOOOOohhhhh BassCoast. Shambles. SO SO SO SO GOOD. And bad. For my hair. And several braincells that have now left us and gone to a better place.
K, so, soon. First I have this one big fucking dread to deal with.