So, as many of you may know, I went to the DC101 Chili Cookoff yesterday. It was the first time I've been to this event, which I believe has been going on for almost 20 years now. The headlining act, and the one I wanted to see, was Staind, though Live, Seether, and Finger Eleven were also performing, among others, making it a pretty inviting event.
I finished up a halfday of work (it's the Summer now...working on Saturdays. Ugh), then slipped on my standard music festival shirt (a basaeball shirt...seems festive and serves the purpose of both short and long sleeve shirt, so I'm weather adjustable). I head on over to Eric's place and grab a few beers before the show. Laurie and Dre are also going to the show, so they show up a little while later and it's off to the metro.
Everything is going along smoothly, we don't have to switch trains as it's right at Metro Center, which is on the red line, and I'm spouting off stories of stupid shenanigans which is making the people around us on the metro terribly uncomfortable. Then we get there.
This is when I start to wonder who the geniuses are that organized this shit show. After waiting in line around the block to get in, we are greeted by a guy sitting on the ground barely 50 feet into the place puking on himself. Yes, on himself. He is sitting Indian style (is that not PC anymore?) with his head down and proceeds to yak right on his legs (that was never PC). Did I mention that it's only 2:00?
Eric and Laurie make a b-line for the port-a-potties (more on that later) and I head to the "ticket mob." You see, at Chili Cookoff, you buy tickets for a dollar which can be used to buy stuff. Beer is 7 tickets. Not just one beer ticket, seven standard tickets. So about 100 people are packed around this tent (no line of course, that would make too much sense) pushing their way towards to disheveled bunch of volunteers who are counting out 50-100 tickets for each person. Why again did they make it 7 tickets instead of just 1??? I finally make my way to the front, get 56 tickets, (that's 8 beers and three minutes of counting) though she threw in a bunch more since she lost count, and moved on to my next line.
Yes, my next line. The beer line. I don't even want to revisit this in story form, but let me just say that the word line is being used very loosely. If line breaking were a true crime, everyone at the show would be in jail right now. And speaking of everyone at the show, oh what a wonderful bunch of characters I saw. Here's some of my highlights (or lowlights):
-About 30 thongs, ranging from attractive women who like the high rise thong, low rise jeans combo, to the "I'm so fat that everything hangs out so just deal with seeing my thong because I'm just hoping someone is drunk enough here to wanna sleep with me" type. (Perhaps I should have mentioned the Indian style yakker to these chicks) I got a few pics of the finer ones, you'll have to check my pics when I get them uploaded.
-I would have to say I saw about another 30 mohawks as well. As I've established in a past blog entry on my other blog, the mohawk is taking over for the mullet and there are two places both are usually if full force, amusement parks and music festivals. I've even created a few slogans for the mohawk, since the "business upfront, party in the back" worked so well for the mullet. Here are a few: "move the party up front and center"; "live every day like Mr. T"; "not just for her pubes anymore."
-Boobs, yes I saw boobs. Two sets in fact. One set was nice and it was on a girl who was standing in front of me during Staind, whose boyfriend kept flashing them off. This must have got her in the mood, because later she decided to flash them to everyone as she sat on his shoulders high above the crowd. Classy, I know. So, I took a movie of this exchange. Classier, I know.
-Wait, didn't I say I saw two sets of boobs? Oh yes, while waiting in the line for the pisser, I am unfortunate enough to turn to the line next to me just in time to see a 60+ year old women, who had that weathered, trailer park look to her grab out her saggy right boob, manhandle it upward and lick her nipple...THREE TIMES. I think I saw some liver spots. If I had had more beer (which is impossible given the line situation) I definitely would have thrown up everywhere.
And on that, note, I just realized that I am terribly hungover (I went to a sushi place and then Rocket Bar afterward, where drinks were purchased with cash, not seven f-ing tickets) and thinking about old saggy boobs is not helping. Glad I didn't eat any of that chili. Oh, yeah. Forgot to do that.