The Worst Kind of People: Music Festival Edition

This past weekend was Riot Fest in Chicago which means music festival season is finally coming to a close.

Like most summer concert attendees, you probably feel equal parts sadness and relief that although you can’t view 15 minutes of every band you have ever enjoyed all at once, you won’t have to deal with the awful specimen of people sweating all over you.

Daylong music fests draw in people from all walks of life, but because my soul is filled to the core with sass, I would like to focus on all of the worst people you will encounter at every music festival. Some of these people are strangers while some you may have brought with you, but regardless, they should all go play in traffic.

The “cool” parents.

Did they wake up this morning and think, “Hey. You know what that loud, over crowded, smoky festival needs…my children and all their shit.” You know what would have actually been cool?  Hiring a sitter. Now take your double wide stroller off my foot, and shove it up your ass.

Your ex.

Aren’t you glad you introduced him/her to all your favorite bands? Now you get to relive the magic with them and their new significant other.  You will lose everyone you came in with and never find them again, but if one thing in life is certain, you will run into your ex every ten minutes for the entire weekend.

Chatty Cathy.

You have endured days of extreme weather, crowds, and vile porta potties just to hear that one song, and when it finally gets played, your friend just won’t shut the fuck up. You are literally just nodding and singing along directly into their face, but they keep going on and on about some ex or something.

Overactive bladder.

You will spend more time waiting for this person in the never-ending bathroom line than actually watching bands.  They are fully aware of their inability to hold it, but it still won’t stop them from consuming 14 beers, 8 cups of coffee, and numerous flasks of Jameson. Get them a package of Depends for Christmas or lose their number by next summer.

The drunk girl who “doesn’t give a fuck.”

She bumped into you violently several times, burned a passer by with her cigarette, and squeezed her way into a spot that didn’t exist, but don’t expect an apology.  After the rest of her group see the ‘I am going to murder your friend’ look on your face they try to reason with her, but her lack of common social decency went out the window with her morals half a dozen beers ago.  I like to let Karma (in the form of a crowd surfer kick to the head) handle this one.

The person who shits in the porta potty.

Yeah yeah, I read the book. I am aware that everybody poops, but that doesn’t make me hate this individual any less.  Riot fest smelled like a zoo because you had to eat Mexican food and wash it down with beer all afternoon.  Next year be smart, fast for several days, and spare us all the scent of your shit basking in the summer sun.

Captain Obvious.

Oh, is it hot outside in the middle of July? Tell me again about how crowded it is.  We are all equally as uncomfortable as you, but like adults, we mask our miserableness with alcohol so starting drinking more and caring less. And yes, we are already aware the beer is expensive, thanks.

Stage nine clinger.

All you wanted to do was find a hot random to suck face with for a few songs, but suddenly red pants guy is following you from stage to stage. You realized six minutes in to your make out session that he was not in fact your soul mate, but now you are having a hard time shaking him. Just tell them your friend has to pee again, and lose him at the porta potties.

All the single ladies, all the single ladies.

Recently at work, I was helping a mother plan her 20-year-old daughter’s wedding. Yes, you read that correctly; she was 20 and conveniently found her soul mate while sitting next to him on a bus. Personally, the only thing I have found on public transit was an overwhelming scent of urine or a guy having a heated argument with himself…

When her mom asked me to draw inspiration from my own wedding, I had to explain that all my ideas were piping hot from my brain oven since I have never been married. What I experienced next went something like this…shocked face, quick recovery, confused stare, head tilt, look of pity, offer to set me up.

I explained that while her nephew seemed like a lovely individual, I was not interested in having coffee with him directly after our meeting.  She continued to ask me if I was still looking for the one or if I was simply focusing on my career, and while her questions seemed to get more intrusive and extremely along the lines of “What’s wrong with you?!” I tried to direct her attention to mason jars and homemade mercury glass…”Ooooh, ahhhh…Have you been on Pinterest?”

In reality I felt like saying, “You know. I probably shouldn’t have drunk that vile of gypsy tears when I was 8.  Now I am cursed to die alone.  What can you do though? They triple dogged dared me…”

As she continued to eye me up and down looking for a tail or extra finger, I began to wonder why people assume there must be something wrong with you if you are over the age of 30 and not married. You can be in a committed relationship with someone, even living with them, but if you two don’t feel the need to define your partnership with a piece of paper, you might as well adopt a dozen cats and hang Cathy comics on your fridge.  

Her daughter was sure she had found her soul mate before she could legally drink or gamble and no one questioned her, yet if you are over 30 and un-wed, you get nothing but questions. I know when I was 20, I was making out with everything with a pulse while simultaneously losing shoes all over the city, but I get we are all on different paths…

Life is not always a Disney film where you wake up on your 16^th birthday and find the man of your dreams. Perhaps he shows up in your 30s or 40s.  Perhaps he is like a fine George Clooney wine and it’s better to wait until its reached peak potential before consuming. Maybe you have already met him but don’t see the point in spending your life savings/acquiring crippling credit card debt to prove your love because picking up his stinky socks and washing his underwear are proof enough.  If you are happy, and he is happy, don’t let Beyoncé’ bully you into thinking you need a ring to justify it.

Either way being over 30 and having to check a “Miss” box on an important document is not the end of the world. If I’ve learned anything from reality television it’s that divorce is much worse so don’t let anybody make you feel like a leper because your prince still hasn’t arrived on his magic carpet belting out show tunes. Plus, something tells me if he likes to sing that much, it wouldn’t have worked out anyway.

Adventures in Tindering.

For months I have been hearing people talk about a dating app called Tinder, and after several pushes from my friends, I finally decided to see what all the fuss was about.

It turns out everyone on Facebook must be lying about getting married, because the entire world is single and currently on Tinder. I saw people I knew, people I am glad I did not, and a whole lot of nipples. Apparently there is a shirt shortage and a cargo pant surplus going on within 10 miles of my apartment…

Either way, I learned a lot throughout my experience so if against all your better judgment, you decide to give Tinder a try as well, here is some helpful advice to get you through the process…

First, you need to create a profile so find the best pictures of you in existence. Remember when you had food poisoning in ’09 and lost ten pounds with out even trying? Grab a picture of that and post it immediately. Also, be sure to add a bunch of photos of yourself having (what most of society would consider as) fun.  Eating cold Chinese take out in your underwear while working your way through Netflix may be your (ok my) idea of fun, but it will not get you laid. You know what must get you laid though? Tigers, because every other guy was posing with one…

Once you have collected a decent amount of Instagram filtered photos featuring jungle animals, you are ready to write your bio. If you are a girl, you don’t really need to say anything because no guy is actually reading it, but to improve your odds, talk about anal and sandwiches. If you are a guy, be sure to mention your height, but only if you are over six feet tall. If you are short, use words like “CEO” and “Black Card.” You can also post a picture of yourself with a large group of attractive females because if there is one thing us women love, it’s a ladies man with a ton of competition.

When your profile is complete, you are ready to find a match. A screen swipe to the right means, “I like your face and would consider mauling it if you are not a closet fatty,” while a swipe to the left means, “I wouldn’t fuck you with my friend’s dick or vagina.”

Get ready to lose endless hours of sleep. See, Tinder is the drug you knew you shouldn’t have tried in the first place, but now you are addicted. It has become your personal mission to view every single person’s profile within a certain mile radius only to deem a handful worthy of your time. Therefore, this is also the point during your Tinder experience where you will become drunk with power. You will develop a keen ability to swipe left with rapid speed. In fact, you will become such a judgmental asshole, as karma, you will accidently swipe left to some of the most beautiful people you have ever seen.  Take a moment to mourn each loss, but know you completely deserve it.

When you manage to move on from such tragedy, you may come across another human you wouldn’t kick out of bed for eating crackers, and if that person also finds you aesthetically pleasing, you become a match.

If you are a girl, you can just sit back and receive compliments from random strangers who have absolutely never messaged any other women with the same tag line of “Hello gorgeous. Your eyes are really beautiful.”  Several will ask you a simple question like “What is your favorite color?” then proceed to give you an explanation of your entire life based off of your fondness for turquoise. If you are really lucky, some guys won’t even greet you but rather ask if you want to meet them out for a drink at that very moment, even if it’s 3 am.  

If you are a guy, try to avoid doing any of those things, especially the last one. It’s always best to try not to give the impression your potential match will end up in a bathtub full of ice. If you are serious about meeting your soul mate, get to know her. You will also have to pretend you actually give a shit about her cat or recent juice cleanse. If it’s “just the tip,” you are looking to play, hit up Adult Friend Finder and save that poor girl from a relationship with Ben and Jerry later on…

Whatever you are hoping to get out of your Tinder experience, “murdered” is not one of them so don’t be a dumbass. Be safe, have fun, and most of all, try not to get chlamydia.

If you have kids, read this.

It seems lately I have become the voice for my friends without children. 

Maybe it started several months ago when I posted a blog about not wanting to hold a friend’s baby who had been spitting up á la The Exorcist for hours. 

Perhaps it was a few weeks ago when I posted about waiting patiently for coffee when a mother with a screaming toddler cut about a dozen people (already late for work) because her baby was hungry. Several of us told her, in so many words, that, “Bitch, we’re hungry too, and if you don’t get to the back of the line, there will be more than one screaming person in this restaurant…”

However, I’m willing to bet it was most recently when I applauded the owner of Alinea for banning babies after a couple of idiot parents thought it would be a good idea to bring one to a $500+ a plate, exclusive, fine dining restaurant. The baby screamed the entire meal, therefore ruining a once in a lifetime experience for the rest of the guests. Although personally, I could never afford to eat at Alinea (without selling a kidney on the Black Market) but even if I could, I would have been livid. 

And finally, today a friend tagged me in some article regarding “Things to never say to parents,” thinking she was cute.  She must have forgotten that I too am a writer, and just as easily as some mom behind a keyboard can write about the things to never say and do to parents, child-less people who also own computers can retaliate, although in a much quieter setting, with a giant glass of wine in hand.

On that note, here is a list of things you need to remember when you have children along with some things you should never say to people without them…

Not everyone wants children.  Do not ask everyone who has ever been on a second date when they are getting married and having kids or I will start asking you when you are going to lose the baby weight. Oh, is that rude?  So is asking me my ovulation schedule.

Just because someone does not want kids, does not mean they hate kids.  I personally am not a fan of little dogs, but I am not going to punt your purse puppy when you bring it over, geez. When did me deciding I don’t want to ruin my new dress with spit up mean I automatically wish all babies were banned to Stroller Island? (I am willing to bet my friend David is currently googling it while simultaneously praying it actually exists.) Seriously though, just because I do not have something, doesn't mean I loathe it.  I don't have a Maserati either, but I don't see people asking me why I hate Italian sports cars.

“But having kids gives your life purpose…”  I want you to stop and think about this one for a second, because while this may seem harmless, what you are basically telling me is my life has no meaning. I could cure cancer, stop world hunger, save all the abused animals of the world, but if I don’t wipe someone else’s ass, it was all for naught I guess. Lots of people did magnificent things without reproducing so before you decide that having kids is the measure of one's life's worth, remember Mother Theresa had no actual children. Isn't it ironic?  Don't you think…

“If you don’t have kids, what will you do all day?” Oh I don’t know, perhaps all the other things in life people do every day.  I will go to work, travel, spend time with friends, see that new slasher flick, read all of the books, eat all of the food, attend all of the concerts…whatever I want, God! It would be like me saying, “It sure would be nice to stay at home and color and play peek-a-boo all day.” 

"You don't have kids so you don't understand…" This is a pretty bold statement to make regarding anything really.  No one can possibly understand everyone else's situation. You may have been childless once, but you were never living MY life. You may be drained from the multiple nightly feedings, but perhaps I just pulled an all nighter at the end of my 60 hour work week.  Who wins the award for "most tired"?  Does it matter?  Can't we both just be busy/sleepy/hungry/and numerous other adjectives ending in "y"? This statement sounds condescending, and since we are both exhausted, maybe it's best to keep it to yourself before someone gets punched. 

You were without children once.  Remember being in a movie theater and having a screaming baby drown out that comedy you were dying to see? Remember missing your train home because some mom decided to bring her double wide stroller on during rush hour? How about the time you and your fiancé were out celebrating your anniversary dinner on date night when a toddler throwing a hissy fit ruined your romantic evening.  At some point in your life you were annoyed by some other parent's lack of social courtesy so don't turn around and become that asshole parent you once loathed. After all, karma is real, and the one night you finally get to hire a sitter, guess who's showing up on your date…

Most importantly, for the love of God, stop asking people without children what they are going to do when they get old. It's not like all those people in nursing homes are childless… Plus, children are expensive so while you are blowing all your money on ballet practices and braces, I will be saving for my future, and (fingers crossed) I will be hiring a Ryan Gosling look alike to bring me my prune juice every morning. 

The struggle is real.

A few days ago I was out to lunch with a male friend of mine, and he was bitching about how much it sucks to be a guy in today’s world. I don’t remember too much about the conversation because while he was bitching about things like “meaningless sex” and “not being able to gain weight,” I was silently plotting his death.

We argued over who has it harder, men or women, and the debate seemed never ending. In fact, if I hadn’t pointed out “the ass on that waitress,” he would probably still be complaining.

To keep you guys up to speed, it went something like this…

“Waxing.”

“Well, at least you don’t get receding hairlines.”

“I see your receding hairlines and raise you periods.”

“What about us having to deal with your crabbiness while on your periods?”

“What about I kill you now to prove you’re right?”

“What about men always dying first regardless?”

 “Uh huh. Yeah, I hear you on the whole shortened life thing but child birth.  Check. Mate.”

He some how seemed to think having a beer gut and paying for a few dates is far worse than ripping your genitals in half.

My friend also argued that other than our time of the month and “all that baby stuff” it’s smooth sailing.  Little does he know there are so many other battles women fight everyday that men couldn’t even begin to understand.

In his honor, I decided to compose a list of some of the lesser known struggles women go through on a daily basis that are usually overlooked by the male population.  Such obvious hardships as…

Trying to find the perfect balance of cute and sexy but ending up looking like a slutty 12 year old.

Any squat, ab, or clean eating challenge three days in.

Calculating exacting how many drinks it takes for you to start calling your ex boyfriend and not going one (or seven) over that number.

Bathing suit season verse margarita/BBQ/ice-cream season.

Spending a small fortune on products that never do what they are supposed to yet you can’t stop, won’t stop. No clump mascara? You sit on a throne of lies, but I need you.

Pretending you don’t burp, fart, or poop while not exploding on a regular basis.

High heels. You’re awful, I love you.

Wearing a dress and remembering not to climb out of the cab like a demon from hell.

Taking two hours to get ready to make your look seem effortless (when really most of us wake up looking liking Sloth from the Goonies).

Attempting to keep up with the boys while drinking, forgetting you are 5’2,”and waking up in your bathtub pants-less and covered in Mexican food.

I mean, or so I hear.