Dear Festival Me,
If you’re reading this, you’re probably in a porta potty somewhere in Pasadena, California. And it might be too late, but I’ll try anyway: You’re too old for this shit.
You survived Stagecoach’s three days… good for you. After that weeklong hangover wore off, you thought you’d ease back in with the one-day Palomino Festival. But a 12-hour country music show is still marathon, not a sprint, a fact you forgot when you took down those three travel-sized bottles of Fireball in the parking lot for lunch.
But I forgive you. Palomino’s lineup and a full day without your kids got you a little too stoked. Brookside at the Rose Bowl had you thinking you were back at a Pac 12 Big 10 pregame tailgate again. And you dealt with that late-afternoon Charley Crockett-Zach Bryan-Turnpike Troubadours trifecta by strategically front-loading your beers during prime “dad nap” hours from 2-4pm.
And now the sun is setting, your pizza-filled gut is churning, and the dadbod is shutting down. If you don’t get your act together quick, you’ll sleep through Willie Nelson’s set in a sand trap somewhere outside the Rose Bowl like some sorry UCLA coed.
But you’re better than that.
Pull up those jeans, suck in that gut, and find someone who will sell you a bottle of water, a cup of coffee, and as many Red Bulls as you can carry. You’re staying up past your bedtime tonight, so fuel accordingly.
And if you even THINK about heading to the bar again, may I remind you: YOU’RE TOO OLD FOR THIS SHIT.
Signed,
Sober You
P.S.: An $11 Bud Light does NOT count as water.
