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The Honeypot: attractive girl paid to stand in front of steampunk leatherwear or wallet-busting, all-inclusive camps. Like everyone else, dressed in a few wisps of bespoke spandex; a fair-trade body chain; forehead crystals; and thigh-high boots to ward off the chemical burns of the toxic alkali Black Rock desert. Looks sexier in this costume than most people. Is not flirting with you because she thinks you’re hot.

The Pharmacologist: carries around at least eight different drugs in his fanny pack, each measured out by milligram; still manages to be 1,000 times more with-it than you. Is currently on DMT and MDMA, relaxing on a cot with a joint after being up all night, his offensively defined abs soaking up the sunlight. Extremely health-conscious and considers alcohol the worst of all the drugs; also dislikes cocaine but uses it as a “tool” to bridge the gap between better highs. Visiting from Breckenridge.

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These markings are so intricate because the information is so complex.

The Messiah: muscular man with a large beard who has just thrown his boots in the trash because “shoes were an inside job.” Has taken one hit of LSD and subsequently discovered an ancient rock artifact that proves we are all being kept in the dark about our evil alien overlords. Is agitated that you can’t read Alien so that you can tell him what the markings on the rock say. Must convince everyone that this artifact is real before he himself comes off his high and forgets how real it is.

The Tourist: flew in from Europe for his first festival and isn’t sure how to find the drugs. Wanders around asking random people, who give his long, boring shorts the suspicious side-eye. He doesn’t want to buy too much, so finally settles on purchasing one low-dose Adderall from a girl with a septum piercing. He pays $20 for the pill, which she tells him is a “great deal,” and stands in a long line to test it. Thinks he’s friends with you.

The Healer: older woman with flowing hair who makes poultices on the spot out of plantain leaves she carries around with her. Makes you feel nurtured, in an intense kind of way. Also carries essential oils and tinctures in her first-aid kit. Not a vegan, because plants are just as sentient as animals. Has the unfortunate side effect of making you remember that you haven’t called your mom in three months.

IMG_0527The Unattainable Hippie: she’s beautiful and you want her. She makes no money at all, so she should be soooo into you. But your aura is all wrong. So she’s not into you at all, bro.

The Volunteer Helper: circles the parameter in an orange reflective vest, checking to make sure everyone who is sitting with their head lowered is OK, and not having a mental breakdown. Exchanges lots of thumbs-up and high fives. Annoying because he’s more socially-adjusted than you, and he’s not even wealthy or anything.

The Happy Fatstrong Guy: Teddy-bear-like day raver who likes to occasionally pull out the swing dance flips. Constantly smiling and hugging people. Gets sweat on you.

The Hoola Hoop Girl: hangs out at the back of the dance area so she doesn’t bump anyone. Bumps you anyway because you’re apparently invisible. Dreams of being asked to perform on stage. Dresses in circus attire just in case.

The Belly Dance Enthusiast: easily spotted by her coin hip scarf, she’s taken a lot of adult dance lessons and is not about to let them go to waste. Aspires to be able to shimmy the drum beat with her loins while simultaneously waving out the melody with her arms. May or may not be successful at this. Looks at you, however, like you’re a scarecrow jerking in the wind.

The Baby Raver: looks 12, is actually a few years older. Wears glow sticks and face paint. Migrates in a pack with friends of similar persuasions. Cannot currently move because they’re stuck in a K-hole, and their legs are not actually their legs.

The Kandi Kid: attracted to things that make her prettier, which does not include Tech Bros. Wears plastic-beaded bracelets saying “love” and “dance4ever”; makes these to hand out as gifts. Fond of costumes, the more reminiscent of Anime the better. Mixes fishnets with leopard-print thong leotards. Much maligned by Old Timers, particularly when she pulls out the flashing pacifier.

The Old Timer: has been raving for 20-plus years. Extremely picky about which DJs and substances are worth his time. Serious fan of day naps and conversing about topics “most people aren’t into.” Back in his day, there weren’t all these irresponsible kids ruining everything. Often also a Head.

The Head: does not migrate from the House stage; holds it down long-term with the other Heads. Likes old-school DJs like Garth and Jeno, but always interested in new stuff as long as it’s groovy and “brings the knowledge.”

The Browser: bounces from stage to stage constantly looking for the best party. Is wearing gold lamé and a platypus backpack for hydration.

IMG_0482The Fun Guy: having more of a blast than you are, at all times, even though he’s not that ripped or probably all that successful. Finds innovative ways to connect with women instantly.

The Wook: grotesquely dirty hippie who is currently ruining a five-foot circle of dance floor with his body odor and his oblivion to personal space. Spits in your face when he talks to you.

The Nudist: Happiest when naked. Merely by existing, teaches you the art of not staring directly at him while also not avoiding staring at him.

The Drunk: the most hated of all types of festival-goers. Gropey guy who cannot use the port-a-potties correctly. Currently falling on a tiny girl in a body stocking.

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