Kia Ora Everyone!
Wow! Much has happened since I have last wrote. However, the events which occurred yesterday have almost trumped them all...
Its Saturday morning, I was up all night the night before so I was incredibly tired, yet did not want to sleep because I wanted to have the day.
I am sitting with the boys at the Cambridge having a laugh, and telling them that I was not drinking tonight because I had the half marathon the following morning. Still, I was having a good time watching them take the piss. (Kiwi phrase for getting drunk.)
In the middle of conversation, my mate Dave Potts, a hilarious English man who loves gettin' on the piss, gettin' crazy, and listenin' to Reggae music, barges into the common room and yells, "Who wants to go to Homegrown."
That instant, all of us stand up in amazement barely even saying anything but just looking at him bewildered and hopeful.
Homegrown is a big music festival that took place to one day in Wellington. It cost about $90 a ticket, and lasted the whole day outside. Most of us could not afford it so we were opting out, but our man, Dave, he of course had a ticket.
Back to the story...
So we are all waiting to see why/how Dave was able to get us into Homegrown. Did he find an extra ticket? How many people can he get in? Do we have to pay?...
Before any of these questions were even asked, Dave, in his boisterous voice, shouts,"You all can come. Follow me." It was as if he were the next Messiah and we were on our way to the promise land.
In a moment, we were all following our new leader out of the common room, still unsure of how this was going to happen.
When clarity started to set it, Dave showed us his dairy cow print wristband, and declared that we would just need to copy it. So off a couple people were to the photocopy center.
Shortly after, prints were made, paper was cut to the exact size, and celotape was strategically added to the underside of our wristbands. Before long, all of us were clad in damn fine replicas of cow print wristbands.
To celebrate, many of the boys stayed to have a few more beers, while Rory and I made our way to the festival; the first to tryout our sneaky, sneaky scheme.
Heading up to the gate, I am a little worried if we get caught. I joke to Rory about getting arrested, but he assured me that the worst that could happen is that we would not get in. Still, I was nervous.
Getting closer to the gate, Rory and I immerse ourselves in fake conversation to make us look as if we weren't up to something.
"Oh yeah, you getting the th..."
"Yeah, I was going to the..."
"And he was like..."
"Yeah, yeah..."
VICTORIOUS!!!!! We are in! After the worst fake conversation ever, we just slipped right past the security. I had to have a bag check, and when they stopped me, I, of course, thought I was a goner and they were calling me out. BUT NO! It was just a bag check! No worries there!
Rory and I do a victory dance and head to the Reggae tent just in time to see Katchafire.
In time, everyone is through the gate, and we are having a ball. I finally decide that I can't be at a music festival without taking the piss just a little bit. So here starts a glorious day of boozing, dancing, laughing, and... boozing.
A makeshift jump rope is brought into the mix, and with my drunken abilities and the skills I learned on the playground during elementary recess, and I go for it. First try, I run into the rope before even getting one jump in, but I am not about to give up. I step back and take a look at the slinky all stretched out and swinging; just waiting for me to jump in. After carefull calculations of the height of swing, the velocity, and the direction on the wind, I attempt another go...
BAMN! I am in the jump rope orb awaiting for the rope to swing around again so I can jump. About 4 jumps in, my mates are cheering for me, I have the goofiest drunken grin on my face, and the rope stops. Some girl decided she would give it a go as well, but unlike me, she did not do her calculations correctly, and she jumped ON the rope, not over it. Oh well, it was more the feat of making it in than actually jumping continuously.
On to more drinking, dancing, and PICTURE TAKING! Woohoo! I was taking photos like a mad woman! I even got the group to do "artsy" group shots.
I find a Homegrown program on the ground, "Guys, guys!" I shout, "Come here and put your foot in!"
Slowly, each person makes there way over to my commotion, and with our feet surrounding the program in the grass, I snap an "epic" photo. Sweet as!
Not sure if the boys appreciated it as much as I did, but who cares!
Time is going by and more booze is being consumed. I get the urge to pee, and realize there is no queue for the porta-potties. Sweet as!
I slip away from my mates, and make the trek to the other side of the tent where the plastic portals await me.
Lets make this quick so as not to miss any partying! Quick, find a vacancy, go in, lock the door, pull the pants- Wait, no, take out the camera from the back pocket, put the camera in my bag-
SLIP! WHOOSH! BANG! My camera is out of my hands, headed for the toilet, and I stood there watching the whole thing.
My camera goes directly into the toilet, the flap opens and swallows the camera, and closes. Not even a second later, without even thinking, my hand is going through the toilet valve door and fishing for my camera.
My mind catches up with what has happened, and I realize I am squatting on the porta-potty floor, my face is hovering over the toilet bowl, and my hand and arm is immersed in piss and shit...
Now when you are going through a traumatic experience, such as this, time seems to slow down. Though I was only down there for probably 45 seconds, it felt like ages.
'Where the hell is it? I can't find it!'
Search, search...
'Is there another part of this poop hole that I don't know about???' A secret portal?' I just can't- What is that?!? Don't squeeze that!'
'Ok, Caroline, you are going too fast, you need to slow your hand motions down.'
Slowing down my search, I drag my hand along the bottom of the crap tub.
Still no camera.
'Go a little further in, you haven't checked the corners yet.'
I lower my head and shoulder further inside the bowl, and my hand sinks farther to the back corner of the -What should I call it this time?'- caca container! My hand slides further into the caca container, and I feel around the back corners.
'Gah, it didn't disintegrate with all the bodily gasses and chemicals in there, did it?!'
'No, no, no, Caroline, don't be silly. Just keep looking.'
Search, feel, grab, grab, don't grab, search-
GOT IT!
I quickly grab the camera and rip my hand out of the pissin' ditch.
'Thank goodness, I got it back!'
I look down at my arm...
'Oh boy, I need to take a shower.'
I run to my friends, and decide to only tell two people what happened. I quickly mutter my excuse to leave, they don't hear me, but I am already out of the tent and headed for home.
As I leave, I don't even worry about the security looking at my wristband. I have got other problems! -Like wiping my camera off on my shirt! And trying not to touch ANYTHING with my right arm.
Upon arrival, I my bowels alert me that I still have not peed! Ahhh!!!
Run into the room, off go the clothes, wrap around my towel, grab my toiletries, and scurry to the wash room.
After taking care of all my businesses, I realize in my haste to go to the restroom, I did not grab my key. I am locked out of my room with only a towel on, and sopping wet. Mind you, I live on the third floor of a hotel.
I yell for my friend Emma, hoping she is still close by, but no luck.
I swallow my pride, if there was any left after diving into a puddle of poo, and head down to the first floor lobby.
I thought maybe I would not be seen by anyone, but the guy at reception, but I would not be so lucky. Its a festival today so naturally the hotel is full of happy go lucky teenagers... Awesome.
To wrap all this up, I ended up going back to the festival, sans camera since it no longer works, and I try to make the most of the rest of my night, despite what had happened.
I dance for a while, but its not the same. Everyone had become belligerent by the time I got back, and I was completely sober and bummed.
I head back home, buy internet, and begin to check my emails. Wanting to listen to a little music, I take the headphones out of my ipod to use for my computer. Head to the second floor couch, and assume internet bliss...
Two hours later, I head for bed, gotta get up early for the half marathon! Get clothes ready, get pack ready, get ipod, get sunglasses... get ipod...
'Where's my ipod?'
I lost my ipod. I looked all over for it, asked reception, and after all that, I finally give up around midnight. No ipod, and today, still no ipod.
...Maybe the big man up there is trying to tell me I should live only within my means, and to not be hindered by technology...Whatever!
And that was my day yesterday. Wow!
I have decided to not get upset about it because there is nothing I can do about it. Hopefully I can salvage my pics from the sim card, and maybe I will work more on my guitar now that I can't listen to music all the time! Always look on the bright side, cuz the other side is full of crap! Literally! Haha!
In other news, I did complete the half marathon in under 2 hours, and it felt good. Wasn't the best I have run, but I am not in New Zealand run, I just enjoy it.
I leave for the South Island on March 10th and I will kayak for 5 days along Abel Tasman, a beautiful, sunny place! I am very excited.
Alright, until my next adventure! See you all around!!
Oh, by the way, do you like my haircut???
Peace!
