Yesterday I headed out to SXSW in Austin to
drink listen to music. My buddy Jason moved to Austin this past summer, and wanted to check out the festival. As I’m a glutton for punishment, I allowed him to drag me along in exchange for him having to be seen with me in my new LoN t-shirt.
They heard a rumor that I was gracing the event with my presence, so they reserved me a parking spot about 5 miles from the main drag. And guess what? I got the special celebrity price of $25 dollars for the privilege of a mud pit with only 2 inches of mud. I’m pretty sure they would have escorted me to 6th street had they not known that I wanted to walk.
We started our hike to the venues when Jason was approached by a handsome homeless man, resembling William H. Macy from the show Shameless, asking for money to buy a beer. When Jason told him he couldn’t help, the man continued to talk. Because Jason is a giant and I am fun-sized, the man jumped when I spoke to him. I leaned over and said, “Actually, he needs you to buy him a beer. He’s unemployed.” The man just shook his head and muttered something about how lucky Jason was to be out with my breasts, and possibly my face.
After such flattery, I suggested we get
drinks dinner at my favorite restaurant. You have to understand that this place has a chicken almondine that gives me a lady boner. The problem is that every time I go there, someone wants to share with me. I know I am 5’2″. I know I care about fitness… but back off my meat or I’ll cut you. I left all the veggies because I can’t eat that much, and just scarfed down the meat and potatoes.
As we were leaving, I noticed the crowds gathering around me. I was flattered by the attention, but there were
cheap drinks bands I wanted to find. Once we managed to get onto the main drag, I started to feel bad for the abandoned CD’s littering my path. Their only dream in life was to be inserted into a player. I captured this photo of their carnage:
I couldn’t understand the purpose of all this carnage until I heard someone yell my name. It could have been that “Becca” was written on the back of my t-shirt, but I decided that wasn’t it. I realized that everyone had decided to line my path. Rather than the customary rose petals, they opted for CDs as it was a music festival. I was practically royalty at SXSW.
After hearing a few good bands and several that looked pretty, I decided my ass had been grabbed enough by women and a few men. Plus the accidental motorboating of my boobs was making Jason jealous. He didn’t understand why anyone wouldn’t motorboat his. (Any volunteers?) We were also both feeling uncomfortable as we were inappropriately dressed by actually wearing… clothes. I guess when they read the signs that said “Live music- no cover” they misunderstood.
My adoring crowds had grown so dense that it was difficult to walk in the street without stranger’s pubic hairs brushing my arm. As I’m a bit of a diva and prefer to be touched only by pubic hairs that have been washed by blessed water under a full moon, I suggested we leave. Jason agreed because he does what I tell him to, and we hightailed it back to the car. Again, only because I really wanted to walk.
Lady or Not… Here I Come!
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