A 12 hour tour bus trip for work to the Florida Country Superfest meant only one thing this past weekend….endless shenanigans for this Nashville chick.
Me and my one adoring fan.
After prepping my ride for the weekend with an overabundance of booze, low-class snacks and booze, we were ready to roll.
Being that this bus was full of party animals, surprisingly there was only one rule to follow the entire trip…
The lone bus rule located in the bathroom.
As we pulled out of Nashville, I assumed my assigned position of tending bar.
One Skinny Pirate and glass of vodka coming right up!
After an hour (or three) of cocktailing, hoisting my ample ass up to the top bunk was no easy feat.
This is the face after a self-inflicted concussion.
No worries about the wound, as I did what you’re supposed to do after all head injuries. I slept it off.
After what felt like 32 minutes of sleep, we’d arrived in Jacksonville and I couldn’t get out of my own personal coffin fast enough.
Trying to bust a move off the bus gracefully.
I high-tailed it off of the bus and followed the signs to my fave place in any venue.
Sprinting to the stage almost cost me two sprained ankles.
Florida was underwhelmed with all of my non-showered, greasy glory.
Naturally it’s not easy taking selfies while staying out of the crew’s way, busting their asses in preparation for the evening show, so I didn’t stay around long enough for them to ask me to help with sound check.
Check 1. Check 2. Check yourself off of the stage.
Escorting myself out of the high traffic staging area, I decided to take my talents back stage and offer assistance near the tour trucks.
Please. We all know I sat on my ass and watched others work as my nails are “jewels, not tools.”
In dire need of a shower, I settled for a semi-clean bathroom vanity to gussy my raggedy ass up.
Touring at its finest.
It was then time to head for concert where I was treated to a warm up show by a lady who gave me a run for my trashtacular money.
Who needs a pole when you have a chair?
Not wanting to be out classed by the chair dancer, I managed to spill an entire Skinny Pirate on my pal Rocky as I was prepping for a pic of us.
Swimming in a Skinny Pirate and he still smiles. Sign of a good friend!
Speaking of friends, what about me getting to hang with my Florida bestie, who I had no clue would be in attendance at the festival?
Think she looks familiar?
Well, she does. Not only has she joined me in being a Holly Jolly Drunk girl this past Christmas, she also took part in one of my very best photo-bombing events.
Which one of these is not like the other?
But I digress.
Of course Holly Jolly Drunk Girl and I consumed cocktails while catching up.
She talked. I guzzled.
While us gals were gabbing, nature started to call upon my over flowing bladder, so I went to wait in a line that was roughly 5,312 ladies long. After 20 hellish minutes I realized that an emergency was about to take place, so I sought other means of relief.
Yep. I did.
I sprinted into the men’s room with my hands cupping my eyes while yelling, “I’m not looking! I can’t see you! I’m about to piss my pants!”
A very kind, extremely inebriated cowboy with his pants unbuttoned turned around from his urinal and tried to escort me toward the first open stall. While trying to avoid his germ filled grip, I slammed the door behind me and was greeted to this lovely sight.
Only the classiest will do for this fancy chick.
While I’d never shared a toiled with a Gatorade bottle, a beer can and someone’s regurgitated lunch it was well worth the sacrifice because I would have missed Florida Georgia Line waiting to use the ladies room.
I mean seriously. The sacrifices I make.
Singing along with the likes of Little Big Town, Eric Church and Jason Aldean for the rest of the evening didn’t suck either.
While bleary eyed and not at all bushy-tailed the next morning, I was greeted to a scantily clad Luke Bryan outside the bus window.
Our fingers were crossed his ball would break a bus window.
Collecting myself for yet another jammed packed day, I met my buddy Aha! who is on tour with Easton Corbin.
Buddies so old we used to be in a band together.
While perusing the other buses backstage, my eye caught a very sore sight. It was a plane with an advertisement that was obviously never double checked, as it read:
“$250 for AIDS and hearing test”
Only at a country music festival…
Popping back up on stage, I earned a new side gig acting as a guitar tech for Easton Corbin. My big moment came when I ushered a guitar out on stage and whispered in a semi-shout, “Turn this thing on!”
Aha! aiding me in my new career.
Being that I was embarking on a new profession called for a celebration with the crew.
Four cheers for my abilities to guitar tech volunteer!
Many celebratory cocktails later, we were crooning along to our fave country tunes with our closest 75,000 friends.
Luke Bryan looking good in the fabulously lit hood.
When it was all said and done, we headed back to our home on wheels that looked like it’d been through a 21 day excursion, instead of our 48 hour trip.
Anyone see the Captain?
Of course I was still enamoured with the mirrored ceiling that provided yours truly with endless entertainment.
Mirror mirror on the ceiling, I still find this overly appealing.
Returning home, the only thing I could do Monday night was sift through the weekend aftermath in my purse.
Remnants of a fun-filled two days.
In case you were wondering, this photo is a direct reflection of how my liver is still feeling.
Until the next tour…