My cousin Jerry dropped me off at the airport, gave me a kiss on the cheek and wished me luck: similar to how my mom used to drop me in her mini van.
Four hours later I was blinded by the bus’ lights, I squinted and looked around at the security lines separated by men and women. Confused and a little buzzed as they rummaged through my bags and patted my butt for explosives?
My sister and her friends were at a nearby hotel, but desert transportation is not necessarily accessible. I called the hotel shuttle, driven by a dorky old man named Dale. Unfortunately all of the exits were closed accept for one two miles away.
Hopelessness, failed attempts, locked gates, two big ass bags, rock filled shoes, and my dying phone convinced me I would be stranded and dead in the desert by the end of the day. An hour later I ran into a pedi-cab and was whizzing through the camp grounds on the bumpy ass gravel, while people stared, cheered, and laughed. “Shorty wanna ride with us” I passed by car campers, and was introduced to my first images of Coachella. “Let your hair down, you said you wanna thug don't be scared now” The song and my jiggling body parts had me laughing and smiling back at every person and employee that greeted me with a “Happy Coachella.”
-from original blog