Melting in Ryder trucks and Hootenannys

Not being twitty were all our friends in the entire world, all of whom were enjoying the breeze beneath their parasols and the wind beneath their wings. And the free Red Bull and vodka in the VIP lounge, which I'd never understood before. I had five. They were good. Rock stars Dan Lo Fiand Dave from Shave tended bar for the unVIPed masses, who were actually given shade tents and benches on which to sit! A promoter being thoughtful to the needs of its wallets? I mean customers? Shet yo mouth! In fact, promoters Goldenvoice have never been more user-friendly. Where once even bands who were playing had to sit on their amps outside the gates (for more than two hours!) because even they weren't on "the list," this time they were mellow and easy and didn't even make you buy a $50 ticket for your kids. Our homegirl Arrissia, who'd been planning on splitting my kid's ticket with me since I'd given her my plus-one, was forced to spend her money (and then some, but they were hand-carved!) on sexy little betty shoes instead. Rrauww!

And sins of the flesh? Kobe Bryant? I absolutely 100 percent do not believe it. Nope. If it was someone sleazy and greasy like Rick Fox, sure. (He married Vanessa Williams before he stopped washing his hair.) But our noble Kobe, with the 1080 SATs and the head shaped as elegantly as Nefertiti's? Not to mention that darling, sweet- and shy-seeming li'l wife? No. It never happened.

Never. Happened.

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