Bad news: I just saw my last post about Bonnaroo and almost cried a little because I'm not going. That's right, I'm not going. (I have two tickets if anyone wants to buy them *cough*).
The round-the-clock music for four days? Gone from my life this year. The favorite trip of the year with my favorites? Ripped from under my feet. The giant mushroom to cool off in? I'll have to install my own.
To say I'm bummed would be a vast understatement.
But don't fret, my loves! Save your pity for someone who needs it because the reason I won't be enjoying myself in Tennessee (which by-the-by, the farm on which Bonnaroo takes place was once owned by my great-great(-great?)-grandparents. Totally weird.) is because I will be here:
Oh yes. In t-minus two-and-a-half weeks my crazy-ass family and I will be sitting on the beach in Cozumel for seven glorious days.
Exactly.
Exactly.
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