So, How Was Burning Man?

Burning Man was great, thanks.

Burning Man was like, sooooooooo intense, man.

Burning Man was exhausting in every sense of the word.

Burning Man gave me a newfound appreciation for lotion and baby wipes. And peanut butter sandwiches. And pudding cups.

Burning Man, contrary to my expectations, did not cause me to lose weight, but instead to gain it. See above list item.

Burning Man helped me care less about how much I weigh though. That was nice.

Burning Man was very naked.

Burning Man was so dusty that the eight or nine showers I have taken since Sunday night have done nothing to make me clean. In fact I fear I will never be clean again.

Burning Man conceived in me some emotions that I am somewhat embarrassed to share.

Burning Man had a lot of blinky flashy lights everywhere.

Burning Man had a lot of interesting art, most of which I did not get to see, sadly enough.

Burning Man was a really great place to ride a little red bike.

Burning Man was a really great place to wear all my bellydance gear. Seriously, I never want to wear anything else ever again except loose flowy skirts and saris and cholis and big dangly earring. I am wearing jeans today and they feel like bondage gear, they are so uncomfortable.

Burning Man confirmed the all-healing power of the sugar scrub. Seriously, one girl that I scrubbed? Purred.

Burning Man is probably not ever going to be a lifestyle thing for me. I don’t even know if I want to go next year.

Burning Man made me some really wonderful new friends, all of whom I am planning to marry at the soonest convenience.

Burning Man made me hate money. Hauling out the debit card Sunday night to pay for gas was the weirdest and most horrible thing.

Burning Man proved that I am extremely judgmental. Be careful! I will judge you.

Burning Man opened up something in my heart that I fear sitting in front of the computer all day will close down again. This is one of those embarrassing emotions.

Burning Man allowed me not to think about work at all for a week. I don’t usually think about work too much outside of work, but last week I pretty much forgot that I have a job at all.

Burning Man had a lot more kids and a lot more people with disabilities this year than the last time I went.

Burning Man got real cold at night, thereby messing up many of my excellent costume ideas.

Burning Man was sort of a clich鼯Burning Man was a little heavy on the techno and a little light on music with words and melodies.

Burning Man mystified my mind.

Burning Man was an excellent week for making up stupid jokes with my campmates. See: the abovementioned “mystify my mind.” To get the most of it, say it whenever an art car trundles by with a lot of naked girls dancing to a disco song, which is a very common occurrence. “Oh, man, that’s the third naked-girl-dancing-to-a-disco-song art car we’ve seen in the past hour! That just mystified my miiiiind.” Make sure to say it in a very oh-duuuuuuude-we’re-at-Burning-Man voice. You know the one.

Burning Man was also the occasion for the following stupid jokes: Bling. White Tiger. The Claw. Bone Number. Covered In Bacon.

Burning Man let me laugh and laugh and laugh with my campmates. Big, embarrassing, belly laughs. Laughs that started somewhere in my pinky toe and shot out of my mouth with the force of a lava spume, or something, and felt like they lasted for eight hours.

Burning Man, on a related note, saw the Return of Full-On Party Mode Chiara, which mostly only makes an appearance at the yearly ABL party. Not that kind of party mode, you dirty-minded fools. You know, the kind of party mode where you love everyone and everyone is The Best! and you never want to go home.

Burning Man made me dehydrated. Made Carl dehydrated too. That sucked.

Burning Man involves a lot of logistics and organization, neither of which are my strong points.

Burning Man was an opportunity for me to wear my hair in multiple braids for the first time since about 1991 when I went to Grenada with my church youth group.

Burning Man was a very good place to see Mars.

Burning Man gave me a horrible case of playa foot. I felt like I wasn’t a very good advertisement for our salon because my feet were so, so horrid. They still are. I may never wear sandals again, which will be a relief for any of you who have had to look at my feet in the last week or so.

Burning Man feels a little like it was a dream I just had last week. It really does, I don’t care how woo-woo it sounds.

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