Tits and Dust Storms

Burning Man Belium Waffle Art

Belgium Waffle Art Installation Burns Sunday Night

I’ve been sleeping for two days.
Gah. The camping, dust, heat and lack of sleep may have played a part.
Or playa-ed a part.

My bike is a disaster. Today’s task is wiping it down, washing it off, and locating some WD-40. Must do laundry as well and hope that the dust doesn’t turn to clay in the washing machine.
Not that I give a shit about the washing machine. It’s the clothes dammit.

Been reflecting on my experiences at burning man and I can only write that there are no words really capable of describing the experience. It is something that a person must immerse themselves in.
I do wish that my disposable camera had not gotten lost. Damn. There are some pics on the digital but it was rarely used due to the dust storms.

You should have seen the art/body paint on my chest for Critical Tits. Wow. Gorgeous colors, fab design. Met some wonderful people at We Are Just Here Camp including Chelsea and Phil. We were next to them the first night, and then moved from 4:15 and Habitat to Kelp Forest street for the remainder of the burn.


So, Phil at We Are Just Here is an amazing artist. All of them are and they’re long time burners. It was just a stroke of luck that I came across them.
Besides, there’s nothing better than having a man tell you that your canvas is perfect… who gives a fuck if he’s gay.
I’m thinking that makes it even better.

Wish I had photos of myself from Critical Tits. I know there at least a dozen of them from that day floating around the world. Had at least that many folks with professional camera gear ask for my picture that day.
Keep your eyes open eh? You’ll know me: hair in pigtails, 1930’s beige chiffon sun hat on my head, short yellow skirt and glorious green, red, blue and silver paint across the chest, boobs and nips.

That was a blast riding with the other thousand (at least) women across the playa. Brilliant costumes, smiles, waves, amazing bike décor, great body painting.
There were some traffic jams at a few of the turns but other than that it was cool. The crowds were amazing.
None of the other women in our camp would come out with me. Amateurs.
Hell I’m in my 40’s and looked forward to this event. The other gals in our camp were in their early 30’s or just turned 30.

Chances of my tits getting bruised by my knees were far higher than theirs.

At the conclusion of the bike ride there was an after-party.
A guy walks by me with a blender of Margaritas powered by a chainsaw.
I go inside the party area, grab a tasty cold beverage and hear a voice from the stage “We’re expecting a dust storm with winds in excess of 60 MPH.”

Dammit. All I have is goggles on my belt and have lost my dust mask somewhere along the way (later found it in my fanny bag).
No sooner do I get my bike unlocked than the most intense dust storm I’ve ever been witness to hits. Hard.
Total white-out.
Visibility is not even one foot. So I’m standing out there in the middle of the fucking desert with my back to the pelting dust and small rocks. Every so often other people make their way slowly past me.
This goes on for an hour with intermittent rain.
Finally the dust cleared enough to see a group of 5 or so people, and I started walking my bike along with them.

Had no idea where they were headed but who cared? Anyplace was better than mid-playa receiving a free exfoliation treatment.

Eventually made it back, and in the process met a few new friends. Found refuge with a few visitors from Minnesota and other lost travelers; the Minnesota guys offered a seat in front of their trailer and libations. We all had a blast talking and laughing.
Then in the sky above the desert appeared a rainbow. Then there appeared a double rainbow. Beautiful and amazing.

an average playa dust storm

By this time the street signs were all gone and the landscape was utterly different than several hours before. No tents were up, no ‘portable’ structures in the camping areas still stood.
This made for an interesting trek back to camp which was really the point:
Exploration. New experiences. Different people. Radical departures from mundane life.

I know that my camp-mates thought my constant absences and wanderings were bizarre but what the hell. Most of our camp were virgins and didn’t seem to really grasp the spirit; their mission was to simply party.
I wanted to see everything possible.
There is no way to do so either. Not with three days. Not even in a week.

I loved the experience and look forward to next year. Whether I’m still here in Reno or someplace else in the country.
If I’ve gone on to the next plane please leave a note in the Temple for me.

Gotta find Phil again though and tie both of my cameras to my ass.
That oughtta do it.

~miss r

4 thoughts on “Tits and Dust Storms

  1. Sounds like you had fun. I’ve never gone but one day I’d like to. It’s funny people’s reaction to the radical expression of Burning Man–it seems to threaten lots of people.

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  2. am finally recovered after much sleep! the only down side is the dust. part of burning man is radical self-reliance. this means no running water, showers, etc. Bring several boxes of baby wipes though. Ahhhhhhhh.
    I loved it. All of it.
    Come out next year and dance on the Playa under the stars, see the unbelieveable art and wonder at the fanciful people and fairy tale atmosphere.
    there’s truly nothing like it. -smile-

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