Best friends . . . for a day at least

I wake up in my room and survey the damage: My knees are lacerated and have bits of gravel in them. My comforter has more blood on it than a backdrop in a Tarantino film.

The question is not only whether my now purple middle fingers are broken, but how my fingers found themselves in this state. Was it from drunkenly hanging onto the rope swing or from gratuitous obscene hand gestures? These are the battle scars of a thoroughly enjoyed Best Friends Day.

Now in its eighth year, the debauchery that is BFD took over four nights of this past weekend, featuring bands, a citywide scavenger hunt and a world record bike jump over 40 square feet of nachos.

Though weekend-long, the main event took place Saturday at Hadad’s Lake and boasts paddleboats, volleyball courts and barbeques. Bands, booze and fun were abundant while in the parking lot, cars sported license plates from states as far away as Florida, Tennessee and Ohio.

When I drove my car into the front gates of Hadad’s Lake at 2 p.m., the cashier told me the masses had already surpassed 1,200 people. Though Hadad’s has a lake, this is by no means the main attraction.

The water park has three massive pools, (one containing trampolines), a rope swing and an enormous inflatable slide with three stairs missing on the left side, leaving only a rope to climb in order to reach the top (not the safest thing for drunken tattooed 20-somethings).

According to RVA Magazine’s Official Best Friends Day Guidebook, only two rules were stressed: no pets and no glass. People drank copious amounts while they mingled barefoot with close friends, reacquainted themselves with old ones, and introduced themselves to completely new ones.

Security was unobtrusive but quick to react to the sight of glass, which added a carefree element to the madness. Nevertheless, minor injuries still occurred from crushed cans and moshing.
One of the most popular attractions was “the blob,” where partiers jumped from atop a tower onto a giant inflatable.

A popular way to jump, especially for the men, was to leap wearing nothing but the mandatory red life vests. I probably haven’t seen so much of the male love organ since my last photo shoot with Robert Mapplethorpe.

“Holy s***! Holy s***!” yelled the throbbing multitudes as one naked, obese man did a belly flop onto the blob.
After No BS! Brass Band closed their performance with Michael Jackson’s “Thriller,” they led a parade around the water park. The parade finished with the giant group photo.

In mid-afternoon it began to rain. Instead of being put out by this turn in the weather, the throng cheered and continued to party until lightning forced everyone out of the pools.
Free love might be too strong a way to characterize the vibe, but if you asked someone if you could make out with their girlfriend, I doubt you would hear much protest.

At least two couples were getting it on in the pool, and excessive kissing was the norm. I think I made out with someone. Well, maybe two people. Well, maybe three, and I’m not exactly sure of their gender either . but who cares? It’s Best Friends Day, and not the sort of venue where people would nitpick about such a frivolous factor like gender.

The only real hiccup of the event I saw occurred when a security guard asked a partier to put his clothes on. According to a lifeguard, the man responded by somehow putting his rear end in the security guard’s face.

This caused a huge standoff between the security guards and the crowd at Pavilion 1. I shuffled off before things got too ugly, or more men got naked. This was the first time I had ever been to BFD, and it topped even my wildest expectations.

I was expecting a decadent hipster bacchanal, but instead found Best Friends Day to be a different sort of party. I’ve been to Slaughterama twice, and while I’ve had a wonderful time, I’ve always felt like an outsider. At Best Friends Day, I felt inclusion was the name of the game.

Even people that are sworn enemies call a truce for the event. I overheard some friends of mine talking about this phenomenon, but I thought they were just being dramatic until it happened to me. Walking through the crowd I ran into someone I had sworn never to talk to again.

We looked at each other, and at the same time said “Best Friends Day,” and struck up a conversation. With a relationship such as this, things will probably never be mended, but with the help of Best Friends Day, some alcohol and gratuitous male nudity, a short ceasefire was feasible.

This is the magic of Best Friends Day, and even if it costs a steep $18, it’s still a cheap price for entry into this hedonistic resort.

Executive Editor Roberto Curtis contributed to this article.