【Horned Japanese Female College Student: Pleasure Share House】

Dear Coachella,Horned Japanese Female College Student: Pleasure Share House

We need to break up. We've been working on our relationship for four years now, but I feel like I'm the only one trying to salvage what we had. And I can't do it on my own any more.

Sure, it hasn't been all bad. Since we've been together, I've had joyous moments witnessing the bright orange sun settle into a pink sky as beautiful music flowed and dancing like crazy after midnight, but those experiences are few and far between now.

You hurt me too often and never take responsibility for your actions. Worse, you never apologize. I often find myself defending you to my friends, and I don't even know why any more.

This Sunday was the last straw. Well, my issues started earlier in the weekend, but they were old problems that we’ve faced before -- you really got to work on your overcrowded tents and reception -- and I was going to let them slide because that's just who you are. But this, I can't.

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I arrived at the festival at 4 p.m. Sunday with a plan to meet up with friends at 6:20 p.m. Plenty of time, right? I didn't get in until 8 p.m. That was four hours of circling around the festival grounds in stop-and-go traffic. (I paid $400 for the privilege, by the way.) We kept saying we wanted to turn around and go home, and a few friends in another car did just that. On Friday and Saturday, I arrived around 3 p.m. and got in before 4:30. That's tolerable. But Sunday, that was a whole new low for you.

When I asked one parking attendant what was going on, he said "Well, this year there's 25,000 more people." That's your answer? I got 25,000 more people to pay me so have fun in parking hell? Another attendant told me that we may be sent to a lot 4 miles away and be shuttled in. How long would that take, I wondered. When I sought official information on Twitter, I came up short. All I found was others complaining about the parking torture.

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And it's not like Uber was better. Friends of mine paid $100 just to go a few miles and also had to wait in a horrendous line to be dropped off and hours more to be picked up.

By the time we parked on the grounds, I missed two of the acts I wanted to see. Luckily I did end up finding my friends in a packed crowd. That can be the best feeling in the world; it was as if you had mercy on me, and I was thankful for your kindness -- so not an indicator of a healthy relationship.

Then I remembered the other things that irked me and I snapped out of it: I saw a woman get her phone stolen out of her hand in the Sahara tent. More than 100 phones were stolen during the first weekend. And sure, you'll say that's not my fault, but it's the culture that develops around you. I saw people bribe a check-in attendant, laying their fists full of cash where you flash your wristband to get in. It took 45 minutes in a line that was constantly being cut to fill up my CamelBak on Friday afternoon. Oh, and remember when you let a bunch of hackers steal my data? The people I know who gushed about you this year had VIP passes. I guess I knew you were always a gold digger, but didn't want to believe it.

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But then Lorde's performance was beautiful, I could actually move around in the Sahara tent when Royksopp played a fantastic set, and Lady Gaga killed it. As I waited for friends at a meetup one day, the sun set as Tycho played outdoors. It was one of those perfect moments that we share every now and then.

I purposefully left Kendrick Lamar's set early Sunday to make sure I wouldn't get stuck in traffic. And then I couldn't find my car. Yes, it was my fault for not paying attention to where we parked, but we were making a mad dash to get inside with just a few hours left. I usually always make a note in my phone about where I park, but you bring out the worst in me. After more than an hour, we found the car, in a lot that was blocked by a man with a megaphone that kept telling people not to go in there. Yep.

While everyone on Twitter was complaining about parking, I warned others not to come. "Coachella is dead," I said. One friend joked with me that an Instagram picture I took looked cute though.

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And that's how you'll get your next girl. But not me, I'm done.