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"  A sea of schvitzing, fist-pumping, barely legals bouncing around in a Miami field is my worst nightmare. It&amp;#039;s right up there with hearing Avicii&amp;#039;s eardrum-violating &amp;quot;jams&amp;quot; blasting while I order a late night sandwich from my local Brooklyn bodega. Make it stop! I&amp;#039;m not saying I don&amp;#039;t enjoy losing my mind on a vodka-drenched dance floor\u2014I&amp;#039;m all about the (occasional!) word-of-mouth warehouse rave. But my scene is more Miley and Hood By Air, less Molly and dayglo shorty shorts. I want nothing to do with EDM\u2014unless, of course, it&amp;#039;s sung by the rafter-reaching Sia, okay?! (Have YOU karaoked off-key to &amp;quot;Titanium&amp;quot; by Sia x David Guetta? I strongly recommend it.) Related: The 20 Faces of Nicolas Cage Another thing: EDM makes me want to take a bath. I don&amp;#039;t like baths. So, yeah, I never expected to find myself at ULTRA, the unhygienic, overcapacity home to the fist-pumping bros of America. With that said, I really, really have a crush on South Beach, mostly because it&amp;#039;s home to the best gay bar in America (Twist) and has the biggest muscles per square mile. So, when The Red Bull Guest House invited me on down to SoBe, I sucked up my snobby Brooklyn warehouse raver pride. (I can&amp;#039;t afford Hood By Air anyway.) I threw on a Janet Jackson vintage concert T-shirt circa Rhythm Nation, my ailing creepers, and hopped on a plane. In short, it was a very good, very bad idea. I spent my days attending poolside rooftop ragers and &amp;quot;breakfast parties;&amp;quot; my nights were whiled away in a cavernous basement bar: the aptly named Rec (Wreck?) Room. Instead of risking one&amp;#039;s life at ULTRA out in the wild, the RBGH brought killer DJ sets by Diplo, Skrillex, the legendary Giorgio Moroder, straight to our doorstep.  Related: The Lawless Sound of Lydia Loveless Famous guests included Diddy (in a leather bucket hat) and Paris Hilton, who, rumor has it, hired a team of paparazzi to document her dancing/smizeing on the sunny rooftop. The three times I approached her for an Instagram (judge me!), the sunnies-clad beauty picked up her phone and totally pretended to be chit-chatting replete with that iconic vocal fry. To get in full rave-y character, I decided to take advantage of the RBGH&amp;#039;s pop-ups. This meant complimentary nail art, a haircut, and, yes, even a tattoo. The evening before I left for Miami, my amazing roommate, colorist Gion Vincent (who, was recently revealed by GOOP as the genius behind Taylor Tomasi Hill&amp;#039;s ginger locks) gave my hair some My Little Pony realness. I felt as if could finally fulfill my lifelong dream of having a cameo in a Gregg Araki film. I got my first round of nail art courtesy of LA-based manicure duo Tokyo Swag. I was originally gonna just go all black, but that felt too Adam Lambert. So, tie-dye and neon palm trees it was. Next up was my tattoo appointment. (Sorry, Mom.) I opted for an inked homage to the Holy Spearit better known as Britney. In case you didn&amp;#039;t purchase the pop princess&amp;#039; latest album, Britney Jean, let me inform you that the album&amp;#039;s cover art involves a topless, flawless Brit Brit, and a scribbly neon heart. I got that imperfect heart in black ink on the side of my arm &amp;quot;muscle&amp;quot; because I am her biggest fan, and I&amp;#039;ve got two MTV fan special cameos to prove it! I hit higher notes than Britney whilst being tatted, but shout out to Nathan Kostechko from KC Collective/Memoir Tattoo for being super fast (and super cute, which distracted me from the pain).  Related: An Open Letter to the Producers of the &amp;#039;Magic Mike&amp;#039; Sequel Then there was a haircut via Frank&amp;#039;s Chop Shop. I only had my sides shaved, as I&amp;#039;m growing out my locks in hopes that I wake up one morning as a Jordan Catalano look-a-like. Jared Leto has insanely thick/poofy Italian hair, right? All in all, I&amp;#039;d say my makeover was a success\u2014as evidenced by the elderly cashier at Walgreens who commented on my mani at checkout. &amp;quot;Oh, I don&amp;#039;t get my nails done!,&amp;quot; I explained. &amp;quot;I did it for a story!&amp;quot; Her response: &amp;quot;Honey, you should do whatever makes you happy.&amp;quot; Thanks, girl. I pumped back to my hotel room, past the fireworks blasting off from the Avicii Hotel (not kidding), with a, gasp, big smize on my face. I felt like the human version of a Ke$ha song. (Is Ke$ha considered EDM?) The next morning I momentarily considered checking into rehab for &amp;quot;exhaustion.&amp;quot; On second thought: Cranberry Red Bull is so much more affordable. Photos: Ian Witlen / Red Bull Content Pool "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
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