why i do not have a hard-on for camping
I have never gone camping. But, knowing what I know about myself: that I do not enjoy the outdoors when it doesn't involve a white canopy and tea sandwiches; that I do not like the sticky sweetness of sunscreen on my skin; that I have difficulty falling sleep in unfamiliar beds (or sleeping bags...what an ironic name); that I have to shower and perform a 30-minute face-washing-contact-removing-teeth-flossing-teeth-brushing-facial-moisturzing ritual every night before I hop into bed; that I have a senseless fear of insects; knowing all this, I know that I do not like camping. But that's not going to stop me.
This weekend, I am going on my first ever camping expedition with the boyfriend and six other couples (barf!). Two campsites have been reserved at the San Onofre State Beach and it is there that I will put my mettle to the test.
The boyfriend and I have been tasked with ferrying the following items to the campsite:
Ice
Charcoal
Firewood
Bush's baked beans (for 14)
Eggs (1 dozen)
Mixed green salads and seared ahi are not on the menu so I may have to substitute those items for Bush's baked beans. Bush's baked beans. I would be very curious to see a Food Network behind-the-scenes segment on Bush's baked beans as I am skeptical that they are actually baked and that they are actually beans. I think it is unlikely that Bush's baked beans have any redeeming nutritional value other than Vitamin Convenientium. Not really looking forward to scraping the ridged walls of the aluminum can for them.
Aside from eating canned foods and individually wrapped meat products, if there are 14 hours of light on which to be capitalized, there will be plenty of time for "camping activities" like sitting, trying not to sweat, watching the ocean, applying sunscreen, signaling for help. Other than that, I will be hiding under the car. The boyfriend tried to sell me on hiking or playing volleyball or "just being oustide" to which I responded with going back into the bathroom to finish crying.
Speaking of bathrooms, as of now, I can barely orient myself in a public restroom and I don't mean the pretty bubblegum scented ones at Nordstrom. I'm referring to the cinderblock shed at the park that has no door, just a carefully constructed view-obstructor, open air vents where the walls meet the patchwork roof and metal toilets that are consistently surrounded by a wet floor, a mixture of reclaimed water and the poorly aimed pee of small children. Males do not appreciate their efficient and anti-septic anatomy. Their asses rarely making contact with the cold, stained steel bowls of these public "restrooms." Don't be fooled, there is no "rest" in there nor is there flimsy toilet paper thick enough to protect my mind from thoughts of imaginary bacteria. Not only will I have to relieve myself in these facilities, I will have to shower in them. This means being naked and the possibility of my bare skin brushing against the government-maintained tiles of a public shower stall. If I am feeling brazen, I may skip my nightly shower and just leave early the next day, say around 3am. But if I am truly disgusting, for the sake of cleanliness I will have to put a flip-flopped toe into the cesspool and hope to emerge cleaner than when I stepped in.
If I am exhausted by the day's events like the grueling "Pick-sand-out-of-your-hamburger" game, I may be too weak to fight the suffocating tent and the claustrophobia-inducing bag of sleep. I will bring ear plugs to muffle the sounds of nature and the vast outdoor universe of this planet we call earth. The grunting of couples having in tents sex. The blood-thirsty howl of coyotes coming to devour our unconscious, beer soaked bodies. The heavy clumping of a murderer's boots trudging towards us at a painstakingly slow gait to avoid detection.
"What about killers?" I asked. "Anyone can just come rip through the tent and hack us to pieces! How do you know that won't happen?"
"Because there are people around," replied the boyfriend.
"Yes, people to be killed."
I have experienced considerable anxiety this week as the trip approaches. The uneasiness has manifested in vivid dreams of (and I shit you not) covering a public restroom toilet with a thick, vinyl FUR-LINED cover so that I could sit on it and a separate dream in which the boyfriend helped me caulk the crevices of a tent-like structure a gel roach repellent. Of course, I was micro-managing the application of the gel with a stern "No, you're using too much over there. Save some for over here."
You may be wondering why I am submitting myself to such personal torture. Am I a masochist? No. Of the things I fear about a camping and the things I know about myself, I also know that I can only grow if I push myself out of my comfort zone. I enjoy trying new things if not the new thing itself, even if they may be uncomfortable or uncomfortable to even contemplate. I have built up the pitfalls of camping to such a grand scale that this trip will serve to disprove these notions. The couples (again, barf) who are going are all great people even if the girls are all between size 0 and 4. The prospect of wearing my bathing suit around them makes me want to shrink and disappear (to a size 10 maybe.) However, they are all smart, kind and funny women whom I'm excited to spend time with. Their respective boyfriends are also a hoot. The laughs and the hijinks and the camraderie we will have may just negate all the hygienic and safety concerns I'm clutching. Maybe it will be one of the best experiences I've ever had. Maybe I will pitch a tent for camping.
This weekend, I am going on my first ever camping expedition with the boyfriend and six other couples (barf!). Two campsites have been reserved at the San Onofre State Beach and it is there that I will put my mettle to the test.
The boyfriend and I have been tasked with ferrying the following items to the campsite:
Ice
Charcoal
Firewood
Bush's baked beans (for 14)
Eggs (1 dozen)
Mixed green salads and seared ahi are not on the menu so I may have to substitute those items for Bush's baked beans. Bush's baked beans. I would be very curious to see a Food Network behind-the-scenes segment on Bush's baked beans as I am skeptical that they are actually baked and that they are actually beans. I think it is unlikely that Bush's baked beans have any redeeming nutritional value other than Vitamin Convenientium. Not really looking forward to scraping the ridged walls of the aluminum can for them.
Aside from eating canned foods and individually wrapped meat products, if there are 14 hours of light on which to be capitalized, there will be plenty of time for "camping activities" like sitting, trying not to sweat, watching the ocean, applying sunscreen, signaling for help. Other than that, I will be hiding under the car. The boyfriend tried to sell me on hiking or playing volleyball or "just being oustide" to which I responded with going back into the bathroom to finish crying.
Speaking of bathrooms, as of now, I can barely orient myself in a public restroom and I don't mean the pretty bubblegum scented ones at Nordstrom. I'm referring to the cinderblock shed at the park that has no door, just a carefully constructed view-obstructor, open air vents where the walls meet the patchwork roof and metal toilets that are consistently surrounded by a wet floor, a mixture of reclaimed water and the poorly aimed pee of small children. Males do not appreciate their efficient and anti-septic anatomy. Their asses rarely making contact with the cold, stained steel bowls of these public "restrooms." Don't be fooled, there is no "rest" in there nor is there flimsy toilet paper thick enough to protect my mind from thoughts of imaginary bacteria. Not only will I have to relieve myself in these facilities, I will have to shower in them. This means being naked and the possibility of my bare skin brushing against the government-maintained tiles of a public shower stall. If I am feeling brazen, I may skip my nightly shower and just leave early the next day, say around 3am. But if I am truly disgusting, for the sake of cleanliness I will have to put a flip-flopped toe into the cesspool and hope to emerge cleaner than when I stepped in.
If I am exhausted by the day's events like the grueling "Pick-sand-out-of-your-hamburger" game, I may be too weak to fight the suffocating tent and the claustrophobia-inducing bag of sleep. I will bring ear plugs to muffle the sounds of nature and the vast outdoor universe of this planet we call earth. The grunting of couples having in tents sex. The blood-thirsty howl of coyotes coming to devour our unconscious, beer soaked bodies. The heavy clumping of a murderer's boots trudging towards us at a painstakingly slow gait to avoid detection.
"What about killers?" I asked. "Anyone can just come rip through the tent and hack us to pieces! How do you know that won't happen?"
"Because there are people around," replied the boyfriend.
"Yes, people to be killed."
I have experienced considerable anxiety this week as the trip approaches. The uneasiness has manifested in vivid dreams of (and I shit you not) covering a public restroom toilet with a thick, vinyl FUR-LINED cover so that I could sit on it and a separate dream in which the boyfriend helped me caulk the crevices of a tent-like structure a gel roach repellent. Of course, I was micro-managing the application of the gel with a stern "No, you're using too much over there. Save some for over here."
You may be wondering why I am submitting myself to such personal torture. Am I a masochist? No. Of the things I fear about a camping and the things I know about myself, I also know that I can only grow if I push myself out of my comfort zone. I enjoy trying new things if not the new thing itself, even if they may be uncomfortable or uncomfortable to even contemplate. I have built up the pitfalls of camping to such a grand scale that this trip will serve to disprove these notions. The couples (again, barf) who are going are all great people even if the girls are all between size 0 and 4. The prospect of wearing my bathing suit around them makes me want to shrink and disappear (to a size 10 maybe.) However, they are all smart, kind and funny women whom I'm excited to spend time with. Their respective boyfriends are also a hoot. The laughs and the hijinks and the camraderie we will have may just negate all the hygienic and safety concerns I'm clutching. Maybe it will be one of the best experiences I've ever had. Maybe I will pitch a tent for camping.
posted by Katie at 1:46 PM
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