I went camping (for only the second time in my life) this weekend with my best friend April and my former roommate “Double-0” and I can tell you three things:
1. Camping is for White people.
2. Camping is for White people.
3. When camping with White people, drinking makes the experience infinitely more fun.
This is what I packed into Double-0’s car. April went up early to set things up for us since we had to work.
Note that all I brought were some clothes and a sleeping bag. That’s it. Oh, and martinis in a box, which I didn’t even know existed until now. Class-ay! That’s my pink luggage. Underneath all that is the pink yoga mat I loaned Double-0. This will be important later. When I arrive at Double-0’s, she asks, “Did you remember a towel?” Uhhhh. “Emily, we’re not going to a hotel.” I know this, but in my enthusiasm to go camping with a blonde and a Jewish princess, I have forgotten my towel. And my pillow. And warm socks and mittens.
That’s our tent. And Double-0’s ass. And her Beamer. She drives a Beamer now because a couple months ago an immigrant decided it was a good idea to back up in the fast lane on the highway right in front of her while she was going 65mph.
Chinet, up in flames.
Oh yes, marshmallows were roasted. I hate them any other way.
I should also mention that it was F*CKING COLD the first night we were up there. Double-0 had wool socks, fancy scientific thermal clothes, a f*cking floodlight, headlamp, you name it that chick had it. I told her that I’d been running around all day telling people I was going camping with a Jewish princess and she said, “That’s funny, because all day I was telling people at work I was going camping with a Black girl.”
When I woke up Saturday morning, I said, “What the f*ck is wrong with you White people? Why would you want to go outside and sleep on the ground in something as thick as a Ziplog bag when you have perfectly good houses? Look at that – there is a hole in our tent (it was a vent). Why would you make a tent and then give it a hole?”
The campground had very nicely heated bathrooms with showers. I wanted to set up my sleeping bag in there instead. The thought of actually doing it made me have a laughing fit at 5:30 a.m.
This is me, being f*cking cold in the tent. I’m using my enormous wool sweater as a pillow and wearing two pairs of socks.
Double-0 refused to give me my own yoga mat to put underneath my sleeping bag to insulate it from the cold ground because she wanted to use it under hers. Bitch. :-)
Then she pushed a boulder onto me. I hate her.
Autumn in New England: One of the reasons I think there must be a God.
I’d like to explain this one, but I’ll just leave it.
We all said that we wouldn’t bring makeup on the trip and just, you know, rough it. But those chicks brought compacts and all sorts of shit.
Here I am, roughin’ it.
Just so the “Losers” know, I ate turkey dogs (and turkey burgers and turkey bacon). April doesn’t eat beef. I would include the sneak shot April took of me eating a turkey dog, but it is rather explicit and this blog is almost clean enough to share with your family. Almost.
Our weekend as Country Bumpkins turned out to be just as fun as I thought it would be. We got marshmallow all over our faces, cooked on a camp stove under a full moon, percolated our coffee, saw awe-inspiring foliage on the Kancamangus Highway, and got absolutely, totally obliderated tipsy on a mixture of pomegranate martinis, boxed Cosmopolitans and peach wine.
My hair now smells like a camp fire and my body aches for my pillow, but I have to say roughing it was pretty cool. It was fun to drop everything and go into the woods and do the female bonding thing. Even if the chicks did bring makeup.
Dangerously Enthusiastic 