In case you are wondering, or happened to notice, I have decided to divide my blogs into two categories: Serious and Not Serious. I think both appeal to totally different people, and I have a definite desire to write both. So, going forward, all my spiritual, life-transition-y stuff will be on my normal blog (clduncan75 or courtneyloreanne) and all my funny, relation-shippy ones will be here, at all the dirty laundry. I have had both for ages, I just haven’t used this one in forever.
So, the other day, one of my best girl-friends was here having dinner with me, and we were talking about her new guy, and what a good time they were having together (as people tend to do in the fun, exciting beginning of things). He either had or was going to take her for a drive “down the coast”. For those of you who do not live here and are not familiar with what this means, let me explain…going “down the coast” is sort of a rite of passage for people new to the area, teenagers who have just gotten their drivers license’s and want to give their parents ulcers, and couples who are in the first stages of loooovve. “Down the coast” for us is Highway one to Big Sur, some of the most beautiful coastline in the world. People come from everywhere to see the Bixby Bridge and the “Rugged Coastline”. People who live here like it, too, but we are so used to all the beauty dripping off of everything that we spend most of our drive “down the coast” battling road rage directed toward the idiot tourists in front of us. They invariably are awe-struck by the dramatic scenery, therefore driving nine miles per hour, seemingly incapable of pulling off into one of the MANY, MANY lookout points along the way.
Anyway, I digress. The point is, he was going to (or maybe had? I really need to start trying to be a better listener) take her for the prerequisite drive down the coast, and in the midst of their planning (or doing, damn it) he said “And we can go check out this great camping spot I know about!” All excited like- he was so excited, in fact, that he missed the sound of a million tires coming to a shrieking halt- or maybe he missed it because it was only in her head. That was probably it. You see, like me, my girlfriend is not a “camper”. As she said, “My idea of roughing it is a Motel 6.”. Although I have definitely stayed in places so bad that they made the Motel 6 look like four star accommodations (someday I will tell you about this place called the “Wagon Wheel” in Salinas, but not today, or “The Artichoke Inn” in Castroville, although some names will have to be changed for that one. 🙂 ) I get what she is trying to say. Basically, camping kind of sucks.
Still, in the spirit of fairness, I found myself taking the total opposite approach…for a minute. I was like “Well, you know, just try to keep an open mind…I mean, it could be fun. I try it over and over again, no matter how bad it sucks.” And that is when it all started rushing back to me. I immediately started listing all the totally true reasons why camping is the worst thing EVER, while still in the weird, incompatible voice of one who is singing something’s praises. “I mean, so what if it cost’s like five hundred dollars for groceries that will be 90% ruined by the time you reach your destination, thanks to melting ice (tell me you’ve never suffered through a sandwich so wet you didn’t even need to chew it to get it down!), and even then, with everything you bought, you ALWAYS forget something majorly important…And so what if the remaining 10% of edible food you have is rendered barely edible because it gets burned over a campfire (think raw potato home fries)?”
By now, she is looking at me like I am nuts of course, but I believe this shit, you guys! I have had maybe two really good camping experiences in my entire life, and you know why those were good? Because I was like eight years old! I didn’t have to do anything! I could play with pine cones and enjoy myself! There was a lake! When you are eight, you don’t need much besides a body of water deeper than a bathtub to get excited about. Well, I am not 8, and I do not appreciate camping. Now, I will continue to tell you why:
I work a full time job, forty hours a week, every week of my life, and shall continue to do so until I either hit the lottery, get a five figure book contract with lots of perks, or reach the age of 65. I do this so that I can continue to live in a home with plumbing, electricity, cable TV, internet, and…oh yeah, WALLS. I get a few weeks of paid vacation every year. Why the HELL would I want to spend those weeks downgrading?! I mean seriously!
Why would anyone want to drive out to the middle of nowhere, (after spending hundreds on ruined groceries, as I spoke of previously), then spend a good three hours working their asses off to build a flimsy ass tent, assemble sandwiches garnished with dirt, and build a campfire to then sit around staring at each other? Then, off to “bed” on a shitty air mattress that invariably deflates thanks to some stupid sharp rock you missed carving into it. Do you lie there listening to the sounds of the great outdoors? Hell, no. You fall asleep to the sound of the people in neighboring tents, farting, coughing, getting busy…and the drunks down the row who are puking and blaring music and fighting with the park rangers who ask them to settle down.
But, then morning comes, and as soon as your neck unlocks and your hips unfreeze, you have coffee to look forward to. Oh, wait, no you don’t, you forgot the coffee, didn’t you? So, you grab your toiletries, most of which have now leaked out into a useless, wonderful smelling puddle in the bottom of the bag, and hobble over to the community shower, trying to ignore the terrible smell wafting out of the toilets five feet away. This is when you actually feel grateful that you had no coffee, as it would be nearly impossible to poo while simultaneously holding your breath AND feeling a steady breeze blow up your ass. At least, for me, it is.
You know, I am going to leave it there- quite frankly, I am getting upset just writing this. I am sure there are many camping supporters and enthusiasts out there, and I bet every single one of them are thinking the same thing: “You’ve just never been camping WITH ME!” The reason I think this is true is because I have heard this countless times. Unfortunately, I have believed it. Even more unfortunately, it has never been proven true. So before you even say “I’d make it fun for you.” Let me tell you this: You wouldn’t, you couldn’t. Not in a box, not with a fox, not in the air, not anywhere- I do not like green eggs and ham (or camping). I do not like it, Sam I am.