Camping is like hell...but dirtier.
X-posted from Facebook
Dearest Kats and Kittens,
Last weekend yours truly stripped off the sexy high heels -sans any kind of sexy music- strapped on flip flops- sans any kind of strap…ummm nevermind- and headed out to the great outdoors.
For those of you that know me you’ll know that I like to be streamlined, lightly packed, and ready for anything. Those that don’t know my puddin’ pie…let’s call her Dr. Puddin Pie; she believes this makes me under prepared….pish posh. So, I packed my flip flops, bathing suit, big sunglasses, 2 tank tops and 2 pair of capris for our 3 day adventure into the great outdoors!!
In my mind I was already laying on a hammock, in large sunglasses, while hearing the water lapping at the shore and I enjoyed my latest foray into primatology, “The Ape in All of Us”. Surprised? Just because you are fashion forward doesn’t mean you have to be ass-backward. Let’s learn to complete a sentence and use proper grammar, shall we?
However, Dr. Puddin Pie was going on and on about needing food and shelter. Sigh. I guess I will have to bow to practical considerations just this once. It wouldn’t do to go camping and find that we have nothing to nibble.
After packing in the car the tent, sleeping rolls and a toy we call ‘the Whisperer’, we set about hunting and gathering. It was much like our ancestors did, only at Costco. This caused four times the irritation felt by the people who traversed the Oregon Trail, as there were 50,000 kids (I counted) all of whom took one too many dips at the sample table, if you know what I’m saying. The answer isn’t Ritalin ma’am; it’s getting Jimmy away from the ‘free’ Krispy Kremes.
After hours of navigating between people jockeying for another hot dog, and folks who’s tennis shorts and state school education provided them with a sense of entitlement that rivaled Genghis Khan, we were at the checkout and on our way to getting back to nature.
Nothing beats a drive on a lonely back road on a three day weekend with your Dr. Puddin’ Pie, the best dogs in the world, and some blues playing on the Ipod. But, if it happens to be in a downpour and you’re worrying every second about the ability of a Honda Civic, loaded down with enough camping equipment to assist the Donner party in getting out of the mountains, to pull out of a hydroplane at 50 MPH while driving next to a 5th wheeler through country that may or may not have a branch of the Klan, it gets a wee bit stressful. And then it hit me. I have to camp, in the rain, in Flip-Flops.
Luckily, the initial torrent subsided by the time we arrived. At the grounds, we were met by several of our kind. Well, the Dr’s kind. I don’t wear Tivas. And I may have had a sun dress on and make-up, I don’t remember. After many dubious looks by strangers, I assume that had something to do with their doubt that I could erect a tent; we picked out a spot for our outdoor love nest.
Now, the key when picking an outdoor love nest is to pick a spot that is flat, is away from people for more…intimate moments and isn’t in the path of a wet, god-like rampage of epic proportions. Well, two out of three ain’t bad.
About an hour after erecting our bordello in the woods and sitting in the mist and clouds, I was feeling nostalgic. I was raised in the land of moss and mold (i.e. Portland, Oregon) so a Memorial day rainstorm harkened me back to childhood; when my hair was moisturized naturally by the elements and the rare times when the sun came out, children became frightened; was this the nuclear attack they learned about in school? Why we didn’t teach them about the sun I’ll never know, it seems cruel now.
When nostalgia wore off and I came back to reality - ala a dream sequence on Young and the Restless- I tuned into Dr. Puddin’ Pie emphatically gesturing and saying something about ‘taking a boat down the river’ or some such. Before I could say “Honey, I’m not Tom Sawyer” one of the other outdyke enthusiasts said with much more excitement than I thought possible “We brought our own!!” Own? Own what? The only “own” I’ve ever brought is a bottle of vodka and maybe a sex toy. They brought a boat?! As my girlfriend nodded vigorously, the outdyke explained you can put a kayak on top of a Honda Civic and travel with it. For those astute readers who have been paying attention so far you know that Dr. Puddin Pie also has a Honda Civic and has been DYING to do this for years. Who knew? I am missing some imperative dyke DNA, apparently. Well, I bet they don’t know how to make a false tit out of a condom and hair gel or how to make a strappy bra strapless and still hold up your junk. Eh, to each their own.
I’m now sitting in the rain in flip-flops, Capri pants and the wettest tank top outside of a mullet bar and tomorrow the only thing between me and even more water will be a fuckin’ kayak. I longed for a lounge chair, a chlorinated pool and a drink with an umbrella IN it and not over it. Will I ever survive?
Tune in next week for Part 2: Wet dogs and Tacodeli
Dearest Kats and Kittens,
Last weekend yours truly stripped off the sexy high heels -sans any kind of sexy music- strapped on flip flops- sans any kind of strap…ummm nevermind- and headed out to the great outdoors.
For those of you that know me you’ll know that I like to be streamlined, lightly packed, and ready for anything. Those that don’t know my puddin’ pie…let’s call her Dr. Puddin Pie; she believes this makes me under prepared….pish posh. So, I packed my flip flops, bathing suit, big sunglasses, 2 tank tops and 2 pair of capris for our 3 day adventure into the great outdoors!!
In my mind I was already laying on a hammock, in large sunglasses, while hearing the water lapping at the shore and I enjoyed my latest foray into primatology, “The Ape in All of Us”. Surprised? Just because you are fashion forward doesn’t mean you have to be ass-backward. Let’s learn to complete a sentence and use proper grammar, shall we?
However, Dr. Puddin Pie was going on and on about needing food and shelter. Sigh. I guess I will have to bow to practical considerations just this once. It wouldn’t do to go camping and find that we have nothing to nibble.
After packing in the car the tent, sleeping rolls and a toy we call ‘the Whisperer’, we set about hunting and gathering. It was much like our ancestors did, only at Costco. This caused four times the irritation felt by the people who traversed the Oregon Trail, as there were 50,000 kids (I counted) all of whom took one too many dips at the sample table, if you know what I’m saying. The answer isn’t Ritalin ma’am; it’s getting Jimmy away from the ‘free’ Krispy Kremes.
After hours of navigating between people jockeying for another hot dog, and folks who’s tennis shorts and state school education provided them with a sense of entitlement that rivaled Genghis Khan, we were at the checkout and on our way to getting back to nature.
Nothing beats a drive on a lonely back road on a three day weekend with your Dr. Puddin’ Pie, the best dogs in the world, and some blues playing on the Ipod. But, if it happens to be in a downpour and you’re worrying every second about the ability of a Honda Civic, loaded down with enough camping equipment to assist the Donner party in getting out of the mountains, to pull out of a hydroplane at 50 MPH while driving next to a 5th wheeler through country that may or may not have a branch of the Klan, it gets a wee bit stressful. And then it hit me. I have to camp, in the rain, in Flip-Flops.
Luckily, the initial torrent subsided by the time we arrived. At the grounds, we were met by several of our kind. Well, the Dr’s kind. I don’t wear Tivas. And I may have had a sun dress on and make-up, I don’t remember. After many dubious looks by strangers, I assume that had something to do with their doubt that I could erect a tent; we picked out a spot for our outdoor love nest.
Now, the key when picking an outdoor love nest is to pick a spot that is flat, is away from people for more…intimate moments and isn’t in the path of a wet, god-like rampage of epic proportions. Well, two out of three ain’t bad.
About an hour after erecting our bordello in the woods and sitting in the mist and clouds, I was feeling nostalgic. I was raised in the land of moss and mold (i.e. Portland, Oregon) so a Memorial day rainstorm harkened me back to childhood; when my hair was moisturized naturally by the elements and the rare times when the sun came out, children became frightened; was this the nuclear attack they learned about in school? Why we didn’t teach them about the sun I’ll never know, it seems cruel now.
When nostalgia wore off and I came back to reality - ala a dream sequence on Young and the Restless- I tuned into Dr. Puddin’ Pie emphatically gesturing and saying something about ‘taking a boat down the river’ or some such. Before I could say “Honey, I’m not Tom Sawyer” one of the other outdyke enthusiasts said with much more excitement than I thought possible “We brought our own!!” Own? Own what? The only “own” I’ve ever brought is a bottle of vodka and maybe a sex toy. They brought a boat?! As my girlfriend nodded vigorously, the outdyke explained you can put a kayak on top of a Honda Civic and travel with it. For those astute readers who have been paying attention so far you know that Dr. Puddin Pie also has a Honda Civic and has been DYING to do this for years. Who knew? I am missing some imperative dyke DNA, apparently. Well, I bet they don’t know how to make a false tit out of a condom and hair gel or how to make a strappy bra strapless and still hold up your junk. Eh, to each their own.
I’m now sitting in the rain in flip-flops, Capri pants and the wettest tank top outside of a mullet bar and tomorrow the only thing between me and even more water will be a fuckin’ kayak. I longed for a lounge chair, a chlorinated pool and a drink with an umbrella IN it and not over it. Will I ever survive?
Tune in next week for Part 2: Wet dogs and Tacodeli