I freaking HATE camping.
It's not a vacation.
It's pretending to be homeless except the food is better.
I get two weeks to recover from the last 10 days of "relaxation" and then we're going again.
To a place called Killbear.
Yup.
KILLBEAR!?!? (Sounds like my beloved Shithead's backyard
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Sorry, dance competitions are only the 7th level of hell. You are a social butterfly. You love that stuff (not to mention your daughter has talent. Nicole? I love her to pieces, but talent for sports or dance... um, not so much. I remember her dance classes. Yeah, 18 bucks a week to teach her how to skip...) Besides, I may get to see Sam on "SYTYCD" in a few years...
Camping hell?
How about trying to write (after all these years) and getting interrupted every 2 minutes by a sister or brother in law that asks for answers with their crossword/suduko puzzles.
Fuck.
I hadn't even finished my first coffee at that point.
By the third day of playing nice, I got fed up and when they asked me for help, I took the damn book and finished the suduko for them.
In ink!
Yeah, I got skills.
I need to get away.
I need a vacation from these fucking "vacations".
One week 'til the next one.
One week 'til (to paraphrase the chic) I have to put shoes on to take a dump.
One week 'til I'm stuck in a "ghetto cottage" in a place with "Kill" and "Bear" in the name.
Dammit, if I wanted to go without electricity, I wouldn't have paid my electric bill.
One week 'til I find out if brother and sister in law will ask me for help again with their fucking "brain" teaser.
On the plus side, it's one week 'til I get to play "dirty Scrabble" with my favourite son.
No word is off limits. Slang and profanity get you the best points.
We definitely need to get away. Let's seriously plan a weekend in New York City next summer.
That'll mean no more three buck Snapples for a while...
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