Quota Reached

I have officially reached my camping quota for the year. Yes, that is correct. The grand total for my camping endeavors this 2010 is... two. And with the weekend at gorgeous Lake Chelan behind me, I bid farewell to the following:

1. state park toilets and showers
2. dusty, grimy feet and footwear
3. charcoal briquets that take forever to get hot
4. rhetorical debates as to whether peeing at this very moment is necessary
which lead to:
5. flashlight-lit walks to item no. 1
6. dismantling tents
7. creepy mullet-haired drivers scouting campsites
8. "Monsters Inside Me" inspired fears (Thanks a lot Animal Planet)

Without naming any names or pointing any fingers, here are some words that were thrown around amongst us campers over the weekend:

"If I get cancer in a few years I'll know it's from your burnt chicken."
"Score my burp."
"Why won't anyone score my farts?"
"We need to perform an exorcism on your butt."
"What is the point of showering?"
"I brought my make-up."
"She wanted to bring curlers and a hair dryer."
"Let's tie our tent to the dock and pretend we have a boat."
"The six-year old in the next campsite might steal our liquor."
"KATOL!"

And before I sound like the whiniest most annoying camping-hater, I must say I will also miss camping. There's nothing quite like long meandering conversations around a bonfire with stars like you will never see in the city skies. Getting 'Smore-debris all over your clothes, sipping hot coffee in the morning while looking out at nature and not knowing what time it is and having an excuse to eat because we can't possibly bring all that food back because there's no room in the car. And getting 85 degree weather and a whole lot of sun when you know it's raining on the poor city-folk!