Nature's Finest

Went camping with the family and family friends this Fourth of July weekend. I'm not an outdoorsy or athletic person but camping can be fun, in increments, preferably no more than once a year.

It was quite a challenge. OH MY GOD. One of our neighbors is yapping as I type. Why are there graduates from the School of Speaking with an Audience everywhere? I don't want to hear about your life. I don't want to hear about your boyfriend bailing on you. I don't want to hear that he gave you a backpack for your anniversary. In fact, if I were you I would keep that information to myself. Anniversary present? BACKPACK?!? Did you get a Trapper Keeper on your birthday? A set of 5 logbooks on Christmas. A pencil case for Valentine's?!?

Okay. I have now calmed down. So... camping trip. Eating was my activity of choice, which again, was a challenge. The campsite had no running water and thanks to this weekend, I now know that a vault toilet, is basically a port-a-potty with concrete walls. I gave my digestive system a pep talk to please hold the BM until I get back home. It did. However (gross alert), I did unleash some mighty fumes... within the confines of our lovely, watertight tent. Forgive. Please.

Our biggest adventure sent most of us scrambling for higher ground and screaming. One of the tents in our group had a snake inside! A snake! My Dad whacked it with an umbrella and threw it in the lake. It was slim and probably a little over a foot long. And it opened a gateway into a fairly long discussion on snake stories and myths. Have you heard the one about the snake whose eyes retain the image of its human killer? That's right. Its family will then memorize this image and will act all snake-like and go after the killer and all the members of his or her family.




Our group had a number of kids with the oldest at, say, 12. And they went nuts. Hiking, mucking around on the inflatable boat just going in circles, playing charades and bamboozling the adults to pay them upwards of $5. You know you're starting to get old when you no longer jump on the, let's be the last to sleep bandwagon. Except, I'm not really getting old because technically I didn't get any sleep on the two nights we camped. Therefore, that alone makes me young, by default. Sort of. Kind of? Right?

Kick Out The Jams

Have you ever lived next to, not one, but a group of struggling musicians? We seem to have a curse. First it was the young songbird whose only dream is to appear on a musical. A musical called Rent II: Keeping The Neighbors Awake. That was bad luck to the maximum! Our apartment building had thin walls and young songbird was relentless in her pursuit. Not only that, but the neighbor across from our unit had a habit of teaching his son the multiplication table, military style. I promise you, that child can't have been older than three.

And on to our present neighbors. I'm not sure if there's more than one actual resident. The door is open at almost all hours. A pity really, since shutting the door reduces the noise level considerably. But no. No, no. They want everyone to hear their jams. Their poo jams. Jams that curdle in your brain like milk gone bad. Jams with back-up vocals and full-on banging drums. Oh well. Who knows? Those clowns might be famous one day. But until then, is it too much to ask to shut your front door and keep it down a notch?!

Seriously, I almost miss that old neighbor we had. Yeah. The one who lost it for a while and started chasing people with a cleaver. At least she kept her voice down.