We went camping last weekend.
We’ve already mentioned it here at least once, for those of you who have been perpetually sleeping in the back. You probably feel like the degenerate students in the back of the classroom scene in Clueless, checking in every now and again to see if we have anything remotely worthwhile to say. I get it. I’m the guy trying to jump out the window. We can be oh so basic middle class vanilla sometimes.
Probably most of the time.
But it was a blast. We all rented campers and went with two of our bubble fams and we got to be normal for 2.5 seconds. And it was the mental break we all needed. We got to pretend that 2020 hasn’t been the WORST EVER. All whilst stuffing our faces with s’mores and laughing until I can’t tell if my face is frozen or if I’m filled with uttermost euphoria and despair that I’m still here. Probs both.
You probably already deduced that by camping I really mean glamping, because campers. Which basically means I was faced with both the delicate curse and moral dilemma of trying to figure out what we need vs. what we want to take.
Camping equals one pair of underwear, some TP and a shovel.
Glamping means little house on wheels. Pack all the things.
Why glamp, you may ask? Because I love myself. A. Why NOT glamp? And 2. Camping is for plebeians. And maybe even people who want to get murdered because I listen to too many true crime podcasts and I’m not even sorry about it.
I don’t like being cold, for starters. I also do not like burying my own poo. My idea of roughing it is staying at the Holiday Inn for the night. We’ve all seen those Special Edition episodes with the hidden cams where they don’t clean the room’s drinking glasses, or change the sheets before the next guest arrives. Ew, David.
So when it comes to packing, I’ve always suffered from the disproportionate ideology that I should pack one too many outfits for a trip. Gone for three nights? Let’s include twenty dresses and ten pair of shoes in various shades. One never knows when they might need such attire. Or for which situation it just may arise. Black tie? Check. McDonald’s drive through color coordinated ensembles? Check.
Once, we took a quick trip to New York for a business trip. Remember when we traveled? Good times. It was in the dead of winter, and we were to attend a party the very next day. Remember parties? More good times. Except the president landed in Nashville at the same time, and our luggage never made it on the plane. Thanks, Secret Service. We weren’t near his gate and I’m super duper sure my hairspray isn’t a real threat to national security. And before you @ me, it was a real annoyance, DEBORAH. {Yes, we truly appreciate everything the men in black do before blasting us with those lights that make us forget about the aliens. But I really could have used my toothbrush.}
I was kinda mad that I showed up for said party in snow boots and jeans after spending one hundred and fifty on toothpaste and mascara at the local five and dime. {Racket much?} All because our luggage didn’t make it. In retrospect, I have no idea why we didn’t just go shopping, but there’d definitely been a blizzard and I think they kept guaranteeing us our luggage was about to arrive. So suddenly, we were playing Russian Roulette with time and luggage arrival before the party. And suddenly, there I was, meeting CeCe from ‘New Girl’ in said snow boots.
It helps that at the time, I had no idea who CeCe from New Girl was, because I didn’t watch it. That was three years ago, and it took a pandemic for me to become a fan. I was all, who’s that super tall model girl in the corner with all the reporters, and also if I rub this charcuterie on my face, will it help look like I’m wearing blush?
I think that single experience left me with a little PTSD when it comes to prepping for all trips. I mean, what if I’d met Matthew McConaughey in snow boots? That will never do, Will Smith. You live, you learn, so now I do the whole carry-on thing with all my essentials. Except I never know what the essentials are. Or if I’m breaking the rules. Once I didn’t check the website and they took my makeup remover away and I was super sad and entitled about it. So now, little black dress? Check. Jeans and binoculars for bird watching or following that old guy who definitely looks like the Long Island serial killer? Double check.
I’ve actually done this since I was a child. Going to the gulf for a week in July? Let’s pack a month’s worth of sweaters with that guitar I purchased ten years ago, because you never know when I might decide to play fireside at a beach party rustled up on a cool night whilst there.
So, when it comes to glamping, do we pack the coffee maker? Yes. Do we pack the cordless vacuum because I don’t like dirt under foot? Yes. Do we pack the sound machine, scented candle and the apple cider and board games and magic fire thingy that makes the flames change colors? Duh. For the record, the latter was our friends’ and apparently we’re in good company.
There has to be some type of study on the psyche of those who over prepare. It’s a definite disorder from which I most assuredly suffer. I consider it not a malady, but a gift. Perhaps we’ll make it through phase eleventy-five of the apocalypse when everything turns into I am Legend. Scented candles are important, to cover that flesh eating zombie smell, after all.
We had a middle class vanilla kinda blast, but it’s all fun and games until we get home. Only to spend five days doing the laundry after the equivalent of a 3,000 calorie burning workout just to unload said camper. A penance paid for having fun. A balance in the force. By the time I’m caught up with camping laundry, a week has passed and I’m behind on regular laundry. What kind of psychopath washes, dries, folds and puts away all in one day? I can’t see my bed anymore.
We think it’ll get easier when the kiddos are older. But instead of pack-n-plays and breast pumps, we’re trading it in for copious amounts of school work that they assure us they’ll be working on never to be touched, and ten extra outfits each for only three days, along with all the preplanned requested meals we hate to prepare.
I have no idea where they get it. We brought this on ourselves.
Glamping. The metaphorical equivalent to meeting a famous person at a party in NYC when you’re still dressed in your stinky travel clothes. Only to have your luggage show up in your room one hour afterwards, after the fire alarm goes off when you try to use the shower to heat up the room… Wheeee! I think I’m really on to something with a charcuterie-for-blush thing.
Pack light.
Anna says
This just made me laugh so hard. Charcuterie for blush š thank you for this. I donāt know how to pack light either. Too funny!
Jennifer says
My entire family gets so annoyed because I over think everything. So glad Iām not the only one š scented candles are so important!
ashley @ the handmade home says
You are SO not alone! I’m glad it’s not just me, either HA!
Janet says
You had me at snow boots hahahahaha thank you as always for keeping it hilarious!
ashley @ the handmade home says
Thanks so much for stopping by, Janet ;}