Things I'm Terrible At: Camping

Agreed!

I think that I like the idea of camping more than actually doing it. I mean, it sounds great, right? A few days away from the modern world: peace and quiet, communing with nature, motherfuckin' s'mores. And, if the right guy asked me to go camping with him, I'd pretend I was into the idea. I'd pretend to be stoked about the beers we'd drink, the chili we'd slow-cook, and the sleeping bag action we'd get. Hell, I'd even pretend to be excited to squat on a log and roast a weenie over a small fire. I would do everything in my power to hide the fact that I'm a total camping spazz.

Here's what I think about when I think about camping: bug bites. Uncomfortable sleeping arrangements. Pebbles getting stuck in my shoe. Strange sounds at night. Mud. Lack of sofas. Lack of televisions. Lack of electricity. Lack of a shower. Lack of sushi or Thai food or tacos. Basically, lack of my favorite global cuisines. Oh god, I fucking hate camping.

I feel like I'm gonna let a guy down when he finds out how fussy I am about the whole camping thing. I wear contacts. I use expensive moisturizers. I use a lot of fancy body washes. I sleep with a lot of pillows. Aside from being prissy, I'm also terrified of snakes. Couple that with my terrible night vision and I'd have panic attacks at every errant branch that was just outside my field of vision and every crackle of a leaf in the darkness. That sounds like a nightmare.

I made the mistake of seeing "The Blair Witch Project" in college even though I hate both camping and horror movies. Let me tell you, I was so rattled by the film that I had to sleep with the lights on for the next three nights. The kicker: I was living in Manhattan then! I'm sure the Blair Witch wasn't about to navigate the 1/9 local train to terrorize me, but I was that panicked. I have no idea what I was thinking seeing a horror movie about the woods. It was the dumbest thing I've ever done and that includes the time I noticed Sebastian Bach from Skid Row was standing in front of me in a rock club so I ran my fingers through his hair in hopes of catching a stray strand. I also grabbed his ass and blamed it on the person next to me. Yes, sleeping with the lights on for three nights after watching The Blair Witch Project was dumber than that.

I often think about if there was an apocalypse and I was forced to retreat to the forrest and fend for myself how long I'd last. I'd guess three days, tops. I'd probably eat the wrong berry or trip on a branch, break my leg, and wither away on the forrest floor like a wounded moose. Other people would be foraging for food or telling time by the sun's position; I'd be crinkling my nose at the thought of having to wipe my ass with a leaf. Ugh. I'd rather die than deal with nature for longer than an afternoon.

I really hope my hatred of camping won't be a bonerkiller to guys I meet. The best-case scenario is that he'll hate camping too and we can bond over how stupid the whole thing is. We'll agree that having constant access to indoor plumbing, Internet access, and several local restaurants is the way to go. Besides, if we ever get the itch to bond with nature, we can just make s'mores in my backyard.