My Love/Hate Relationship With Camping

We are soon to be headed out on our annual drunkfest camping weekend with a pile of our besties.

I loathe camping.

There, I said it.

Stop throwing shit at me.

My idea of camping is a Holiday Inn.  With plumbing.  And a bar.

I am not an outdoorsy kind of gal.  It's hard to walk on grass in 4inch pumps.

I don't like sharing a shower and shitter with 113 dirty drunk fellow campers.

Side note: confession - that's, like, 98% of the reason I lived off campus during my college years.  Community bathrooms, specifically showers, fuh-reak me out.  That and the fact that I was a shy insecure little wussy, but I digress.

I hate packing for it.

Hate. Packing. For it.

I'm lazy and forgetful, remember?

Loading up a borrowed camper is like moving in to a new house.

Did I remember the napkins, silverware, beer, plates, chairs, baby wipes because once you tap into the genius that is baby wipes you just can never live without them, bedding, pillows, chips, soap, towels, dip, vodka, vodka, vodka, plastic baggies, a few non-alcoholic beverages, serving utensils grill kitchensink brats hot dogs munchies junk food salad shoes makeup curling iron just kidding you didn't really think I would bring a curling iron did you sandwichmakings sunglassesswimmingsuitcvb6nms0flkjawera9lkwh5era

SO! MUCH! STUFF! EXCLAMATION POINT!

And not to mention washing the dishes after meals are done is no easy feat while camping.  I get major anxiety over it.  My 'things that give me anxiety while camping' list is huge.  At the top of the list is dirt.  Hands down.  I know, I'm effed up, hence the 'get Teisha on Xanax' campaign I've sorta started.

And there's bugs.  Lots and lots of bugs.  Princesses and bugs don't go well together.

Someday I will tell you how much I hate flies.  Yes, I could probably devote an entire post to my bitterness towards flies, and fly poop*.  I know, you're excited for that one, arentcha?

BUT

I live for this weekend every year:  drunken shenanigans with friends and the occasional stray dirty drunk fellow camper + laying out on the beach all day = happiness in the pants.

Signed,
Not a happy camper

*I think I have managed to mention poop in, like, 67.8% of my blog posts.