Does vinyl feel pain?

This past weekend was … different.

As I mentioned earlier, I went camping, an activity I generally enjoy. I camped all over the place with my family when I was a kid and since then have only been camping twice, but I still like it. Here's a question though: Can you still call it camping if you spend the weekend sleeping in your car? I suppose arriving home mildly sunburned, covered in mosquito stab wounds (having learned today that mosquitos stab, not bite), mouth still sticky from the requisite camping trip S’more, and lungs still cloudy from woodsmoke qualifies as camping. But I still feel a bit suspect, like I didn't fully embrace nature or something. I have issues. Let's move on.

After leaving work early on Friday and hitting Target for last-minute supplies, like Rice Crispy treats (very important) and a tent (even more important), I drove two-ish hours north to a beautiful state park where said camping was to take place. Upon my arrival, many the lesbian came towards my car in greeting. (They were lesbians I knew, not just random sapphites who saw me and decided to exchange the Secret Lesbian Handshake in greeting.) I was escorted to my campsite which looked close to the main campsite where everyone was going to hang out (a.k.a. Homo Base), but actually wasn’t close in Real Camping Time. The good news is that two tents were allowed per site, so I got to set up my tent closer to Homo Base, which was also near a woman who works as a professional dominatrix when she's not out bounding around nature. One word: Reowr.

Two of the aforementioned lezbins set up my tent in about 6.5 minutes flat and I think it only took that long because they had to remove the tent from the box. I was quite impressed and stood there silently, handing over tarps and bungee cords when necessary. The rain fly went over my tent just as the skies opened up and I got soaked. I actually stupidly stood in the rain for awhile (apparently I was a sheep in another life) and tried to figure out what to do. Finally, I borrowed an air pump and walked my soggy self back to my tent to fill my air mattress and make my bed. Filling said mattress took forever, which should have been my first clue as to where I’d be sleeping later that night.

After I filled the mattress, I lay down for awhile, contentedly listening to the rain hit the tarp covering my tent. I contemplated writing. Hell, I contemplated staying in my tent alone, just listening to the rain for the rest of the night. I was in a strange social-and-yet-antisocial space all weekend. Eventually, I eased out of the tent and was finally able to join my friends at Homo Base when the rain eased up. Much chatting ensued and we had fun laughing and eating chili, but the entire time, I was just waiting for it to get dark so I could go to bed. I crapped out early (9:30!) and went back to my tent, tragically missing a rousing game of Truth or Dare that had to be quieted down by a park ranger.

A few hours later, I awoke to a strange sensation. My hip was wet, or so I thought. Turns out the mattress had deflated enough so that my body was finally making contact with the cold, hard ground and I found I was attempting sleep on top of several rocks. I lay there for the longest time, trying to convince myself that I wasn’t cold and miserable and shitty. No luck. I finally got up, halfheartedly kicked my mattress, and went to sleep in my car. Said car wasn’t too bad for sleeping in. I was just worried I would accidentally beep the horn or rest my foot on the gas pedal and flood the car overnight. I could’ve slept in the passenger seat but the car was crammed with gear and as I soon found out, it wasn’t quite 2:00 AM and I had a loooong night to get through. I didn’t mind sleeping in the car because the air was damp and cold and I don’t often like to spend my evenings moist. (Hush.)

Saturday was pleasant. I hung out in the Circle of Homos all day. Some people went to the beach and some went on extended walks around the grounds. I was content to sit in my camp chair and gaze upon lovely dykes … and their partners. Why are all the hot butches I encounter lately partnered or otherwise unavailable? It's not fair. A couple of those women were slap-your-momma hot.

In the early afternoon, a friend showed up at the camping gathering to my pleasant surprise. We hung out, talked, had snacks, and then I ambled away for a pleasant pre-dinner nap …in my car. I’ve joked before about living in my car and now those jokes aren’t that funny anymore.

Saturday night brought a 15-minute chair massage by one of the attendees, chicken and potatoes for dinner, and more sex-themed games, in which I participated. I’m glad it was dark because I know I blushed a few times. People started to fade away from the circle around 10 PM, but I made myself hang on, determined not to crap out quite so early. After the sex game, the discussion turned towards the politics of an organization I am not familiar with, so I bid the group adieu and went to bed. In my car. Again. People did offer to loan me air mattresses or try to blow up my possibly-hole-filled mattress. I just let it get too late in the evening and laziness beat back with a stick the desire to “actually” camp. I bedded down and slept a bit fitfully, but better than I had Friday night.

Sunday morning was French toast, hanging out, and a couple games of euchre. Eventually, we had to break down our tents and pack up. I was eager to get home to my real bed and to get my car cleaned out. I like camping, but there’s only so much of the outdoors I can take before being covered in nature just makes me feel gross. One of my mosquito stab wounds was on my inner thigh, the scratching of which HAD to have been arousing for all the women in the circle who probably wondered how and when I became such an open-legged exhibitionist.

I arrived home in the early evening on Sunday and spent the night freezing in the A.C. and watching T.V. Ah, electricity. How I missed you.