The Running of the Bulls in Spain

I turned 40 last year.  Son of a bitch!  It was not met favorably.  I have no desire to be older and wiser.  That’s something defeated people say.

But it was happening whether I liked it or not.

Luckily, my parents and Doug softened the blow by gifting me a wonderful vacation abroad.  I was ecstatic and grateful but mostly excited to plan out where I wanted to go.  After weighing our options, we settled on Paris.  Neither Doug nor I had ever been and who wouldn’t want to visit the city of love?!

So it was settled…until Doug gave me a mischievous grin and said, “I have another idea.”

He. Suggested. We. Run. With. The. Bulls. In. Pamplona.

“What better way to spit at forty in the face?!”

Bam!

A few months later, we were on a plane headed to Spain.  After a few relaxing days in Barcelona, we took the train to Pamplona.  Straight into the San Fermin Festival.  Eight days of drinking sangria, bullfights in the evening and, of course, the running of the bulls every morning at 8 a.m.

Our original plan was to watch the run first.  Determine some sort of game plan, get an idea as to how dangerous this event really is.

Nah, screw that.  We both recognized that watching the run would probably scare us out of doing it.  And we didn’t just travel thousands of miles to puss out last minute.  There would be no watching first.  We were all in.

It’s not like we were going in totally blind.  My brother in law had put us in touch with a buddy of his who ran a few years earlier.  He and I exchanged a few messages and we got great tips.  One of which probably saved us from being trampled to death.  (I find that to be a helpful tip.)

The morning of the run we woke up after just a few hours of sleep.  We put on our white shirt, white pants and red scarves and headed out to the city center.

And read the rules:

Uh, that’s it.  These are the guidelines to follow when running along side 14 scared, sometimes pissed off, bulls along a street road the width of my kitchen.

Super.

The first thing we did was walk down to the beginning of the race to see where the bulls were being penned.  They looked “normal” enough until they turn to snort at you in contempt.  Doug and I just started laughing.  “What in the HELL are we doing?!”

We could be on the Eiffel Tower right now.

The run lasts for just two and a half minutes from the time they release the bulls to the time they are corralled in the bullring so the trick is to find a spot that is safe but also gives you the most time to run along side them.  My brother in law’s friend warned us about the “corner of death”.

Hence where he saved our lives.  We thought we had found a good spot along the course.  “If we stand here, we can see the bulls come up around the bend.”  We stood there for a hot second until we realized we were standing literally in the worst possible place ever.  The Corner of Death, of course.

We crossed the street and moved down about thirty feet.

There are three horns that go off during the run.  The first horn lets the runners know that they should start running. And by running, I mean, hauling ass.  The second horn lets the runners know that the bulls have been released from the pen and that they are coming. (a.k.a. when you pee yourself a little).  The last horn tells you that all the bulls have been corralled in the ring and the race is over.

We took our mark and we waited.  Laughing.  “What the HELL are we doing?!”

The first horn blew. Doug and I started running at  “normal” pace, determined to stay together the whole time. The second horn blew and all hell broke loose.

First of all, you go from running a ten minute mile to a three minute mile.  I was like a Kenyan sprinter and not by choice.  You either kept up or you were trampled by people.  Thank God for adrenaline.  Doug and I were split up immediately.  I had no idea where he was.

Next you heard the yelling, the screaming of other runners. “Corre! Corre! Corre!” (Run!)

Then you heard the bulls.

The stomping of their hooves on the pavement and then the loud huffing of air through their nostrils. (I will never forget the sounds. Ever.)

At this point I was just frantically looking for a niche in the wall to jump into for safety., a door jamb to hide inside.  While running a three minute mile.  And dodging tons of other terrified runners.  Like a human frogger.

Suddenly, I was slammed up against a wall.  I turned my head and I could see a herd of angry, frightened bulls charge past me.  Within just a few feet of my back.  If I had stretched out my arm, I could have touched one.

The seconds felt like minutes.  And then it was over.

My immediate concern was Doug.  Where was he? Was he okay?  I peeled myself off the wall and started running up the street. I found him a little farther up, perfectly fine.  He had been jammed in with another group of runners, just ahead of me.

We were exhilarated. Flying from the adrenaline.

I would never do it again.

But it was one best days of my life.

Pushing the Pause Button

A good friend of mine recently posted on Facebook that she was going to start 2015 by re-evaluating her friendships. Determine who has been a reliable friend, who has consistently let her down and start focusing on more of the former than the latter.  She wished no one ill will, she didn’t point any fingers.  She just decided that she wanted to put her emotional time and energy on the friends who will reciprocate appropriately.

I think most of us can relate.  Only we would like to extend this practice past “friendships” and include all of the relationships we deal with in life: family, coworkers, neighbors. Wouldn’t it be nice to stop spending our emotional energy on the people who consistently disappoint us and hurt our feelings?  Wouldn’t it be nice to transfer that energy to the people who are actively loving, supportive and genuine?

I’m sure it would.

I counsel a lot of people who suffer with relationship issues.  I listen to them as they wade through the intricacies of their problems and the damaging effects it has on their mental health.  I listen to them struggle with the dilemma: do I continue to work on the relationship or do I throw in the towel?

And my answer is to do nothing.  Until you know what you really want to do, do nothing.

It’s okay to push the pause button on a relationship.  It’s okay to take a time out, to take a break when you feel like you’re not making any progress and you’re at a standstill.

Facebook has this genius option to “hide” users from your timeline.  It’s great.  When you have that friend who gets too maniacal during election time, you can discreetly avoid their posts until November passes.  When you have that family member who is over-posting pictures of their vacation (guilty!), you can ignore it all until they’re back home.  It’s also used to take a break from that family member or friend who you might be arguing with, who has recently hurt your feelings or who has pushed your buttons once too far.

Why not piggyback off that idea and relay it to real life?

The truth is that we should.

I think all of us, myself included, are quick to react to our problems instead of responding to them.  A reaction is impulsive. It lacks forethought and planning.  You act without thinking.  And if you’re about to get hit by a ball and react by blocking your face, that’s great.  It’s not great, however, when you’re dealing with your emotions.  More often than not, you end up saying or doing something you regret.  Something that may leave a scar or do permanent damage.

No, it’s much healthier to respond. To take a little time and effort to consider what the problem is, what role you might play in it, what has been working and what hasn’t.  More importantly, to decide what you want to do about it.  Do you want to continue working on the relationship? Is it worth it? Do you want to let this person go? Grieve it like a death and move on with your life?

Or do you change your expectations, create some emotional boundaries and resume the relationship with a better plan for protecting yourself in the future? Maybe it’s not them who has to change because, in truth, you can’t change people.  You can only change your reaction to them.

Push the pause button and figure it out.

We put our own children in timeout when they need time to think.  Why not do it to ourselves?

You might very well come up with the same decision had you reacted.  You might decide that this person/these people is/are toxic and that you want to move forward in life without them as a focus.  That’s okay, too.

But until you know, do nothing.

Because the people who matter will notice your absence, miss it and try to fix it.  Not by glossing over the problem or ignoring it exists.  Not by deflecting blame or playing the victim.  Not by acting defensively or pretending to be confused.

Should they attempt to fix it, you will be ready with a response.  One way or another.

Only a “time out” will tell.

“Are You There, God? It’s Me, Jackson”

Houston, we have a problem.

Things are happening to my most delicious, most precious first-born child.  Acts of God meant to destroy my psyche and question my ability to parent.

It all started about six months ago when Doug noticed that puberty had kicked in for Jack.  “He’s got hair, Jenny.”

He might as well have told me Jack had an undisolved twin.  I was that horrified.

I groaned and whimpered because I knew what this meant.  I knew my most delicious, most precious little boy was becoming a little man and while some of you might think that’s wonderful, I find it to be a deliverance from the Devil himself. Nothing good could come from this. Not. One. Thing.

This meant that my most delicious, most precious little boy was getting “older” and my role in his life was going to change.

And I was right.

Exhibit A:

A few months ago, I decided to surprise my two eldest at school with Chick Fil A.  I thought I’d be the hero, bringing in a tasty treat for them to enjoy as opposed to the nastiness that is school lunch.  Benjamin delighted me with a warm hug but then proceeded to half-listen to me while I sat with him in the cafeteria.  (To be fair though, Benjamin is often lost in his own dreamlike reality and probably wasn’t intentionally trying to be rude.  He’s just not “with” us most of the time.)  I wrapped up my 35 minutes with Benjamin and waited patiently by the tables for the fifth graders to start rolling in.

Perhaps it was the look of horror on his face when he saw me standing there or perhaps it was the quick left to right glances he made, checking to see who else might have noticed my presence but, at that moment, I knew exactly what Jack was going to say.

“Um, hi Mom.  What are you doing here?”

“Hi honey, I thought I would surprise you, come have lunch with you.”

Here’s what I meant: “Jackson, I love you.  I am so excited to spend time with you.”

Here’s what Jack heard: “Jackson, I have come to destroy your self-esteem and elementary school reputation.”

“Mom, do you think you could just leave my food and go home?”

So it begins.  First the new found sprouts of manhood on his little tweenage body.  Now the requests to not be seen with him in public.  What’s next?  Secret journals kept in the dark corners of his desk, filled with a list of all the girls he likes in the neighborhood and at school?

Well, yes. I found that sweet gem too.

By accident. (I mean that sincerely).  It was written in a marble composition book, leftover from last year’s school supplies. I was cleaning his room and trying to get rid of some of the excess trash that so easily piles up.  I flipped it open to the first page and there it was.  Staring me in the face, laughing at my naiveté’.

A list of all the girls he thought were cute.

Girls I knew.  Girls whose mothers are my friends. Lovely girls.

God, I wanted to hate them! How dare they steal away my son’s attention from me?! What witchy powers did they possess?

I said a prayer and returned the journal where I found it.

For a long time, I was a bitter betty.  I’d sing my sorrow songs to my older sister who has a teenage daughter and understood my pain.  “Remember when they loved us?  Remember when we gave them life and then they turned on us like feral animals?”

I would try to hug him and he’d awkwardly pat my back.  I would go to kiss him and he’d begrudgingly offer me a cheek.

It was a dark time.

Until my most delicious, most precious little boy unknowingly decided to make his “coming of age” something that I no longer wanted to be a part of.

Because although puberty came with body changes, unwanted girls and the need to shun your mother, it also came with curiosity and an array of eye-popping questions.

“Mom? Dad? What’s a glory hole?” (…and I can assure you he wasn’t asking about mining.)

Thanks a lot, “Family Guy”.

Sweet Jesus.

And just like that, I’m tagging out.

Someone please wake me in ten years when he lets me bring him lunch in college and I can stay.

Peek A Boo!

I’ve been radio silent for a number of months.

Been busy this year: working two PRN jobs at local hospitals as a mental health counselor on the psychiatric wards, Disneyworld in April with Doug, the kids and close family friends, celebrating a girls weekend in Puerto Rico with girlfriends I consider sisters, laughing in the face of turning 40 by running with the bulls down the streets of Pamplona, breaking both of my wrists and cracking my jaw in a horrific fall at my home, watching all four of my children finally get on the school bus, kissing the Blarney Stone in Ireland.

It’s been an incredibly amazing year and I have definitely changed as a person because of it.

But it’s been hard though.  There have been a lot of hilarious stories I wish I could have shared, a lot of opinions about current events (ahem, Eric Garner and the Ray Rice incident) I have wanted to discuss, a lot of observations I have wanted to pass along.

Life just got in the way.

So, thanks to my husband who said to me “I want you to start writing again”, I am going to make a point of getting back on track with my blog.  This time from the perspective of someone who wants to incorporate the changes in her life into her writing.  I’m a different person than I was six months ago.  Vastly different and I think you will see that in my words.

Like always, I want to hear your feedback.  I want you to challenge me when you think I’m wrong, give me another viewpoint when you feel I’m too close-minded.  Keep the dialogue open at all times.

Because I feel like this world has decided to shut down communication too much.

So, welcome back to my blog!  I hope to bust something out this weekend!

Extending The Friendship Branch…And Knowing When To Break It

I have a close group of friends I have known since I was twelve years old.  We’ve remained tight throughout the years and I consider them my moral, ethical and emotional compass when I feel myself slipping in the wrong direction.  They know me at my best and my worst and vice versa.  And we still love each other.

Yet, I would have been foolish to leave my circle at that, no matter how strong it may be.  I would have missed out on a lot had I been content with just that.

So many of my friends are military based and I never would have been honored to know them if we hadn’t been stationed to the rock that is Whidbey Island or met at some boring Officer Spouses Meeting in Maryland.  So  many of my friends are moms I met shooting the shit in the halls of my children’s preschool.  Moms who said, “we should have lunch sometime” or who invited us to playdates and we agreed.  So many of my friends are co-workers who I happened to share personal stories with while we worked late at the hospital and the patients were sleeping.  So many of my friends have been neighbors where casual chit-chat waiting for the bus developed into late nights, drinking wine and laughing about our aging bodies.

And many of these casual friendships have turned into very important people in my life.  So important that I couldn’t imagine life without them.  Some of my very best memories not only include them but are about them.

So it seems very foolish to me indeed that people would leave their “circles” as they are.  Who can’t be bothered to meet anyone new because they feel they are “all good where that’s concerned”.  Who feel their time is too precious, their lives too busy to waste it getting to know someone new.

Weren’t ALL your friends new at one point?

Makes no sense to me.

But at the same time, I don’t believe in working for a new friendship either.  I don’t believe that making a friend, keeping that friend, pleasing that friend should be hard work.  Granted, all friendships are going to have their ups and downs but those are the ones already set in motion.  Not the ones that are trying to kick off the ground.

As I age and become (hopefully) more self secure, I start to realize that I am too old to try to change who I am for anyone anymore.  *Particularly those who I am not obligated by blood to stick around for.   Yet I find myself often over-extending the friendship invitation to people.  I am typically the one who will organize the Ladies Night Out or plan a get together at my  house.  I am often the one trying to make sure everyone is included, everyone is comfortable, everyone is feeling good.

But that isn’t always reciprocated.  In fact, as I get older, I find that same effort reciprocated less and less.  You’d think I’d be immune to that by now.  That it wouldn’t hurt my feelings to realize that some people just don’t care to put forth the same energy into getting to know me.  It’s very humbling and I won’t lie – it hurts sometimes.

Are people happy with their “circles” and don’t want to widen them anymore?  Are people “good with where they’re at” friend-wise and no longer feel like putting in the effort?

Maybe.  I don’t know.

What I do know is that I am not there yet and I hope I never will be.  I would have missed out on meeting my new Scottish neighbor who is a great story teller and makes me giggle with all our similarities.  I would have missed out on my coworker who had me crying with laughter as we “hash-tagged” our way through a difficult work day.  I would have missed out on Benjamin’s scout den leader who shared a personal conversation with me about family that I could relate to.

And that’s just in the last four months alone.

Here’s the thing:  if you’re happy where your “circle’s” at, that’s your business.  It’s cool.  I’ll move on.  Other people you come across will move on too.  No worries.

It may hurt my feelings that they’re not interested.  It may surprise me that my best efforts to get to know them are in vain.  But I’ll get over it.  Trust me.  I may not be too old to try for a new friendship but I’m sure as hell too old to beg for one.

We can just leave it at a friendly smile when we pass.  A simple “hello” when we see each other on the street.  A quick wave when we bump into each other at the store.

Because the only effort that takes is manners.  A little common courtesy.

C. K. Carlton and The Recycled Rainbow

It’s been awhile since I’ve blogged (shut up, I’ve been wicked busy) but I wanted to share some good stuff with you. (I promise to sit down soon and crank out some good Addison stories or discuss  the obnoxiousness that is Pinterest or how we all have that one friend on Facebook who drives us to drink with their depressing, pathetic posts.)

In the meantime….

My friend, C.K. (Chris) Carlton, writes great suspense novellas. Quick books available as e-readers for cost WAY less than they should. His first two books, “Saving Chase” and “Wandering Dagger”, were fantastic reads. The stories center around Cal O’Connor, an ex military operative, who makes his new mission in life to take down child abusers -one case at a time.  The writing is smooth, intriguing and the story lines will keep you hanging on every word.   I literally start them and don’t stop. They are that good.

C.K.  Carlton’s latest e-book is called “Guarding Harm” and it’s available now.  Another suspenseful plot line, this time set in Los Angeles. If you’ve been following his other books, you can buy it individually or you can go for  the three book package titled “Cal Unknown, Season 1”.  I order them straight onto iBooks to my iPad.

I’m most interested to read this next one because Chris told me I might hate him for the ending.  If that happens, he owes me a beer.

Switching gears……

Because I have genius friends who manage to impress me with their mad creative skills, I also want to tell you about my friend Tracey Sheluga and her Etsy website, “The Recycled Rainbow”.

Tracey takes those adorable outfits that your kids can no longer fit in but that you hate to give away and she transforms them into brand new clothes your children can wear again.  That 2T tee shirt with the cute design in front? It’s now a dress your five year old can wear.   Just. Brilliant.  I know that there were tons of outfits my kids wore that I wish I could have kept them in longer.

Tracey will work with you personally to come up with the right colors, the right design that you would like to see. She also has a number of outfits she’s made already available for purchase. Her finished products go for approximately $20 each. That’s a steal!!

I’m asking you to check out both these projects. I wouldn’t bother telling you about them if I didn’t think they would be more than worth your time.  Trust me on this.

If I’m wrong, I’ll buy you a beer.

“Saving Chase” by C.K. Carlton (Chris Carlton)

A little less than 18 months ago, my friend, Chris Carlton, published his memoir “Nice To Meet Me”.   A personal account of a man struggling with the effects of childhood sexual abuse.  The book is incredibly thought-provoking, eye-opening and educational.  It is also so extremely well-written that I tore through it in a day.

I have blogged on this book before.  You can find it under the title “A Quick Message From Jenny Veve Steele” or do a tag search of Chris Carlton.  If you have children, particularly boys, I  highly encourage you to read his story.  As parents, we are no longer in the position to ignore or dismiss the danger that exists with sexual predators.  We no longer have the right to be naïve and think it won’t happen, couldn’t happen to us or to our children.

Because it can.

This week, Chris announced that he has broadened his writing into fiction form keeping sexual abuse and pedophilia in the forefront of his mission.

“‘Saving Chase’ is the pulse-pounding story of former covert military operative, Cal O’Connor, as he risks his life to find a man he suspects is a serial pedophile, and save a boy he’s never met.

The story begins in Richmond, Virginia where Cal, after a wild night of partying, is sitting in his Jeep at a stoplight, contemplating what went wrong during his final tour in Afghanistan.   To his left is a beat-up Mercury Cougar with an older man behind the wheel and a young boy in the passenger seat.  When the Mercury moves forward to take a left onto the cross-street, the boy turns, locks eyes with Cal, and mouths a word: “Help.”

What happens next will land Cal in a coma, and allow the man behind the wheel to continue on his path of destruction.

‘Saving Chase’ is a fast-paced thriller that takes you with Cal as he risks everything to find the man, save the boy, and uncover a network of abuse far more disturbing than he ever thought possible.”

Chris said he plans to write a series of books on this topic with plans to focus each book on a different type of abuser.  Because he’s right.  There are many kinds.  Unfortunately.  And we need to know about ALL of them.

Knowledge is power.

The book is available as an e-reader and you can find it on amazon.com.  I also encourage you to check out Chris’ website at www.ckcarlton.com where you can learn more about the author, his story, his mission and his books.

Chris has been my friend for over 20 years and I think he’s fantastic.  But it’s not just our friendship that drives me to write this blog post.  It’s the fact that I am a parent of four small children, three of which being boys.  It’s the fact that my worst fear is my child being either kidnapped or sexually molested.  It’s the fact that I can never allow myself to fall into a sense of false security when it comes to their safety.

As adults, whether we are parents or not, we are responsible for protecting our youth.  It is our job.  And you can not do a job effectively unless you fully understand the nature of the job at hand.  You must educate yourself.

Chris has done it in non-fiction form with “Nice To Meet Me” and is doing it again via fiction with “Saving Chase”.

Pick your poison.  Pick them both.  Educate yourself.

And then sit down and have a conversation with your children.  Get the dialogue started.

Please.

Correction To The Last Post

Last night I posted a blog about the latest No Boundaries Fitness challenge. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to do one and I mistakenly assumed the price was the same. I wrote that the challenge cost $10 when in fact it cost $25. A very minor mistake and one that shouldn’t change your decision to do this.  $25 is nothing compared to kicking off 2013 the right way!

 

you can take out any annoyance  you might have about me on the treadmill!!!

Act Like A Grown Up

Maybe I’m naive but I tend to believe that adults need to know when to act their age.

Trust me.  I don’t mean that in the general sense as I love me some “Jersey Shore” and I still enjoy churning my ice cream into it becomes creamy like “soup”.  I think we all need to keep our inner child available at a moment’s notice.  It’s why we still enjoy roller coaster rides, running through a sprinkler and dancing to music in our car.  It’s also what keeps us connected to our own children.  I taught my kids the other day how to do “Miss Mary Mack” and then helped them build a great fort in the living room.  Good stuff.

And that’s all well and good.  But there are times when you have to act like a grown up.  When acting like a child is not an option.  When you have to step up.

I remember when my sister told me she was pregnant with her second child.  I was devastated.  I had been trying to get pregnant for over a year and was horribly afraid given my medical history that it was never going to happen.  We were at my mother’s house and my sister had been complaining of not feeling well.  She took a test that day and lo and behold, a baby was coming.  She looked at me and apologized.  And that broke my heart.

“For what?!  This is the best news ever!  I am so happy for you!  I think it’s awesome!”  I gave her a big smile, a warm hug and then I quietly went upstairs and sobbed uncontrollably where she couldn’t hear me.

Acting like a grown up. ( This time at least.)

Sure, we all make mistakes.  We still have emotional temper tantrums when our anger or sadness get the best of us.  I’m pretty sure we can all remember the last time we screamed like crazy people at our children.  Or the last time we threw something across the room in a fit.  The last time we pouted because we didn’t get what we wanted and felt sorry for ourselves for the rest of the day (or week).

This is a given.  We’re not perfect.

But there are times when we can not act like children.  It can not be an option.  When we have to step up and put aside our own feelings, our own beliefs because it’s the right thing to do.  The only thing to do.

I can think of three specific examples:

If someone is hurting, genuinely hurting, you reach out to them.  No matter what your past history is with that person.  If they meant something to you at one point, you take that and you reach out to them.  And you don’t get to remind them why they hurt you in the past when doing so.  Pain is pain and you need to be the bigger person.  Every time.

The second time would be when the person’s happiness is more important than your own.  You don’t like who your family member is marrying?  You don’t like the name your friend gave her child?  You think it’s ridiculous for your spouse to start writing a book this late in the game?  Too bad.  Be quiet.  Be supportive.  Remember that this is what makes them happy and if it’s a mistake, let them figure it out on their own.

But most importantly, you need to be the grown up when it comes to handling your children’s emotional needs.  As parents, you don’t get to act like an asshole when you fight with your spouse in front of them.  You don’t get to name call and shout angry threats because you’re so emotionally heated you can’t control yourself.  Like a child.  Because trust me – your kids are watching.  They’re watching everything.  And they will internalize it.  Forever.

And if your kids are bullied on the playground or left off the guest list at the big birthday party,  you don’t get to attack the situation with guns blazing.  Instead you get to act like a grown up.  A grown up who can control his or her emotions.  A grown up who can think rationally and decide the best way to handle the situation leaving hyperactive feelings aside.

I have not always handled my personal relationships perfectly.  Of course not.  No one has.  But I can guarantee you that I have always put my children’s emotional needs before my own.  I have always made sure their psyches were protected, their well beings catered to.  No matter the situation.  No matter what I was feeling.

I just wish that when it was the right situation, everyone else acted the same way.

Why Bears Make Camping Stupid

My friend, Justin, thinks he’s a pretty funny guy.  He works down in Florida for the Fish and Wildlife Conservation so obviously his daily life includes run-ins with all sorts of animals. But that’s not why he’s a funny guy.  He’s a funny guy because he enjoys posting pictures and news articles of bear attacks on my Facebook wall.

Because he knows that I know that bears want to eat my face.

The latest photo shows a bear destroying a campsite. And honestly, I don’t blame the bear.  What were those dumb ass people doing hanging out in tents, cooking food out in the open when they knew bears were around?  Ooooohhhh, that’s right.  They were camping.  Dumb ass camping.  With bears.  Camping.

I will never go camping.  Just like I will never go bungee jumping or skydive out of a plane.  Because if you die doing any of those things, you have no one to blame but yourself.  If you decide to free fall from 10,000 feet in the air and your parachute fails to open, who’s fault is it really?  The parachute’s or the ding dong who felt the need to do something dangerous that day?

Same goes with camping.

If a bear decides to waddle its way around your tent at night because he was attracted to the smell of the cooking hot dogs you toasted over the fire four hours earlier and that bear decides to rip through the incredibly unprotective canvas tent that you are sleeping in so he can eat your face, who’s fault is it really?  The bear’s or the ding dong who felt the need to be closer to nature?

And what’s so great about camping anyway?

I’m crickety getting out of bed every morning and I sleep on a very comfortable king size mattress every night.  It takes me a good stretch and some wincing to ease out the back pain so I can shuffle to the bathroom in the morning.  I can only imagine the good night’s sleep I would get curled up in a nylon sleeping bag with a makeshift pillow on the cold, hard ground.    Not to mention they say the average person eats like twenty spiders in their sleep during a lifetime.  Um…I think they mean twenty campers.  Because I don’t sleep with my mouth open and I don’t see a lot of spiders crawling around the comfy confines of my bedroom.

I bet you campers eat a lot nastier things in their sleep than just spiders.  Because their mouths are six inches off the ground.  Filthy.

And there are no bathrooms.  Not if you’re a reeeallll camper.  Oh, that sounds like fun.  Let’s find some obscure shrub to crouch behind and hope that a bear doesn’t attack our bare ass.  That sounds especially fun for a girl who will need to position her squat verrrrrrrrry carefully so as to not pee all over her pants or shoes.  And that’s just peeing.  Forget anything else.

I ain’t squatting six inches from the ground and using some leaf to wipe my vajayjay.  Hell to the no.  The only time it’s acceptable to pee outside a proper bathroom is when you’ve left the bar at 2 a.m. after a night of heavy drinking and you find the nearest alley to violate.  THAT is perfectly acceptable.  Pee camping?  No.  Not so much.

And after I’ve eaten spiders in my sleep and left my bare ass exposed to the elements, I can also remember that camping is a pain in the ass.  Setting up a tent, building a fire,  organizing the campsite.  Of course I don’t know that any of this is annoying personally but I am making an educated guess based on my intelligence.  I certainly don’t see Doug having any fun when he prepares for his bi-annual cub scout camping trip with Jack and Benjamin.  But that’s just me.

Wouldn’t it be more fun to walk into a nice hotel where wait staff cater to your every needs?  Wouldn’t it be more fun to ring room service and order an overpriced shrimp cocktail and a ice cream sundae as opposed to stabbing a hot dog onto a stick and cooking it yourself over an open flame?

But really….wouldn’t it be more fun to go to bed knowing that a bear isn’t going to eat your face that night?

Camping?  I’ll pass.  And I’ve had people offer to take me.  Like somehow they’re going to be the one to show me how fun camping can be.  I prefer Justin’s method.  He thinks he’s a funny guy posting those bear attack articles but all he’s really doing is confirming what I already believed to be true.