I recently returned from a lovely camping expedition. A handful of friends and I decided to spend Memorial Day weekend out east in the Gorge at Sasquatch! Festival. While we enjoyed hot weather, beautiful desert landscape (or what seems like intense desert to people from western Washington), breathtaking views of the Gorge, and of course an abundance of exciting live music, the real memories were cultivated back at our campsite.
Appears pretty innocuous, right? Wrong. This campsite turned out to be a hotbed of debauchery, embarrassment, and trashy denim outfits.Although… if we’re being fair, I shouldn’t blame the campsite as much as I should blame alcohol and the questionable decision making skills of myself and my companions. Specifically, the combination of the two.
Here are some highlights (…lowlights?) that occurred in our three days of freedom out on the range:
- Within the first couple hours of “popping the tent” (as we hardcore campers like to call it), I “lost” both my ticket and my left flip-flop on the way back from the outhouses.
- I found my ticket in the front pocket of the overalls I was wearing at the time… after my friends helped me tear apart the site searching for it… I think everyone was less than pleased with me at this point in the trip. The next day, my missing shoe was found in the snack bin. Reaching for a handful of Costco-brand trail mix and ending up with a mouthful of deliciousness AND a black Haviana, now that’s what I call a good morning.
- A traveling drug salesman attempted to interest us in some illegal substances, unfortunately for him he was approaching the wrong campsite. I decided that approximately 100 bottles of beer would be sufficient for the weekend and wanted to get rid of this hippie right away; I recited the FDA food pyramid to him instead (to demonstrate my commitment to a healthy lifestyle and NOT his questionable wares) and he rewarded me with a free granola bar! Naturally, I am suspicious of anything free from an unknown individual, so I did not eat it. It’s probably laced.
- What DID I eat, you ask? Well, I sadly yet impressively developed a new and improved food pyramid. Its base consists of Fat Tire and PBR, while its middle tier is filled with varied salted nuts, M&Ms, and an assortment of packaged snack chips. Its tip is comprised of warm Ketel One, children’s Clif Bars, and Sparks Lite.
- The pièce de résistance of our trip memories occurred when an unnamed member of our troop (I must emphasize: NOT ME for once) imbibed about 6 PBRs before noon, went to take a nap in the warm van, and emerged a short while later, projectile vomiting into the grass. When another friend went to check on this unfortunate incident, in her haste she ended up stepping in the vomit with her bare feet.
THIS WILL BE A TREASURED MEMORY FOR THE REMAINDER OF MY LIFE. I can assure you that.
While my recollection of the trip will be tinged with visions of van vomit, warm malt liquor-induced stomachaches, and the unwelcome addition of the Honey Bucket to my daily routine, I will also hold dear in my heart the beauty of Washington and the array of music I enjoyed over the vacation. Seriously.
I would especially like to thank M83, of Montreal, the Avett Brothers, Crystal Castles, and my eternally beloved Girl Talk for encouraging some relaxed dancing and entertaining me and my drunkass friends during this trip of delight. I would especially NOT like to thank the makers of sodium (so.. God?) for making every nonperishable camp snack so saltily delicious and addicting and only adding to my dehydration in the 90° weather.
i fucking love sparks lite