Friday, July 9, 2010


Somehow I got on the mailing list for REI. I’m not sure how someone who can’t sleep without a noise machine and who shrieks when her husband ups the thermostat to a balmy 78 degrees would enjoy actually roughing it. But I’m positively captivated by the catalog. It’s colorful and glossy and I want to own each and every camping stove and chair (there are two-footed chairs, chairs that act as loveseats, and chairs with supercharged color names like “electric blue” – how can I resist?). I gaze admirably at the taunt models sporting Patagonia tees and shorts and trick myself into thinking I could be them if I would only order that fleece, and oh, maybe the Teva sandals. (Forget the working out part.)

It’s perplexing to think that people actually enjoy camping. It’s like saying I enjoy getting 28 mosquito bites and sleeping on the rocky ground in dewy tents. I don’t like any of those things. I like crisp hotel sheets and miniature shampoo bottles. I like hot water and well, not having to purify my water.

My fertility office calls sex “relations”. I am aghast at this – why do they need to create a euphemism for something so integral to their practice? (And their and our very existence!) When they say, “You should have relations with your partner on Friday night,” I want to say, “Do you mean hot, dirty sex with my hairy man?!?!” (Note: Trying to create a baby is neither very hot nor dirty. It’s perfunctory. But the hairy man part is true.)

My company had a hiring explosion and now there are many more women sitting on my floor: good for business but bad for the bathroom. Now I have to teach a whole new crop of women the art of the poop-off. And now a whole new crop of women will realize I’m “the girl whose always in the bathroom”. At least I’m not solely “the tall girl” anymore.


  1. Ahh the poop off. You got this! It's what we do!

  2. One. Totally love Tevas! It's the camp counselor in me dying to escape the cubicle for a li'l creek-side nature walk, but I do not care. I LOVE camping supplies - dishes, backpacks, etc. - but it's beyond laughable how inept I am at actual camping.

    Two. Seeing the word "relations" always makes me laugh at Eddie Murphy playing all versions of the Clumps at a dinner table. Not the word as much as the sound of the grandma's dentures slipping as she says the word. It's almost like onomatopoeia in a way. Sounds hot 'n dirty to me!

    Three. The plethora of dames hazing the first floor bathroom is overwhelming. The sooner you can teach these chicks the art of the poop-off the better.

  3. Danita,

    My camping expertise extends only to Girl Scout camp. I envision "mess kits" and tents full of daddy long-leggers. We also had competitions on who could set-up their tent the fastest. My team always lost...mainly because I often gave up, threw the poles on the ground, and ate a granola bar.

    I still have fond memories, though.