The Square Life

Have you ever gone camping with a large group of single people? It’s entertaining, illuminating and nervousing (verb: the act of making one hesitant, high-strung or fretful, causing their palms to sweat and t-shirts to moisten at the armpit).

The entertainment factor is obvious. Some people go to bed right after the s’mores, a star gaze, and a couple of tales of camping trips gone sour- usually involving toilet paper or the lack thereof. That leaves everyone else at the campfire at 2 a.m. There’s more entertainment here than an episode of “The Office” (gasp! sacrilege), especially after a few hours of sitting on logs around the flames. I have issues with prolonged log sitting. It’s very tough to stand up and maintain your cool when the bottom half of the body has fallen asleep. You slowly stand, hoping that maybe enough blood will rush to your foot so that you can remain standing and not fall into the fire. Falling would definitely not impress that very cute new person who’s been catching your eye all evening between trips to the picnic table for hotdog buns and relish. . . And since I’m already on a tangent, why is it that we only eat relishy hotdogs while we’re camping or at Costco? I bet the Pioneers knew how to sit on logs without having their lower extremities fall asleep. . . And they didn’t even have relish.

Anyway, back to the entertainment and the 2 a.m. people around the fire. First of all, we have the ones that are actually funny performing and the ones who think they’re funny trying to one-up them. There are the people who can play the guitar and everyone waxes nostalgic singing “More Than Words” while trying to squelch the girls who want to sing emotional Joan Biaz stuff and hold hands. For some reason, every campout has those girls. It’s like part of the list of people to invite. There’s always the person who wants to be in charge and lead some sort of game thingy. There’s the really loud guy who wants to hook up with someone during the trip (poor unsuspecting new girl to the group, we forgot to warn her -- she’s toast.), and the ones who strangely disappear for an hour and then reappear with Slurpees and silly string (hah, you totally thought I was going to say something else, didn’t you?) No campout is complete without them.

These bonfire moments are excellent as you always have a couple hook up, you make at least two new great friends (although the morning daylight makes everyone look completely different and you don’t remember who you told about your secret crush), and you get to find out who actually saw the movie “Caveman” with Ringo Starr. Not his best performance.

Then there’s the whole waking up thing and laughing at everyone else in the morning (that is, if you ever got to sleep in the first place). That takes us to the nervousing part. How do you pack for a thing like this? I mean, the jeans, sturdy shoes, and sweatshirt are a given, but does a girl bring make-up? I tell you what, I am nasty-on-a-stick in the morning and the whole natural, no make-up thing? Yeah, right. Does the name Freddy Krueger mean anything to you?

Women aren’t alone in this conundrum. Men have issues too. They have their masculinity to protect. If he brings too much, there’s the chance he’ll be considered a pansy boy. Too little and he’s unsanitary. You’d have to bring a backpack or gym bag because a suitcase would look nerdy. The sleeping bag brings another stress. The only ones my family have are the ones my dad grew up with. Very classy. They were blue on the outside, ugly duck patterned on the inside, and stunk everywhere. I finally bought a new one, a fancy neon green one with a pillow attached. Complete luxury.

I’m not going to give you the list of approved camping necessities because then if you forgot something, the blame would be on me and I can’t handle stress like that. But do remember your toothbrush. There’s always a person who forgets their toothbrush, it’s a given . . . What if it’s me? And worse yet- what if I’m stuck sitting next to the outdoor guru who doesn’t believe in deodorant, hasn’t changed clothes since the previous morning and is sporting the infamous B.O./campfire eau de toilette? How do I politely move to an un-odorous location to enjoy my burnt on the outside, raw on the inside pancakes? Do I use that old “goodness, smoke must follow beauty and it’s getting in my eyes” excuse and move my folding chair? How in the world did the Pioneers figure that one out?

You never forget group campouts. Whether the group is 5 or 500, you can’t help but leave happier (and more tired and sore) than when you came. Campfire smoke and relish creates bonds between friends like nothing else ever could.