WISSHHH Man-morial Weekend: Camping Yoga

Yay! It’s Memorial Day weekend and I haven’t had a vacation since TX Interhash in March. I need to get away from the office. I’m taking the day off and riding with Fizzy, Slurpee and Nasty When Wet to the WISSHHH Man-morial weekend camping trip. After a late start, the 4 of us leave the DC metro area at 2pm and immediately run into the parking lot known as I-95. Fortunately, we jump on the HOV lanes, which speeds our progress a bit. During the 3 ½ hour trip, I rock out to tunes on Fizzy’s Ipod, while he gets himself drunk on his “Man-gria”. He even spills some of his man-gria on himself, but that could be my driving at fault, too. For some reason, driving down I-95 inspires my race-car driving enthusiasm to swerve between other cars at 80mph (slow, ain’t it?).

Finally, we arrive at the Jamestown Beach Campsites and start setting up our camp close to Betelgeuse’s mansion. Now, I don’t know what Slurpee was complaining about, but within moments of arriving Tinky Winky names her “SWAB” for Sissy Whiny A$$ B*tch. Slurpee, you can be high-maintenance at the hash, but you gotta keep that trait low-key. You get violated for that stuff – believe me, I’ve learned the hard way!

During setup, my little tent gets christened “the bumblebee” since its short, fat, and yellow and I also discover that I forgot to pack a camp chair. Ugghh! I can’t go all weekend without a chair. No problem. Sleep In Booty knows where Target is and will come with me to pick out a chair. Great! Target has such a deal on camping chairs – I pick up a bright green chair with a footrest for $13.

Finally, I’m all settled in and can get down to the serious business of drinking. First, I want to try some of that man-gria. I’m barely putting a dent into it before a monsoon opens up on us. I first try to hold onto Metro’s tent before it flies away. Then, I help NWW hold her tent down since she didn’t stake it down either.

Finally, an hour later, I can really proceed with the drinking binge. Gin and tonic. Rum and coke. Oh, let’s visit our neighbors, Just Nick and Just Kerri. Tequila shots, jager shots. Hmmm…what else can I try?

I meet Confused Follies and his wife, Money Shot who are assisting Nick set up his campground. Follies, apparently, takes pictures of bras and wants a picture of my black lace bra. No problem. Let me know when. However, it’s pointed out that my black lace bra does not fit me well (in other words, I’m falling out). I explain that the bra is a 38C and I recently discovered that I wear a 36D. Uh oh! Kerri takes offense that I could possibly be a D cup. Since I’ve been drinking and I know what size I wear, I defend my boobies against deflation. Why in the world am I arguing about the size of my tits? I am what I am!

However, at this point, I’m a bit incoherent. I eventually head into my tent to get some sleep and like most people take my pants and bra off so I’m comfortable. Who knows how long I slept. All I know is that I stumble out of my tent in my long-sleeved shirt and panties and just sit on the cold, wet ground for a few minutes until Follies walks by and sees me sitting down in my panties.

He asks, “What are you doing out here?”
“I have to pee.”
“Here let me help you. There’s a tree over there.”

He helps lift me up, directs me to the tree and deposits me back in my tent when I’m done. Back to bed, right? Wrong.

I don’t think 5 minutes go by before my stomach starts feels queasy. Uh oh! I unzip my tent from the bottom, stick my head out and puke. Gross! I don’t think I’m done yet, so I try to climb out of the left side of the tent where I did NOT puke (I’ve been told I was not successful). I crawl about 3 feet from my tent and plant my face in the ground. For you yoga enthusiasts out there, I’m in a pseudo-child’s pose (except my a$$ is in the air rather than sitting on my feet). Now that I think back on it, I’m sure this position is the best one for expelling unwanted liquids from your body – let gravity do the work! However, it must have been quite an interesting sight for KP when he walked by.

He asks me, “Where are your pants?”
“In my tent.”

Would they really be anywhere else? Although I’ve been known to take my clothes off in public places, I’ve never taken my clothes off to crawl drunkenly around. In any case, it is a bit nipply outside, so KP restores my rather besmirched honor by retrieving my pants for me. Once that task is complete, he also escorts me back to my tent (actually, I think he prodded me along like I was a herd of cows).

So, by now, I should have had enough adventuring, right? Wrong. KP prematurely stuffed me into my tent cause within seconds of entering my tent, I’m back outside puking up again (this time fully clothed, though). NWW and Slurpee are preparing for bed at this point and overhear me. When they see me, all they can see is my head sticking out of the bottom of my tent. I crawl back out of my tent (I really hope I didn’t crawl through my own puke) and lie face down on the ground. Yet again!

By this time, I have attracted a crowd of onlookers (and picture takers). Someone has the bright idea to sit me down in a camp chair. Is having me sit upright a smart idea? I obviously don’t want to sit in a chair, and when I get up out of the chair, I lose my balance and fall face down onto the ground. After all that, I only have one bruise on my knee and a couple of small scratches on my arm. Drunk people really are impervious to everything, aren’t they?

This time, Schwinn puts me back in my tent. And this time, I stay there.