How to Camp When You are the Actual Worst at Camping

Step One:

Whine about how tired of hot dogs and hamburgers you are. So played out, right?

Step Two:

Mix up Hendricks with Ginger Beer & Lemon, cuz of course. I don't care what Jim the camp host said about how it's "not allowed." (I'd be careful, but Jim did not seem like a tweeter, blogger, or facebooker. Or...like he has heard of a computer.)

Step Three:

Do everything you can to avoid being involved in heavy lifting or splinters or burns or anything really at all that is helpful. 

Step Four: 

Learn the hard way that making lettuce wraps as a kabob side and being a priss about your diet is not a thing that goes with camping. #tediousmincing

Step Five: 

Pee right there. Bathroom too far away, and you have to pass Jim. Who, let's face it, you have already decided against for no reason.

Step Six:

Be shocked that fire happened, become overwhelmed by the fact that you have no Taylor thermometer to measure the temperature of chicken, and that your fingers get hot when you try to turn them. Especially because when your boyfriend tries to do it and says how hot it is, you get all eye-rolley and say, "God, LET ME DO IT." Then realize you are wrong, and that actually he was handling the whole thing rather unwimpily. This reminds you of the time when you talked bossily about how you didn't NEED a piggy back ride at 3am after the bars, and then immediately sprained your ankle, and had to pretend like you didn't to all of your friends. This is unrelated to camping, and you realize you should stop thinking about that one time in college, and tend to the pieces of chicken that are becoming black rocks.

Step Seven: 

Crack self up with a number of skewer jokes, including Edward Skewerhands, Skewerine (which didn't really work as a play on Wolverine, but shut up, because gin), and singing "I am the Walrus," and actually kind of jamming the sticks a little too far and too painfully into your top lip.

Step Eight:

 Allow friend to take credit for kabobs. 

Step Nine:

Gin.

Step Ten:

Insist on trying to break very strong stick by self. Fail. Be pathetic.

Step Eleven:

Be particularly lame in this new, chokey, coughy way due to smoke. Feel blind and like you won't live.

As you might guess, this is kind of where the night's documentation ended. So actually this is not how to camp, this is how to be a big dumb priss. I mean I literally got a splinter dicing veggies for lettuce wraps. That's the stupidest injury possible for camping.

Step Twelve:

Have it in you to blast this song, but suspiciously NOT to help with packing up. Because gin.