May 8, 2006

Not for the faint-hearted

Well, the much-anticipated backpacking trip did not go as expected. I suppose we should have assumed as much--it's the Pine Barrens, for crying out loud. Mobsters wouldn't bury bodies there if people actually wanted to go wandering around the woods there.

First of all, there's the name of the trail. Do you know what "Batona" stands for? Back To Nature. WOW. That is, like, sooo clever!

Second, the destination left something to be desired. Usually, when park managers designate a wilderness campsite, it has some kind of special attraction--a pretty field, a lake, you name it. Well, Lower Forge had mud. Oh, baby--just can't get enough of that mud! Not to mention the swarming flies that like to hang out there!

Third, the birds would not shut up. Guy likes birds, so he was all happy and trying to spot the little twitterers, but as the sun started to set, I became concerned. Guy peeked out of the tent, and said, "it's still a little light out. Give them time." Yeah, right. They didn't shut up until it started to get light again, at 6am. There were the birds who, swear to God, sounded like they were getting it on. It was this call-and-response type thing, which would increase in intensity a la bolero, and then climax into a pillow-talk purr. I kid you not. And then there were the happy little tweeters, who were ecstatic that it was nighttime! Woohoo nighttime! And then there was the owl. He shut his fellows up for a while, until he went to look for less cheery pastures.

Fourth, it was freaking cold. Polyester sleeping bags do not breathe, so I was sweating while shivering. Fun times.

And fifth, and I've saved the best for last, were the ticks. I take off my pants, and wow, look at that! There was a tick nestled IN MY PUBIC HAIR. (No bush jokes please--Guy covered them all.) I felt like that poor kid in Stand By Me who had a leech on his penis. Don't these disgusting creatures know that is the one place you Do Not Go??! There's no coming back from that, man. That tick is going to burn in hell.

Guy had one burrowing in his arm when we got home. . .which meant it was on there all the way home, in the grocery store, and everything. I'll have you know I only panicked a little. But this brings up an interesting question: you're supposed to burn them out, right? Hold a match to them to get them to release their creepy little claws. But as I held the lighter, I realized I didn't particularly want to singe Guy's arm-hair. Is this method only for hairless wonders? Anyway, tweezers worked fine.

I don't want to hear any I-told-you-sos, because none of you did. And bite me.

Tick, Ween

Cordelia: It moves from body to body. And when it leaves one for the next, not going to gag here, the first one goes kaplooey pretty fast.
Doyle: Curdles like cream on a hot day.
Cordelia: I believe I covered that with non-dairy "kaplooey"?

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

God Ween Satan forever!