Glamping Ain't Always Glamorous

For those of you who have never heard the term “glamping” – I say to you: Where have you BEEN? And to those who have never experienced what it is to glamp, I say: Dude...that sucks.

We are NOT talking pitched tents and fire roasted weenies here. No, no. We’re talking about glamorous camping. It does sound like quite an oxymoron, but seriously. Why pitch a tent when there’s a memory foam mattress at your beck and call?

Yes sirree, I’m talking about a bona-fide, state of the line Dynamax motorhome – outfitted with a dedicated bedroom, two flatscreens, Bose surround sound, and a pull out couch. And of course the amenities de rigueur: bathroom, shower, fridge, stove, microwave, etc.

Oh yes. I was l-i-v-i-n it up fo sho. But, per usual, that shoulda been my sign that something bad was going to happen.

Indeed. There was to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad bug attack.

Perhaps it was my inner city-dweller side rearing it’s fancy schmance face. Or maybe it was simply because I detest the residue it leaves. Or the fact that I always end up getting it in my eyes and mouth. Or that I hate the stink of it.

Or maybe I was just pretending, like those people who don’t wear sunblock to the beach thinking they won’t get burned (gad those people are so irritating!), that I was invisible to bugs.


Alas, I am not.

And boy oh boy, those mother suckers are annoying!! I can’t believe I’d forgotten what a sweet girl I am! Mosquitoes have always loved my blood. But the skyscraper-lined alleys of Manhattan certainly have got nothing on the shoreline backwoods of Rhode Island.

Eventually, after about eight or so sucking-of-the-blood encounters, I caved. (And, of course, got bug spray in my mouth. That shit tastes baaaad!)

I hate mosquitoes! What horrific little creatures they are! How dare they suck human blood! I mean, if they were vampires I would consider allowing them a taste. Especially if their name was Edward Cullen or Bill Compton.

However, those selfish little buggers are good for nothing but swollen-ass bites that itch for days on end!

Not to MENTION the fact that they carry diseases. Anyone for a little West Nile? How about some malaria? Yellow fever? Elephantiasis? No? Didn’t think so. Maybe I shoulda just donned the bee-keeper-esque mask à la Trissi.

Other than this not-so-glamorous aspect of glamping (no matter how many stars you wish upon, I think there’ll always be mosquitoes) – oh, and the fact that my parents locked the keys in the RV while the engine was running (thanks AAA!) – I would say it was a pretty amazing time.

Especially, espeeeeecially because of the gourmet food we ate. Delicious (delicious, delicious ) clam chowder, homemade on a campsite travel stove before my very eyes, baked clams, a ridiculous Vietnamese chicken dish, an even more absurdly lip-smacking marinated grilled steak, shrimp and bacon quesadillas, shrimp fra diavlo...


...the menu goes on an on. All thanks to my magnificent Uncle Chris, Chef Extraordinaire (and good sport! We made him model the bug mask and he acquiesced). I seriously did not think it was possible to gain ten pounds in just two days, but guess what? It is.

Even though my first few bites of food tasted depressingly of DEET, sacrifices gotta be made to save your hide. Mosquito bites are no fun. Especially when they're on your feet and face and arms and legs and – aw hell, anywhere you get em, they suck. 

I suppose, just because you’re glamping, ya can’t skip the spray. Them there skeeters don’t know they’re meant to stay away. They’re vapid, ignorant little creatures who don’t know right from wrong.
Till next time, over and OFF!®

Nail Clipping Nastiness

Personal grooming is a precarious pursuit.

On one hand, it’s disgusting if you do not comply with the unspoken guidelines outlining personal hygiene.

Those acts that must be done on a very regular basis include, but are not limited to: plucking, shaving, brushing (teeth and hair), clipping, cutting, washing, and filing.

However – and this is where it gets tricky – the aforementioned acts of grooming are not – I repeat, NOT – to be executed in public.

Alas, for the sake of this entry, I shall focus on the one particular personal act that drives me up the wall when done in public.

Dat iz de clippingz of ze nailz.

Mega no dankes!

I’m not a particularly skittish person. I watch Nip/Tuck without grimacing. Screeching subway cars, no prob. Bratastic kiddies squealing on the sidewalks piss me off, yeah, but I can handle it.

Clip your fingernails in front of me, though, and I’ll rip you a new one.

OK well I won’t really – I’m far too passive aggressive for that. But I will be quite cheesed off. And extremely grossed out.

Perhaps my disdain for public nail clipping began when I first moved here. My very first New York City boss used to sit at his desk (he was a pretty pig-headed a-hole) and cut his nails.

Really buddy? You’re really going to do that AT WORK?

I don’t care if you’re the boss of an eight person company or the President of a huge corporation: it’s simply not permissible to do that at your desk (or in public), PERIOD.

It’s unsanitary. Fingernails are filthy. It’s unprofessional. “Oh, let me see that report, please...um...is that a fingernail?” It’s the shrillest sound around – the dull snapping of dead keratin. It definitely makes me cringe.

Please, yo. Take a hint from everyone else’s favorite lady, Carrie Bradshaw, and clip that shit in your own Secret Single Behavior time! Not on the subway, nor the bus, not the street, or Starbucks, and especially not in your office.