Tag Archives: camping

Well Good Morning

16 Apr

I hate to say it, but my step father is rapidly becoming one of my favorite blog subjects. I guess, in a way, that’s what I have to do. I have to laugh at the situation. It’s a coping mechanism. And don’t get me wrong, so often I did laugh, but when I look back now… after all the years of craziness that we went through with him, it’s hard to remember the funny times. And when the funny times are when his drunkenness made us laugh, I’m not sure how funny that really is anyway, ya know? But alas, whatever gets you through. Sometimes you just have to have a sense of humor. And that… I have.

This story is about a legendary Fourth of July camping trip. Some of you are already laughing.

This story takes place not this past Fourth of July but the one previous. Around April of that year MacTen and Raps told me that they would be coming to visit for Fourth of July and of course Burny and I could think of only one thing to do: Camp. Mac and Raps are not necessarily campers. Or at least they had not been camping all that many times before this particular trip, so we thought that that would be the perfect thing for us to do.

As it turned out, we had a pretty good group that decided to join us. Nineteen at one point! And Burny and I could think of no better place to go but Icehouse… which is on the way up to Tahoe from the valley. My family had been going camping at Icehouse on Fourth of July since I was around twelve years old, and Burny and I had enjoyed coming together the year before. It was secluded, it was on a lake, but it was still a camp ground so we really had the best of both worlds. There were showers (that you had to insert quarters into) but the toilets were vial. It was a real camping experience without feeling too ‘in the middle of nowhere’. Perfect for Mac and Raps. Perfect for this story…

Well of course, as was the case any other year, my mother and step father went as well. They, along with my aunt and uncle and a few other family friends, were about three camping spots down the hill from us. Close but not too close. We couldn’t see or hear them, which was just perfect because I in no way wanted to share my trip with my step father. About half of the group were familiar with my step dad and his antics and the other half had certainly heard the stories. Of course whenever he is nearby, the stories come up and it never fails that someone says, ‘he can’t be that bad.’ This statement sets off the more unpleasant list of stories and so needless to say, my step dad was a hard topic to avoid. Especially when he was present.

As a matter of fact, at one point early in the weekend, someone made a joke that it wouldn’t be all too shocking if my step dad were to die on the camping trip. The half that knew him laughed, the half that had not yet had the pleasure thought that that might be a little bit over the top. Well, as it turned out, my step dad tried to go kayaking drunk, immediately tipped the thing over and couldn’t free himself. Yes, he nearly drowned. In no way do I think that that was the power of suggestion. That was the power of vodka.

Anyway, the camping spot we picked just so happened to be the furthest from the road. It was great for keeping our party private but it was a nightmare for loading and unloading the car. But either way, you couldn’t see our tent set up (which I must point out was around six tents) from the road. Well, not unless you were looking.

Well, Saturday morning, my lovely step father came looking…

Most of us had just stumbled out of our tents at this point and if I had to guess, I would say that it was around 10am. It was late enough that all 19 of us were awake, sitting around the fire and enjoying our breakfast. Well, enjoying it until he stumbled up.

I saw him down on the road right away. I have a special radar for him. And Burny pointed him out to the rest of the group. My step dad was still in his sweats and was clearly drunk. Even from that far there was no mistaking his stumble. And I knew exactly what he was after. He was looking for our campsite. Why? I had no idea. But I was in no hurry to find out. The group of us enjoyed making fun of him as he walked past, turned and came back, walked past for a thrid time, and then finally just started up the hill hoping to come across us.

Once he saw our group, and could plainly see (or so I can only assume) that we had seen him, he began to collect small twigs on his way up the hill. By the time he reached us, he had collected maybe 4 foot long twigs. And as he approached, a hush fell over the crowd. I am already embarrassed at this point, some of the group is already laughing and the rest are just waiting to see if all that has been said is true. Let me tell you… my step dad always delivers.

He opens up the conversation to the group of us with:

“I brought you some firewood.”

And then he throws his four sticks on our firewood pile. Ah yes… he thought ahead. He knew he would need a reason for coming up the hill… firewood. Brilliant! So at this point, I more or less have my back to him so I get to see the entire group, who is all staring at my step father. Burny is the one to talk. He asks my step father what we can do for him. My step dad, who can hardly stand, looks around and says,

“Do you have my pipe wrench?”

Most of the group bursts out laughing. Myself included. I mean, what on earth? It was as if everyone was anticipating something so ridiculous that it didn’t matter what he actually said, it was going to be funny. Don’t worry. The fact that everyone was laughing did not offend my step father. As a matter of fact, I don’t think he even noticed. But Burny didn’t miss a beat.

“Your pipe wrench? No, we don’t have your pipe wrench.”

“I let you barrow it,” my step dad said.

More laughter. Clearly we have had no immediate need for a pipe wrench. And why on earth would we have assumed that anyone would have brought one camping?

“Nope, we don’t have it. What do you need?” Burny asks.

“Oh no, I just need my pipe wrench.” My step dad has this weird habbit of opening every single sentence with ‘Oh no,” or “No.” For example: “No, no, you’re right.” or “No, I agree with you.” “No, I put the milk in the fridge.” It’s weird!

“Do you need a hammer? We have a hammer if you need that,” Burny offered.

At this point I can’t help but notice that everyone in the group is nearly in tears. Some of the guys have actually stood up to walk away they were laughing so hard. My step dad is funny, don’t get me wrong, and the conversation is retarded, but I couldn’t help but feel that I was missing something. I mean these guys were literally in tears.

“No, no… I know where my hammer is. It’s at home in the garage,” My step dad said. Clearly he misunderstood the question. Or maybe we have misunderstood everything. Anything is possible with him. And certainly, as I have said before, he will deny any of this having ever happened.

“Well, we don’t have your pipe wrench.”

Just as my step dad is starting to catch on to the fact that everyone is literally laughing at him, I overhear someone say something about a boner…

I turn around to examine my step father further. And sure enough… I kid you not… the man is at half mast!

In sweats.

Possibly no underwear.

I mean it was the morning…

I can literally feel my face get red and I too, have no other option but to cry with laughter. And as if this is a scripted event, Burny asks my step father one final question:

“What do you need a pipe wrench for?”

My step dad is right there to answer back with:

“I need to go pound something.”

WHAT!??!

He has a boner…

He needs a pipe wrench…

and he literally says “I need to go pound something.”

And at that moment he turns and heads back down the hill, as if nothing out of the ordinary has occured. The man does not get further than five feet away before the entire group of 19 people explode in laughter. Laughter that goes on and on. Laughter that is intermixed with words like ‘pound something’ and ‘boner’.

This is not a joke. God, do I wish it was. But alas, it is not. This actually happened.

Needless to say, the few people in the group that had not yet met my step father, or had not been introduced to his ways, asked us no further questions about our stories and our offhanded comments. There was just nothing else to say. My step dad and certainly said it all!

False Alarm!

19 Jan

I was reminded of a fairly amazing story tonight at dinner…

But before I begin, I must clear some things up that are always hard when telling stories. Both my husband, his father, and his grandfather are all named Tom. I get it. Pass down the name, honor the man, etc etc. I, too, will have to sort out mail for my husband and son one day… but for the purpose of this blog, Tom Sr. will be called CunningTom, and my Tom will henceforth be referred to as Burn TACtics… or Burny because I just came up with that and its quite awesome.

Onward…

So Burny and I were enjoying a lovely dinner of Co Co Bon (and I can only assume that is how you spell it because I’ve never even heard it mentioned outside of this house) with CunningTom, Miss KateeKat and three of Burny’s friends. For the purpose of this story, only one more character must be named and there is really only one name for this person: Logs.

The subject of Burny’s Bachelor Party came up… Now you have to remember that Burny is the guy who wanted to go camping for his last weekend of bachelorhood. Camping. In the woods. With absolutely no naked women. So clearly, I was all about it… that is until he came home from the weekend with a giant scab on his forehead, nose and cheek only a week before the big day, but that is another story…

As you can imagine, drinking ensued most of the weekend. Drinking and shooting and hiking… you know, just your average Bachelor party. For those of you who are familiar with ‘real’ camping, you will be able to visualize what I’m about to describe quite well, but for those of you who are not…

The bathrooms at a ‘real’ campground are little more than a hole in the ground with a spider infested shack built around it. They smell like… well it’s hard to really describe. They smell like death and rot and the worst diarrhea you have ever experienced in your life. But worse. Like a lot worse. They are awful. These bathrooms are the reason women started squatting in the woods. If you have to pee/poo longer than you can hold your breath, you better make other arrangements.

So now that I’ve painted somewhat of a picture… Think about the last time you drank like you meant it. For example, imagine you were at a bachelor party and all you had to do was sit around and drink. Now remember what happens in the morning in the bathroom after a night like that??? Well… sometimes, if you are unlucky, like our friend Logs was… this ‘urge’ hits your mid sleep. I mean it’s bad enough when you are at home in your own bed and have to get up to take care of that kind of business, but when you are still in your jeans, in a sleeping bag, in a tent… a good hike from the nearest hole in the ground… that just sucks. I mean think of all the zipping and unzipping!!

So Logs stumbles out of the tent, trying not to wake the other passed out party patrons, fumbles his way down the hill or whatever to the decrepit excuse for a ‘bathroom’ and takes care of some business. And just when the end of his breath is creeping upon him, when he is just about to be free of the smell and the nightmare, he realizes something no one should ever have to realize…

Logs is stuck.

The door won’t open. It just wont. So Logs pushes on the door and even football rams it a few times, but to no avail. He is seriously stuck in this poo shack. So he does what anyone in his situation would do: He absolutely panics.

He is pounding on the door, yelling bloody murder, screaming obscenities, the whole deal. He claims that he was clearly stating the problem: “I’m stuck! Let me the fuck out of here! Help!” And on and on.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, his ‘friends’ have been over served and are soundly sleeping through the screaming. Burny describes this place as a quite lake where you can hear a conversation from across the water clearly. So I can only imagine that the other campers were forced to conclude that a grown man was being raped in the shack just outside their tent.

According to Logs, this goes on for about 20 mins… 20. minutes!

Finally, after nearly yelling himself horse, Logs leans up against the door and tries to figure out just how he might be able to get some sleep in the shitter when he feels the latch press against his back.

Logs turns around, slides the latch, and opens the door.

Just then, a fellow- albeit slow to the draw- camper rushes up with his daughter in tow and says: “Are you okay man?”

Logs says: “Sorry, False Alarm!”

And he bee lined it back to his tent.

This poor man hears the freaking Yedy being slain in the night, gets his little girl out of the tent and trucks it all the way across the entire camp ground only to hear: Sorry, False Alarm!?

Logs, this one is for you! There is really no one else who this might happen to. Except maybe me… but lets not put that out into the universe.