Camping Cyndi Style

I dedicate this post to my ma and wish her a speedy recovery. They say laughter is the best medicine, and who is more fun to laugh at than me?

So there are several posts which I have been meaning to write but just haven't gotten around to for some odd reason (ahem...LAZY!) Did you hear something? Me neither.

Here are some possible topics:
Camping, Cyndi Style
Diary of a Celebrational Binge Eater
Effects of March Madness on the Male Psyche, a Study in DVR Dysfunction

Any of these sound like fun to anyone? Hmph. Oh well. I'll just pick one at random and see how it goes. Time for eeny meeny miney. (*Hovers a finger over her computer screen in an act of topic elimination)

Camping Cyndi Style it is.

So over Easter weekend we went camping with Andy's family up on Cedar mountain in Emery county. Emery county Utah, for those of you who have not been there, is fairly dry and rocky terrain. It's perfect for dirt biking, ATV-ing, lighting fires, adventuresome bathrooming, and all the other things the manly men and boys in Andy's family enjoy. I confess, I had a great time as well, though I imagine I am somewhat of an embarrassment in the outdoorsy category.

For example, I wore jeans, a long sleeved shirt, a jacket, and a puffy white down coat. The whole time. Even sitting in front of the fire, which is where I stayed the majority of the trip. So much in fact, that I melted the bottoms of a perfectly good pair of shoes. They are brown, and did not have heels, which in my little brain made them the perfect choice for camping. Until the bottoms fell off that is. I guess Payless just ain't making them like they used to.

In any case, while I shivered like a weenie by the fire with my 16 layers of clothing on, the boys whizzed around in sweaters and t-shirts on their dirt bikes and ATVs. They catapulted over hills, bottomed out in gullies, somersaulted over handle bars, and still they got up laughing and continued on.

So when I finally did wander way from the fire, it was because I really had to go to the bathroom. Mind you, I am not one of these folks who can squat behind a rock and call it good. I tend to need some privacy and some sort of toidy to sit on. So I availed myself of one of the camper bathrooms. After completing my transaction, I got up and pulled the little lever that I assumed that would flush the toilet, but nothing happened. I pulled it harder and the toilet started to fill up with water at an alarming rate, but nothing went down the drain.

Panic set in. Here I was, trapped in an itty bitty cube with my knees by my ears, and I could not for the life of me figure the stupid toilet out. Sheepishly, I decided I would have to enlist the help of one of my nieces or nephews, and bribe them heavily with Easter treats to speak of my shame to no one.

I maneuvered myself out of the bathroom to find Andy standing guard for me. "Uhm. I can't figure out how to flush the toilet," I confessed. Helpfully, he came in and shut the lid then pulled the same lever I had been attempting to coerce into empyting the contents of the pot. "The lid has to be closed," he informed me.

"Oh." I replied.

I'm not sure why or how I attract embarrassing mishaps, I just know that I do. I think the more frightened you are that something embarrassing will happen to you, the more likely that very thing is to happen.

Later that day, I got the chance to drive an ATV with Andy, he riding behind me and holding on for dear life as I lurched about over hill and dale mowing dow sage brushes and frightening small desert creatures. He later confessed that he might have been the teensiest bit concerned for his life. Hey, what's life without the slight fear of a violent and painful death now and then? Hmm?

On the whole, the trip was fantastic. The food was amazing, the boys had a blast (and did not bathe for three days which always equates to a rare pleasure to them for some reason), I made Andy fear for his mortal life, and I conquered the mysteries of the camper toilet.

I really feally like I've accomplished something here.

Cyndi