A-Camp Day 3: Gonna Go Crazy On You

The A-Camp saga continues…

Friday, September 14: Day 3

Friday morning Lu and I woke up with Motivation thanks to the Nutrition and Exercise panel. We suited up and braved the altitude for a morning jog. Turns out oxygen is an important thing. Also Alpine Meadows happens to be on the side of a mountain. Between the previous day’s sprinting and my weak little lungs, this jog was mostly pain.

After breakfast I felt equal parts restless and exhausted. None of the morning activities held any real appeal, so I grabbed my book and cycled between reading and popping in and out of various panels. I caught part of Lesbian Jeopardy, but mostly I drank coffee. I was holding out for the highlight of Day 3: Kickball.

Time for some history, guys. Grades K-8 I attended a small private institution known as Christian Assembly Foursquare Academy. The school was inside of a church, the same church my parents still faithfully attend. Every day instead of one recess we got three breaks, and your academic status dictated how long your breaks lasted. Fortunately, little b was a bit of an overachiever. For the majority of my academic career I had two 30 minute breaks and a one hour lunch break. Unfortunately, girls had to wear knee length skirts on the daily, and attend weekly chapels, on top of our morning devotions. Have you guys heard of Bible drills? I was routinely a Bible drills final contestant. It’s a real thing, ask me about it.

I've definitely heard this phrase used non-ironically. 

Anyways, we spent our breaks in the carpeted gymnasium playing basketball, or outside on the “playground”. Playground means fenced parking lot. Since parking lots aren’t conducive to contact sports (tag, soccer, football to name a few…) kickball was the game of choice. Some of my favorite childhood memories are from kickball. Also some of my most painful, like in 4^th grade when 8^th grader Andrew Kost kicked and the ball caught me so hard in the stomach it knocked me off first base.

So kickball was a blast from the past, and also just a blast in general. The teams were Red against Everyone Else, and I’m pretty sure my team lost. Also third base was a piece of bark we found. You guys, kickball is a big deal.

After kickball I more or less went my own way. I took a nap on a bench, ate a cookie and caught bits and pieces of the Coming Out panel, Formspring Friday and the Queer Women of Faith panel. I listened to all these incredible women, and I’m grateful I had the opportunity to hear their stories and experiences. Listen: thank you for your honesty, and your willingness to share that vulnerability. I have immense respect for you.

Post-dinner I needed to check out for a while. Once again with the processing and the feelings. So I headed back to the cabin with Lu to grab reading materials and decompress. When we got to the cabin, most of our bunk mates were there milling around. The big question: capture the flag, or hide somewhere and do introvert things? Our cabin opted out of the competition and into a silent reading group which lasted until well after the sun went down.

Photo courtesy of Christina, who is wonderful

Commence approximately an hour and a half of ladies calling us adorable and/or sneaking pictures of us. Yes, reading is sexy. Or precious. You know, whatever.

The final activities of the night were Fister Spit (the staff reading us things they wrote), and a musical performance by Hav & the Hav-Nots. The staff reading was mind blowing. Some staffers read familiar things. Laneia read one of my favorite posts from her personal blog, and Katrina taught us how to give no fucks. Carmen read to us from her private Tumblr, and it was my first real glimpse of Carmen. The first time I stopped and said damn, this girl is a superhero. Gabby read poetry that made me swoon, and also want to hug a lot of people I haven’t talked to in a long time. Riese read a piece from when she was younger, and poorer and living in New York. When it was over Lucy said “That’s you. You are Riese!” and I think she might be right. I mean, I hope she’s right.

After the reading there was this sort of stunned silence. That’s how it felt to me, anyways. I just sat there and rolled everything around in my head. I tried to find room inside me for all the things. Luckily, shortly thereafter Haviland was serenading us and Stef was playing bass in a captain’s hat. Alex Vega played the drums and Marni played guitar and they looked and felt like a family on that stage. And so yeah, all of the feelings from the reading were still there. But seriously, how can you feel bad when Haviland Stilwell is singing an 80s rock ballad and Marni is doing leg kicks? You can’t. You just can’t.

I’ma leave you with that mental image, because it’s such a good one. All of you who were there, you know.

All my love, daydream believers.

-b

[P.S. Shout out to Valencia! It was good to see you guys today.]

Sometimes I Just Cry, It's Not A Big Deal

Ok, weirdos. Hold up.

http://blog.bigmouthmedia.com

I’m interrupting the A-Camp recaps to get real with you for a minute. I need to apologize for my inconsistency lately. I hate feeling so unreliable, especially since I set my own deadlines. Maybe it’s ridiculous to imagine you guys sitting at your computers, waiting with bated breath for my words of wisdom and/or fuckery. But maybe not? I think some of you actually pay attention to the things I say. Which is incredible and also utterly terrifying. I think this sums up the awesome/scary feelings, except minus the drinking.

Mostly, I’ve been dealing with some intense heavies lately. Reduced-to-the-basic-functions-of-living heavies. Think eating/sleeping/breathing, but only eating sometimes and sleeping when heavily dosed with melatonin. I’m not sharing this information for pity. Let’s be honest, the sympathy vote never gets you anywhere. This fact is frequently demonstrated on Chopped, where the inner city kid trying to win $10,000 to help pay for his sister’s lung replacement surgery will still be disqualified for overcooked salmon. That’s real life. I mean, that’s technically reality television, but it’s somebody’s real life. End tangent.

What I’m trying to say is: I think the worst of the heavies have passed. Today I didn’t cry driving to work. I managed to eat three full meals, and made it to yoga class. Now I’m sitting here, writing things for you guys to read. Because maybe some of you need me writing things almost as much as I need to write.

For the record, you’re incredible and I love you. Thank you for reminding me that some days breathing is all you can manage, and that’s ok; for telling me I'm not weak or small just because I feel sad. Thank you for your letters and your messages and your unexpected texts when it’s 7pm on a Friday night and I’m already in my bed watching Netflix. Thank you for telling me to pull my head out of my ass and go meet people. Listen, you are all lovely and surprising human beings. I want to be lovely and surprise you too. With that said, I intend to finish my A-Camp posts this week and move on. Because life has been happening this whole time, and we’ve been missing it! I hope you are all well. I hope you didn't cry on your way to work either, but if you did that's fine too. That's fucking human.

Be kind to yourselves, kittens. Please know that I love and miss you.

-b

A-Camp Day 2: Oh Brave New World!

Drunk kitten says writing is easy. 

Hello weirdos! Here’s a thing I’m learning: writing is significantly harder without a bottle of wine. Realistically a lot of things are harder without a bottle of wine. For example, talking to strangers, dancing without looking epileptic and falling asleep at night. Let’s hope my liver and self-respect understand the sacrifices I’m making here. Can you believe it’s been over a month since A-Camp? How about we wrap this shit up so I can tell you about my poetry reading, the apple pressing party and the new love of my life, Doris?

Thursday, September 13: Day 2

I woke up the first official morning of A-Camp sweaty and puffy and weirdly calm. I woke up before my alarm went off, before my cabin mates started stirring. I managed to put contacts into my swollen eyes, tied on my yellow bandanna and slunk out into the California morning with my notebook. Somewhere between my first and third cup of coffee, I started to feel normal again. I propped myself up in a patch of sunshine outside Wolf Lodge and wrote. I wrote until things stopped feeling so awful and my hands stopped shaking and my brain didn’t feel so feverish anymore. When I was done writing, I could breathe again.

I headed back to the cabin for my schedule and map, because Alpine Meadows is huge and my sense of direction doesn’t exist. Lucy was making her bed. She put her arm around my shoulders, and nothing was right but at least things didn’t feel quite as wrong. We headed to Wolf together for more coffee and the first of many “processing” sessions, and by the time the breakfast bell rang I intended to enjoy every fucking minute of A-Camp. Because why not?

My first activity of the day was Music Trivia with Crystal and Stef. This event may have actually been the highlight of my A-Camp experience. Mostly because it combined trivia, yelling and Australian candies being thrown at my head. Also I knew a few things! About halfway through this event it became apparent that Valencia’s gentle, law-abiding nature was predominant in the rest of the yellow team also. We wanted teams to buzz in before shouting answers! We wanted order and structure and fair play! Stef repeatedly professed her love for us, and officially dubbed us Team Polite. We didn’t win, but we gave it a good run.

After Music Trivia, I visited the cabin to plan my next activity and leave a Toblerone on Lucy’s pillow. Shortly thereafter I realized chocolate Australian candies probably constitute bear bait. C’est la vie, right? For the record, no bears were sighted in or around Cabin 5.

Next on the docket was the Introvert Meet-up, which was kind of like Speed Dating. Except Crystal and Laura realized introverts are delicate creatures. So it was more like structured partner speed dating with riddles and word games to keep our minds off actual interaction. I have to admit, I don’t remember much about that hour of my life. I met so many people from so many places with so many stories! I do know almost my entire cabin was present. Also I kept a sketch of a fox, a chicken and a bag of corn drawn by Crystal. You know, for my scrapbook. After that much introverted socializing, lunch was a relief. I’m pretty sure I was catatonic by this point, and spent most of lunchtime staring at a wall.

Post-lunch I headed into the Nutrition and Exercise panel where I learned two things that changed my entire outlook on life. First: Sarah Croce used to be a scrumhalf. You guys, she's a real life human being! After the panel we discussed the game, camaraderie and the agony of trying to lift your head after the first tournament of the season. The rest of the group concluded rugby players are masochists. Second: Haviland Stilwell, who may or may not be the most genuine human being on the planet earth, doesn’t drink. She doesn’t drink because she doesn’t want to. Listen, if it’s a good enough excuse for her it's suitable for me.

After the panel disbanded, Lu and I started back toward the cabin only to encounter an enormous mob of ladies gathering outside of Eagle Lodge. Why were they gathering? Oh you know, just because Hannah Hart was there signing shit and being charming. So obvs we waited in line, watching her make puns and sign underboobs. 

Then this happened:

Also Hannah called me fit. I replied with a stutter, because I’m witty like that.

I needed a little downtime after all the face-to-face, real life human interaction. I donned my swimmy, grabbed my book and towel and headed over to the pool for free swim. Unfortunately, free swim was between 3:30 and 5pm which, coincidentally, are the least sunny afternoon hours. Instead of basking like a lizard on a rock, I spent most of the next hour bouncing from sun spot to sun spot, listening to the Golden Girls talk and booze, and watching braver gays frolic and swim. Mostly I used this downtime to mentally prepare for that night’s group event: Faggity Feud.

[Note: Somewhere in here "Girls Gone Wild" happened, which sounds sexy but mostly it's like stealthy capture the flag. Except we're lesbians, so obviously we were collecting beans. Also you'll be proud to hear my knee withstood it's first adrenaline-inspired sprint since surgery. Two points for Lefty]

Carolyn had already warned our cabin repeatedly that Faggity Feud would be a spectacle, that none of us had to participate, and that it was highly likely we’d be seeing wet breasts. Listen. If cheap tequila and a wet t-shirt contest had a baby, it would look like Faggity Feud. Like Family Feud, contestants had to guess the most popular answers to questions like “What are the most annoying lesbian accessories?” and “Who on the US Women's Soccer team would you most want to have sex with?". Unlike Family Feud, everybody was wearing white. Also, super soakers.

Facts: this event made me want a shot (or six) of tequila, Brandy Howard was an adorably drunk kitten and I saw many boobs. After witnessing plenty of drunken debauchery, my little brain decided enough was enough. Time to shut down. Lucy and I stumbled back to Cabin 5 together in full zombie/mannequin/robot/statue mode, to sleep off the day’s exertions. We curled up in her bunk and spooned another night away. 

Only three more days of California! 

I love you, creeps. 

-b

[For further A-Camp indulgence, check out the official Autostraddle recamps]

A-Camp Day 1: O! Valencia

You guys, this morning I was going to bike to work. Even though it’s dark when I leave the house, and I haven’t biked since June and the directions I googled had approximately four million different turns onto and off of streets I’ve never heard of. I was going to do it, dammit! I suited up, trotted down to the basement and realized my tires were flat. My last air station experience was a debacle unfit for 7am, so I drove. Now I’m sitting in a Starbucks, looking homeless because I’m still wearing all of the layers I planned to bike in. “Transient chic” is actually a look I do pretty well, so don’t even trip.

Wednesday, September 12: Day 1! (Con’t indefinitely…)

After winding, hairpin turns and a few close brushes with a cliff we arrived at Alpine Meadows. The bus driver watched as we gathered our sensible flannels and vegan snacks, helped me climb into the bus’s belly to retrieve our bags and sent us on our way with a smile. Gabby and Carmen led the way to the rickety sound of rolling suitcases and lesbians giggling amongst themselves.

We trundled our way to Wolf Lodge for registration and to claim our gift bags.

I couldn’t have prepared myself to immediately encounter Riese and Laneia. One minute we were being funneled into alphabetical lines, the next Laneia was introducing herself. Also she remembered me from the introductory e-mails. Ok, that’s kind of a stretch. Mostly she remembered I was assigned to her fiancé Megan’s cabin (Valencia!) and that my cat has an unusual/awesome name. Then I was being handed a binder and canvas tote full of goodies, and sent on my way!

Lucy exited the swirling registration whirlpool about the same time I did. Brief eye contact, one deep breath and then Megan was scooping up our bags and walking us to our cabin. Things we learned between Wolf Lodge and our cabin:

1. There had been extreme flash floods over the past few days, so the trails were all wonky and most of the cabins had flooded. Don’t worry, we were in maybe the only dry one. I don’t know. I only went into one other cabin and it was swampy.

2. Our cabin was the very farthest one away from everything. In hindsight, I think this was tactically planned because our cabin of sleepy introverts tended to be in bed by 11pm every night

3. There had already been at least one bear sighting. Also Megan showed us the dents and scratches in our cabin door, which totes could have been bear damage. Also also, one presumably straight male camp manager plus lesbians making “bear” jokes equals priceless. If you encounter a wild bear, don’t make eye contact or try to engage it!

Does anybody know when the zine workshop starts?

We picked our bunks, deposited our bags, and walked back to Wolf Lodge with Megan to store our food and one bottle of Pellegrino that would never be seen again. Our goodie bags and binders told us our Rainbow Gang affiliation (yellow), when dinner started that night (5ish) and what activities were planned for that afternoon (not many…).

Being an Adult in a summer camp setting is a strange thing. There’s this weird compulsion to revert to a 7-year old mentality. For example, wanting to ask permission to do things, feeling like you could get in trouble for being in certain areas, etc. But also you remember that you’re a grown ass woman with agency and you should probably be able to fill unstructured time without anyone else’s permission. Lu and I wandered listlessly around the campground, played on the monkey bars (near the other kids, without actually engaging with them), and had an intense tetherball showdown. When my arms and also my pride were too bruised for any more tetherball, we drifted back to Wolf Lodge to eat cookies and drink coffee.

From this point forward, cookies and coffee would be my go-to when I wasn’t sure where else to be. I’ma guess I consumed at least 45 cookies during A-Camp. I’d rather not even guess about how much coffee I drank.

Valencia bunkmates had been arriving slowly over the course of the afternoon, which mostly meant a lot of avoided eye contact while we tried to feel each other out. Matching faces with the names and life details we’d exchanged via e-mail was a difficult game. Luckily, the powers that be had anticipated our social awkwardness, and facilitated a first-night cabin bonding circle. I only have a vague idea of what happened in other cabins (I’m pretty sure they involved a lot of whiskey), but our cabin had a sit-down and a sensible chat.

You guys, I adore my cabin mates. They are the loveliest little group of introverts I’ve ever known. Unfortunately, being gentle, kind and thoughtful put us at a serious disadvantage in the Rainbow wars. For the duration of the week, Team Yellow would be synonymous with Team Polite. Following all the meeting and greeting we had our icebreaker round of the Rainbow Wars where our non-aggression landed us dead last. But! We played tug-o-war, played with a giant parachute and created an impromptu skit about the meaning of “Autostraddle”.

After the activities, we made our way down to the First Night campfire, where the staff was officially introduced and we got to see all of their beautiful faces. Then Julie Goldman inducted us into the Gay Baby Army and we were all singing and laughing and waving our little Gay Baby hands in the air and everything was just perfect.

After the campfire I hear there was an after party that involved whiskey in paper cups and lots of rave dancing/lesbian kissing. Unfortunately (or fortunately, since this seems to be when most of camp contracted what would affectionately come to be known as the Battlestar Plague), after the campfire I was fucking exhausted. All of the heavies from the past 24 hours imploded, creating this gaping cosmic black hole somewhere in the middle of my chest. I went back to the cabin, along with most of my sleepy kitten bunk mates. After brushing my teeth and donning nearly every article of clothing I’d packed, I curled up in a little ball in my bunk and cried.

I tried to be quiet, but I’m pretty sure it deteriorated into that weird sigh/hiccup thing that happens when toddlers cry themselves to sleep. Lucy was in the bunk above me, because she didn’t want anybody to assume we were together. By “anybody” I think she meant mostly me. Having her close but so far away and feeling so small and empty and far from home… You guys. I won’t lie, that first night fucking sucked. Also, our cabins were heated. Wearing all my clothes, I was a sweaty mess by morning.

All my love, you weirdos.

-b 

A-Camp Day 1: California, Here We Come!

Hello kittens! Listen, I have something very important to tell you. I am an addict. Seriously, Breaking Bad has derailed my life. I took inventory today, and realized something’s got to give. I haven’t done laundry in a month, Murphy’s starting to look like a neglected meth baby and you’ve all been patiently awaiting my A-Camp stories. I’ve learned the hard way that addiction hurts everyone involved. Also, I’m pretty much convinced drug cartel assassins are secretly monitoring every move I make. Everybody on board? Let’s get back to it.

P.S. Thank you to everyone who relentlessly hounded me. This one’s for you… Ok all of them are for you.

Wednesday, September 12: Day 1!

Wednesday morning I dragged my body out of bed after two hours of not really sleeping. I stumbled around gathering last-minute camp supplies, mumbling and trying not to step all over Lucy, who appeared to be doing the same. My eyes were swollen and my brain felt like one of those weird growing bathtub toys. You know those sponge animal things that kids soak overnight and they swell into giant, slimy creature blobs? That was my brain.

ULOL came bouncing through the front door, fresh from the dog park and packed us into her car, because she’s wonderful and voluntarily chauffeured us to the airport.

Things I remember: delirium blur and tunnel vision. Airport security patting down my hair for razor blades. Lucy looking anywhere but me. The biggest quad shot americano, clutched between my sleepy hands. The woman behind the counter, like a young Meryl Streep. I wondered what she wanted to be when she grew up. I wondered if she ever wanted to be anything other than a woman behind a counter making airport breakfast sandwiches; if her friends ever told her she looked like Meryl Streep, and she laughed but also agreed. My hands shaking; thinking how big the veins looked, how close to the surface. Me looking anywhere but Lucy, rereading the same sentence over and over. Five minutes straight: The poet’s life is just so much crenellated waste, nights and days whipping swiftly or laboriously past the cinematic window.

90 minutes later, outside our gate: We haven’t lost anything you know.

      We haven’t lost anything?

      No, we didn’t have anything in the first place.

On the airplane and I’m curled into myself next to the window watching one giant wing flex, ready for takeoff. I pulled up my hood, made myself invisible and finally slept.

One ginger ale, a bag of mixed nuts and an indefinite amount of time later, we touched down in overcast Los Angeles. Lucy made it through the flight without hyperventilating and/or having me slip a Xanax into her drink. We taxied to the gate, listening to one very disgruntled man complain about how long it was taking to get off the plane. Personally, I could have stayed there another hundred years. My social anxiety levels peaked when the doors opened, and didn’t drop again until early Friday.

We gathered our things and also our courage. Lucy patted me on the head (literally, like a child or a sleepy puppy), asked if I was ready. I said yes, even though I wasn’t sure because not being ready was starting to feel exhausting.

The Autostraddle demi-gods had told us to gather in baggage claim to await our shuttles. You guys, I’m going to be honest with you. No amount of mental preparation takes away the inherent shock of encountering a sprawling group of lesbians. Lucy spotted them the first time we walked by, but it took three more passes for us to actually join them. I’ve never seen so many styles of flannel. Ukuleles littered the area. I felt out of place with my non-alternative lifestyle haircut. We perched on the perimeter of the group, trying to subtly observe everybody. I could identify at least three different types of mohawk from where I was sitting.

And then Gabby, Laura and Carmen were there! And they were real people, who wore clothes and had hangovers and wanted another cup of coffee just as much as I did! I’ve been reading Autostraddle for about a year now, following and admiring the fuck out of these women. Sitting in the Los Angeles airport, just existing in the same place as them felt surreal in a way I’m not sure how to explain. But there they were, taking our names and helping gather our things and shepherding us to the bus. You guys, I just can’t even.

Several hours, one coffee stop at Karen's Donuts and a dangerous, winding mountain road later we were thanking our stunned bus driver and climbing off the bus. Alpine Meadows greeted us with hand-drawn A-Camp signs and the first patches of California sun.

I promise I won’t leave you guys in the lurch like last time, but that’s all for now… I need to have a staring competition with the pile of laundry on my floor.

I love you, creeps.

-b

[Note: If you need more A-Camp, check out the official Autostraddle recamps]