An Open Letter

To the Women Who Have a Need and/or Desire for the As-Seen-On-TV "Booty Pop" Padded Underwear, Because Apparently They Don't Have Enough Ass and Would Inexplicably Like More:

Are. You. Kidding. Me.

Shut up.
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda

Banking IS exciting!

Can we talk for a second, friends? I just saw a commercial for Chase's new app that allows you to take pictures of your checks to deposit them? I guess? (Really?! The future is now, guys.)
The purpose of the app isn't really my point here. It's the commercial I'm concerned with.
It's a couple who have clearly come straight from their wedding, unless she's one of those crazy women who wears a wedding dress for kicks. (I'm sure that happens--people are weird.) They're all sprawled out on a bed and the groom is talking about how he's waited all day to try this. And just when you think you've stumbled onto some painfully sappy Hallmark movie...you learn that he's ready to try his new banking app.

What?? Are you freaking kidding me, Chase? I get it...your new deposit method is awesome and high-tech. Well done, or whatever. But I'm supposed to believe it's so cool that a newlywed couple would put "deposit checks with new app!!!" on the top of their to do list? Really? Have you ever met anyone getting married, Chase? Because I have. And I must say...they were not concerned with banking.

No. Just...no. Not only do I call shenanigans on what you're trying to pull, but I call super lame.

Feel the love.

A common activity at my summer camps is to have a secret friend...a bit like Secret Santa, but...not. You leave anonymous notes and gifts and it's all warm and fuzzy. (Blech, right? But there's usually chocolate involved, so it's not all bad.) At the end, when everyone reveals their secret friends, you sit in a circle and sing a cute little song and you hug and it's all well and good. Except that by "cute" I mean that it's super high on the annoying scale and it stays in your head for-freaking-ever.
Well. This summer was different. Oh sure, we did the activity and the notes and the singing. But to combat the saccharine activity, our staff planned a separate adult activity: Hate-O.
How can I describe Hate-O? I suppose secret enemy does it best.

This? Was an activity I could get behind.

Let me tell you--my camp friends EXCELLED at Hate-O. There were dead bugs left on pillows, voodoo dolls created, stalker notes written, and angry songs performed. Personal property was ruthlessly kidnapped. Each day brought new horrible little surprises.
What did my Hate-O do?
It started slowly. A "you suck" in my mailbox. "You're too old for this" on my pillow. Then, these tiny notes were everywhere. Multiple times each day. It was a barrage of notes intended to chip away at my self-esteem. (It takes more than that, Hate-O! I've been rejected by people I've never even met.) Some highlights?
The one about my "embarrassing drinking problem" delivered to me by a camper. (Accessory to the crime? Eh, I won't blame the kid too much.) The "you suck" covered entirely in clear tape and floating in my Nalgene. "I don't miss you at all" found back at home, tucked into my suitcase--long after the game had ended! And the best? The one suggesting I take a shower...which was thrown down my dress during a dance party. (Apparently a group effort...well played, you sneaky bastards.)
It was quite the campaign. That right there? That's dedication. I'm impressed.

This isn't all heartwarming, though. Despite the efforts of my Hate-O, the worst thing I was subjected to...wasn't even meant for me. I was INADVERTENTLY HATE-OED. How, you ask?

Well fine, I'll tell you.

I was going about my business, checking my paper Hate-O mailbox. From across the room, A asked if I would check hers. I stuck my hand into the envelope, expecting to find a note. Instead, I made contact with something slimy. Squishy. I quickly pulled my hand away, horrified. Figuring it was something juvenile, like chewed up food, I washed my hands in disgust.
Later in the day, we were all sitting in our meeting. A remembered her gift and our director volunteered to retrieve it. She stuck a pencil in to fish the grossness out.


CAUTION: What follows, dear readers, is maybe the grossest thing to ever happen in front of me. (And I sat next to a guy while he peed into beer cans once. That's a story for another day, though.)
YES, THAT IS A SLUG. A LIVE FREAKING SLUG. It popped its little disgusting head out, all "Hey guys...what's up?" I reacted gracefully. You know, just what you'd expect from me. With a hissy fit, rant, and just a hint of nausea. I TOUCHED THAT. It's probably crawling around the German forests with my fingerprints on it, for the love of God!

GROSS.

Full schedule.

Your dreams have come true--I'm home from summer camp! I just spent the past month staying up late, getting up early, gossiping, and having Nutella for breakfast. (That last one is directly related to me spending the rest of my summer working out.) Oh, and there was some learning. Some educational goals. Some brilliant and talented 15 year olds from around the world, proving to me that the next generation is doing something right. That maybe things will be ok when they're in charge. Until they drink curry sauce on a dare and remind me that oh yeah, they're 15.
But you don't want to hear about that sappy bright future garbage. Right?
I somehow managed to weasel my way into Man Talk, a daily gossip session between three 15 year old boys from the US, Germany, and Finland. For reasons still unknown to me, I was given a standing invitation to attend Man Talk. It was gossip gold; high security clearance into their inner circle.
Between Man Talk, the occasional girl talk sessions I sat in on, and then gossip circle with the adults at camp...my days were full. It's a wonder that I was able to fit in any activities.

I love camp. :)


Stay tuned for camp highlights, including my favorite new game...Hate-O.

Abandonment issues.

I have been really terrible about updating lately. Life has been...ridiculous. (In the busy way, not the story way. You'd have heard those.)
For the three of you left still checking for updates, I'll get back to writing in about a month. You know how sometimes I leave you for a month to work at summer camp? Yeah, that's happening again. Because my life is actually pretty awesome.
I'll try to live some good stories for you!

Still making friends.

Readers might remember my recent quest to cut down on the junk mail (and paper) in my life. I've been shooting off emails about every catalog and donation request to find its way into my mailbox. I shop online; who needs the catalogs anyway? My sent folder is full of these emails. Including one to the National Wildlife Federation. (Their goal, you see, being to preserve nature and wildlife. A fine goal, admittedly. As previously stated, I love trees. And animals. Etc.) The automated responses always tell me they've removed my address, with the caveat that any mailings in process will still head my way. Ok. I can understand that. But how long does that take? Because I emailed the NWF around 2 months ago. And this weekend, received YET ANOTHER ENVELOPE.

This one was huge; it was the kind of envelope that suggests you've been accepted to a university. After reacting like a mature adult,** I opened it to find a wide variety of dead trees. Letters seeking my financial support, a return envelope, the ubiquitous address labels, and my personal favorite--a calendar. A freaking calendar! Are you kidding me with this, National Wildlife Federation? It's full of pictures of some of the wonders of nature we're all trying to protect. I get the idea...maybe I'm not inclined to donate money but then Wait polar bears?? OMG SO CUTE!!1! I see through your ploy, NWF.

Oh, you want to see the calendar? Ok.

Image by Tom & Pat Leeson
"Just try to cut down my tree and I will eat your face." Fair enough , Florida panther.

Image of Northern Gannett by Arthur Morris/BIRDS AS ART

Sea otter image by Art Wolfe

Bobcat, Image by Jurgen & Christine Sohns/FLPA/Minden Pictures
Bobcats can be so self-centered.

Wow, animals are a lot surlier than I thought. Chill out guys. This kind of attitude might be why some of you are endangered. I'm just saying. Right duck?

Mallard duckling, Image by Tom & Pat Leeson

Exactly.


It's time for another email! Guys, the good news here is that I think summer vacation is coming at a really good time for me...clearly I need MORE free time.



**By "reacting like a mature adult," I clearly mean "yelled a little bit and proceeded to rant, including commentary on every calendar page, which may or may not have led to the above pictures."

Excuse me.

Guys, do babies care what their diapers look like? I mean, is this something we're legitimately concerned with? That we have even thought twice about the style factor of a diaper is such an embarrassingly first-world problem.
Diapers that look like denim? REALLY, world? Really? As if anyone would see that and think, "How fashionable. I wish it was socially acceptable for ME to crap in my jeans. Babies have all the luck!"

Gross.