What Happens at Summer Camp Part 2: The Kangaroo Court is Now In Session

So when we last left off, I had just found myself on an unfamiliar (and receptionless) island with 6 other castaways and nothing but a prayer and way too many cosmetics to my name.

This is sort of starting to sound like the premise to Gilligan’s Island, isn’t it? Only, I’d make a horrible Ginger. I don’t know any celebrities, and there’s no way I could fashion an evening gown out of a tarpaulin from the S.S. Minnow. I don’t even own a coconut phone.

But I digress.

Since the grade 8 dance was already in full swing, we had just enough time to check out our beautiful, luxurious accommodations for the weekend:

Get ourselves “camera ready”:

Balance some bud light lime on our stomachs:

And take a quick siesta.

It’s a marathon- not a race, kids.

Since our costume packing was an epic fail, we decided to make do with what we had and go with a “denim” theme. Denim shorts. Denim jackets. Denim on Denim. Basically, we hoped to emulate this look as much as humanly possible:

Only in reality, we ended up looking more like this:

I think I’m smiling so hard because after four years, I finally learned how to use the self-timer feature on my camera.

Clearly some of us were more into it than others.

Finally, we made our way to the dance. As I looked around at all of the half costume-clad 2o and 30 somethings fist pumping and spreading body paint like a bad bout of influenza, I felt like I was walking into a beer commercial. Or an episode of Jersey Shore, maybe. But I had a choice: I could wuss out, or I could get into it.

So I got into it. I threw my denim jacket to the side, and proceeded to dance the night away until “Midnight Snack” was called. We all piled into the mess hall where table-length pans of nachos were  waiting for our consumption. If only my life could be like this every night.

Picked these two up from a hair commercial.

The next morning, I awoke to a violent, albeit somewhat familiar sound. Could that be a….. bugle? I thought. And indeed it was. Signalling the 7:30 am “polar bear swim”, to be exact. I looked over at my friend Caitlin who was pleasantly dozing away in the bunk next to me, wearing a fleece pullover, a winter toque, sunglasses and a contented smile. Obviously this activity was not mandatory. I covered my head with my duvet and tried to return to the warm arms of sleep while my still drunk excited cabinmates got their swimsuits on and headed down to the lake.

It wasn’t until the breakfast bell rang that I finally rose from my slumber. You can always count on food to mobilize a chubby girl.

We languidly made our way to the mess hall to find a full-on Caesar bar outside. I’ve never been much for the whole “hair of the dog” thing… especially Caesars. I mean, Clamato juice? Really? whose brilliant idea was it to put clams and tomato juice together.. and how high were they? but still, I appreciated the gesture. We headed inside to check out the breakfast spread. The kitchen staff of the camp had remained on for the weekend, and had prepared us a feast of pancakes, eggs, bacon, and mini pastries. This was a far cry from the gelatinous porridge mixture and stale raisin bran they served up for breakfast at the Jesus Camp I attended. If it had been like this, maybe my fat ass would have stayed for more than one summer.

After that we retreated to the dock where we layed out in the sun and tried not to die. The camp really was beautiful- like something straight out of a summer camp movie.  I mentioned this to one of my fellow campers who told me that indeed, the 1993 movie Indian Summer had been filmed there. Huh. It’s no Heavyweights…. but it’ll do I guess.

Soon, the lunch bell sounded, and we made our way back to the mess hall to feast on white-bread grilled cheese sandwiches, tomato soup and homemade cookies. AKA: heaven. We were just about to head back to the dock, when one of the “counsellors” stood on his chair and announced that “court was now in session”. Kangaroo court, to be exact, where campers were  put on trial for their “Crimes” against partying… I mean, humanity. The offender, some dude who wanted to leave early and go home to his wife and kids, was interrogated mercilessly by the “prosecutor” (who, sadly, was a real-life lawyer), before eventually being sentenced to… (dun dun dun) shave his chest.

Yeah. I don’t know either.

The afternoon included a steady lineup of activities including basketball, relay races and driving children’s Power Wheels off water towers.

Even though my participation was limited to strictly spectating, by the time the BMX bike jousting competition started, I was in need of a little R&R. So I retreated back to the cabin to read for a couple of hours.

You can take the girl out of the emo…..

When I got back, I discovered that everyone had been…”quenching their thirst” in my absence. I had no choice but to grab my novelty children’s sand bucket and jump in:

After that we hung around for a few hours:

Until it was time to get ready for the neon-themed “full moon party”. (Would you expect anything else?) We piled on all of our neon, drew all over each other with blacklight paint, and prepared to do it all again.

But sadly, I’m not quite the spring chicken I used to be. After only a couple of hours of awkwardly fist-pumping to house music, I was ready to call it a night. Luckily, one of my friends was feeling the same way, so we headed back to the cabin together.

I couldn’t wait to get my PJs on, wash off the blacklight paint, and get some much-needed sleep.

Little did I know, however, that my night had much, much more in store for me…….

Stay tuned for part 3- the dramatic conclusion to the Summer Camp series!!

Question of the Day: Can you party for more than one night in a row?

….Or are you an old lady like I am?