I had the opportunity recently to take a weekend campitng trip that I had arranged for some much needed rest and relaxation.
After being under a bit of stress it was either a camping trip or a faked addiction to heroin for admittance to a methadone clinic.
I had made up my mind to visit a gay campground, somewhere that might have activities and social interaction for gay and lesbians that enjoy the outdoors. After a quick Google search I hit paydirt with Rainbow Ranch. I was impressed at what a perfect name it was for a gay campground but nervous that it was not far from Waco, Texas. Waco is the world capitol of crazy cults and compounds that ususally come to fiery ends complete with raids operated by the US government.
Regardless of my fear of being abducted and forced to live as a sister-wife, I booked my trip. My friends asked what campground I was going to be staying at and I replied "Rainbow Ranch". Smirks and snickers soon became common place as I announced the name of the campground. I was quick to lurch into a well deserved hissy fit and insist Rainbow Ranch was in fact a real place and that "NO, they did NOT have rivers of glitter and pink unicorns that trotted to the beat of Cher songs!"
It didn't help when I would show my friends pictures of the campground, most of which were of the parties and social events that included either princess themed dinners or overtly masculine military style dance parties. "It's just a thing they do once in a while" I told them. "There is plenty of nature and fresh air and swimming and just laying around doing nothing. It's just what I need."
The day before I left for the campground I called the grounds office to make sure my spot was still reserved. I was given information for my space by a very nice older lady, at least I think it was a lady and informed that a campground potluck was set for the evening I was arriving and that I was invited. I thought that a potluck sounded really nice and would be a nice way to meet other people. I picked up some cookies from the grocery store bakery for the potluck and headed out.
The first indication that things were not going to go so well on this trip was the fact that the campground itself was an hour past Waco. Waco is not really the cultural capitol of Texas so I did not intend to make any stops. I drove past pastures and abandoned pickup trucks until I came to a desolate little haven of burnt woodland with a sign hanging next to the road announcing the entrance to Rainbow Ranch.
The campground itself was next to a lake that I soon found out had not been "zoned for swimming". There was an above ground swimming pool but I sadly learned it as well was not at the moment "zoned for swimming."
I quickly set up my tent and began to read when I noticed a middle-aged, somewhat stocky but attractive gentleman fishing near the pier. My first reaction was shock that the lake had actually been "zoned for fishing" and then of curiosity about this handsome stranger in his cute fishing attire.
I decided to casually walk over to the dock, where I would sit and read next to where the man was fishing. That was my plan to entice this man, sit and read. This plan was genious.
I soon noticed that the fisherman had a dog who would splash around giddily in the shore of the lake as the fisherman went about his tasks. It was a serene sight with the handsome man and his dog fishing in the sunset on the shore of the lake. As I am not a dog person I knew this would not be a problem as after we had fallen in love I could just ask that the dog be put down. If he loved me he'd do it.
As I sat against the pier with the sunlight painting the side of my face, I seductively would make eye contact when the man would look my way. It sounds romantic but as I had forgot my glasses in the tent, it was more like I was awkwardly staring in a way that said I might be crazy, or that I was in severe need of cataract surgery. It was during this creepster version of peekaboo that he finally yelled out in a masculine and powerful voice, "How's it going?" I replied with I'm good thanks for asking, how bout you? As he turned to walk towards me that's when I saw them. Both of them. Breasts. Yes, they were covered under a Khaki Bass Pro button down and looked as though they were being held down like they were middle-eastern housewives with a penchant for sassy backtalk. Yet, there they were. "Sure is a nice day we're having" the fisherperson bellowed. "yes it is" was my reply. And just like that, my fantasy of a hot fisherman was doused with a splash of reality. That reality was in the form of a 60 year old post menopausal lesbian. A lesbian with a very sexy haircut, had that haircut been on the head of George Clooney. This is the official moment I became invested in the upkeep of my vision.
I walked back to my tent and remembered the potluck. I thought it best to take a shower as all that sitting and reading had really made we work up a sweat.
As seven o'clock I made my way over to the campground community center, which in gay campground fashion had been outfitted with a mirrored disco ball, giant speakers hoisted on top of Roman Columns and enough glitter to make even Lady Gaga ponder the thought that it may be a just a tad over the top. Of course the phrase "over the top" means something totally different at a gay campground.
As I entered the doorway, I was met by a stick-thin circuit party looking boy with the word bottom written appropriately enough across his backside. I immediately assumed he had bought these shorts online because there was no way in hell a store within a 100 mile radius of Waco, TX was selling this item.
I introduced myself and told the man-boy that I was given instructions to bring a food item for the potluck. I held out two huge cartons of the bakery cookies. The response I received was: Ahhhh, wellllll, hmmmmm. The pondering and confusion on his part explained the errant fashion choice he had made in dressing for this occasion.
Well sweetie, see,,this is a private party. He whispered the words "private party" as to not embarass me in front of anyone, even though we were the only two people in the vicinity.
"Well I just assumed after the park ranger told me to bring a food item and invited me to the event and that I was welcome." I tried to explain the situation as best I could. "YEAH, uh huh, I see....NO it's a private event" he whispered private event again as though a line of people were behind us and I was so embarassed to have made such a mistake. I was now seriously beginning to worry that the half dressed man before me had mistaken the event for a Presidential fund raiser or the Annual Metropolitan Museum of Art Gala as to assume there was a level of importance to a potluck guest list at a run-down gay campground sitting adjacent to a toxic lake in the Texas backwoods.
I decided to say thank you and leave it at that. Even at the shittiest campground in the world, I cannot be a part of the "in" crowd. As luck would have it I was assigned by the park ranger, otherwise known as the head lesbian dressed in camouflage, to pitch my tent in space number 32. Space number 32 was exactly 75 feet from the community center, where right at this moment the worlds most exclusive social event was now starting.
I lay in my tent devouring cookies and washing them down with lukewarm beer,this being my dinner as I had expected to be partaking of gay potluck delicacies.
The party was really starting to ramp up now and the giant speakers had been moved outside and were pumping out jet engine level dance tunes. I decided to try to sleep and put in my earplugs. The earplugs didn't seem to help and the music was only getting louder. As mad as I was because of the noise, it was kinda hard to be upset while listenting to Abba, Dolly, Cher and Madonna who were being remixed into a collage of excitable dance songs being blasted into my face.
I was about ready to get up to complain when a techno version of "Dancing Queen" began to play. "OH I LOVE THIS SONG" I thought. Fifteen minutes later, enough was enough. I crawled out of my tent and stomped the 40 paces over to the community building. When I entered I was astonished at what I found. There was no crowd of fun loving gays, only the circuit boy dancing by himself and holding glowsticks under a mirrored disco ball. Apparently the party had been over for about an hour but he had continued to entertain himeself with sassy gay dance anthems.
I apologize for entering the restricted, guests only area and kindly asked if he could turn the decibel level down to say the equivalent of maybe a series of screeching jets breaking the sound barrier into supersonic booms. "OK, sweetie, I'll be sure to do that" he said,,"You'd better go cause this is kinda a private.....well you know." Was he serious? Was I being punked? Was Ashton Kutcher going to jump from behind the penis ice sculpture and scream "WE GOT YOU, WE GOT YOU GOOD, YOU JUST GOT PUNKED BITCH!" Alas this did not happen. I left the circuit boy dancing under the disco ball, apparently turning down the music was not the first priortiy in this matter. I crawled back into my tent and entually found my slumber as a reggae version of "I Will Survive" gently lulled me to sleep.
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