The Distracting RV Squiggle

First of all, as you know, I'm super big on thank you notes. I want to thank all of my new followers and the awesome peeps that have voted for my little blog during the last few weeks in the Yeah Write Blogging Challenge.

Thanks to you all, I'm not just some borderline insane person with a blog. I am now a somewhat liked borderline insane person with a blog. I thank you all for your votes, follows, comments, and pure awesomeness. Leave me your address and I will send you a pork chop. No P.O. boxes, please.

On with the show.

My husband has always wanted to live the American dream. What better way than to buy an RV?

He grew up camping every summer and doing outdoorsy stuff. I grew up staying in Florida condos every summer. I don't do outdoorsy, unless it involves a lounge chair, a book, and a beach view.

But, he talked me into camping. We did that primitive camping crap a couple of times, and I quickly learned that I don't like air mattresses or bugs crawling in my mouth while I sleep, or peeing in a Solo cup inside a tent at 3 am. Yeah, I peed in a Solo cup once. We were in the middle of no where. I wasn't about to pop a squat in the middle of the woods after growing up watching "Friday the 13th" movies. The place where we were camping resembled that Camp Crystal Lake a lot.

So, I pee in Solo cups. And pools. Sue me.

Anyway, once our children were born, and I refused to make a toddler sleep in a tent, he decided that he wanted us to become "RV people."

My entire life, I've always pictured "RV people" as retired couples in toddler's clothing, walking some yapping and crapping puppy under pine trees. You know how older ladies love their mix and match toddler-like outfits. I picture capri pants with poodles on them, matching poodle tank top, and one of those old lady visors with the spiral telephone cord thingy on the back.

I don't do this sort of thing.

After months of persuasion, I agreed to go RV shopping. We ended up with a travel trailer that is actually nicer than a mobile home where I attended a party in 2001, where there was a cat giving birth next to a toilet. Plus, there's no cat afterbirth within 5 feet of my toothbrush in this thing. That's always a plus.

Our camper makes me feel like I am traveling in The Judds' tour bus.

Can you even read my caption up there? If you can, then aren't you glad you read that? If you can't, then
it's not important.

So, we became "RV people." And I didn't have to sacrifice my Lucky Jeans for Sag Harbor elastic waist band polyester lounge pants and matching top.

We've been camping for two years. We have an awesome place on Kentucky Lake/The Tennessee River. We fish there, we swim there, we relax by the fire roasting marshmallows, we swat at a lot of bugs, we inhale citronella fumes, we sit in a cult like circle and sing Kumbaya (we don't), and Hubs bought a ski boat so when I'm not relaxing on shore, I can mortify myself and amuse onlookers by attempting to ski...well, er, be drug face first at high speeds on water.

I hate to admit that he was right, but I can do outdoorsy when I have the luxury of watching The Golden Girls before falling asleep in a plush bed to the sound of the water hitting the shore right outside my window. That's a long sentence, but it sounds blissful, doesn't it?

However (there's always a however), one thing that totally distracts me are those gaudy designs on RVs.

While trying to relax between moments of yelling at the Boy to quit trying to eat minnows and the Girl, whose 5 going on 15, wanting to dance to Kidz Bop around the fire pit (fire pit dancing should only be done to Pink Floyd, not Kidz Bop), I am distracted by these dashes, squiggles, and lines that surround me.

It's as if Zuesthor, the god of throwing lightning bolts, is mad at me. I feel like I should take cover under the patio table, in the fetal position, before I am smote down with a fiery RV squiggle.

When I look to my left, right, and rear this is what I see. 

Whole lotta squiggles on that hill.

 

Yes, our camper is guilty of the
gaudiness as well.

I'm reminded of Ocean Spray juice.
I only drink Ocean Spray if I have a
kidney infection. I call this camper
"Kidney Infection". 

Isn't this horrible? Boy, you should have seen the camper next to us last year, complete with mountain scene graphics and some kind of Mountain Bear lurking over the back wheel.  I was scared it would come to life, tear through the garbage, and maul me in my bathing suit. What a disgusting scene that would be.

Who in the world thought campers needed designs on them? Can't they just be like cars in a basic black or white? If I saw a Dodge Caravan with squiggles on it, I would be appalled. This is no different.

Camper graphics are distracting. Isn't camping supposed to be about relaxation? How can I relax if I feel like I am in some sort of saber light war?

Dear Camper Designers, lose the graphics.

It's cheesier than mouse dung.