Archive for the 'Summer Camp' Category

02
Mar
11

it would be nice to think that since I was 14, times have changed.*

*editors note: I’m sick +  I want to ski today because I got a new jacket and want to show it off + I have “real work” to do = repost from a letter back in November. Enjoy. Again.

Dear Meghan,

I should state from the very start that I’m extremely grateful for what went down between the two of us for those amazing and gut-wrenching three minutes between us in the camp dancehall circa 1995.  If you hadn’t absolutely crushed me as a young teenager, we probably wouldn’t have the friendship we have today; which, as you must know, means a great deal to me.  However, that being said, I hated you with 100% of my soul for about two days.

It took an assload of courage for me to come up to you at that dance.  I was (my use of the past tense here is questionable) awkward, gangly, freckled, metallic (in the mouth region), but I will give myself some credit because I was the best tennis player at camp, as if I thought you might be impressed.  You, on the other hand, were/still are tall, hot, blonde, smart, sweet, southern belle who was the creme de la creme of the female camper population.  I’m pretty sure all of the younger male counselors wanted to ask you to dance that night as well, but apparently their jobs were too important.  Questionable decision on their part…crap food, crap pay, crap cabin…I think I would have sacrificed that for a dance with you.

There in lies the problem though, I didn’t need to sacrifice anything, for a dance anyway.  I sauntered up to you, actually that is complete bullsh*t; I walked timidly up to you, looked up into your eyes since you were already taller than me, and asked you out, and you surprisingly said, “yes.”.  It should be entirely clear to you now, I ASKED YOU OUT.  As in – Do you want to go out with me? Or, do you want to go steady with me? Or, as the old timers might say, may I court you so we can go necking in the woods later?  Unfortunately, you heard none of these.

What you heard, perhaps over some awesome mid 90s song like “Return of the Mack” or “Runaround,” was, “Will you dance with me?”  Well of course you said yes, we were relatively good friends and a dance was absolutely harmless.  We were like 13 or 14, it wasn’t as if I was going to try and make out with you like I did with this broad.  And so, we danced for a couple of minutes.  Me thinking that this was the beginning of what I was sure would result in my first boob grab sometime down the road; you thinking three minutes of dancing wasn’t going to kill you.

that could’ve been us…forever

Well, at some point it must have clicked, and you realized what I actually asked.  You broke our contact, and while very sweet about it, proceeded to stomp all over my heart.  I can’t quote you on what you actually said, because I was too busy trying not to cry, but I think it was along the lines of a bumbled, “I’m really sorry…I thought you just wanted to dance…I don’t want to go out with anyone this summer.”  Thanks for putting me down easy.  Of course, when you went out with JR (not the dude from Dallas) later that week, it stung a bit.

Was it the braces? Freckles? Did I have bad breath?  Oh, I know, you just couldn’t stand going out with someone who was better at tennis than you.  Seriously, it’s not a big deal, we would have never worked in the long run.  Something tells me a long distance thing back in the mid 90′s between to teens would have ended badly.  I still love you…as a best friend. Ok I gotta stop this letter now, I think that last line marked my first supremely cheesy line.

I’ll dance with you anytime,

Me

*High Fidelity

21
Feb
11

“after seeing you for a couple of times, you sorta got stuck in my head, Costanza” *

Dear Jillian,

I just sent you a real email wishing you a happy birthday, and of course asking you to put in a good word for me at your place of employment. But I felt kind of bad that it’s been almost a decade, so I figured it was high time I send you one of these letters as well.

We met at camp, when I was 17 or so and had absolutely no clue had to read signs from females. That sentence implies that I do now…but rest assured I’m still sort of an assclown when it comes to that. We got close, but you made it painfully clear you weren’t interested in making out or anything along those lines by hooking up most of the summer with a red-head. Way to pour salt in the wound (just kidding, I have nothing against gingers…they do have souls). But then, on one of the last nights out I found myself alone with you, both inebriated, and you gave me the most backhanded compliment of all time.

You pretty much told me that you always liked me as a friend, but weren’t attracted to me…but the more you got to know me, the more attractive I became because as everyone knows, my personality sparkles. What I should’ve done was kiss you right then and there, instead of focusing on the beginning of your explanation, where I (still) think you called me ugly. In my mind, you basically compared me to George Costanza in this classic scene (effing youtube rules…can’t embed it, but go to the 51 second mark and you’ll catch my drift).

Thanks for comparing me to a short, stalky bald man.

It’s not as if I outwardly got angry at you for calling me unattractive, I was just kind of dumbfounded. What precisely, did you want me to do with this new information? Mind you, your ginger-boy was like 30 feet away, and even though it was just a ‘summer camp relationship,’ the two of you were still together, as much as you can be. So, instead of just going for some tongue action, I stalled and stammered out,

“I kind of want to kiss you right now…” To which you responded (with a small twinkle in your eye I might add), “You don’t need to ask my permission.”

At which point, of course, Ginger walked up to us. If “Old School” had already been made, I’m sure I would’ve said, “Good talk…see you out there.” But it hadn’t, and since I rarely speak in anything but movie quotes, I just stumbled away awkwardly and left you to explain.

So, in short…I regret not kissing you, but I can’t imagine the makeout session would’ve been worth pissing off a red-head.

Sincerely,

George

* Seinfeld

07
Feb
11

“…the Special Victims Unit. These are their stories.”*

Dear Katherine,

Despite all my Ben Roethlisberger ‘sexual predator/rapist’ themed tweets and jokes recently (and yes, I do believe karma served him an entrée dinner last night), I do not take those types of allegations lightly. So, I am not going to accuse you of sexually assaulting me, but I think it might have been as close to a Law & Order SVU type crime I’ve ever been a part of.

As per usual in my early 20′s, during a night off at summer camp, I was not sober/drunk/shitfaced/inebriated and probably a teeny bit stoned as well. As per usual, there were about twenty other kids my age (half male/half female) in more or less the same exact state. As per usual, we had rented out a 2 bedroom condo that could sleep about 25% of the attendees, so needless to say there was lots of forced spooning and floor sleeping…and since I’d rather spoon with anyone than sleep on the floor, you and I ended up in a twin bed together. It’s not as if you were bad-looking or anything like that, it’s just that when sober, I found you incredibly annoying and immature. Of course, you were 18 years old and had not yet spent a semester at college, so pretty much par for the course. Oh, and it’s not as if I was way older than you, I was not even 21 yet, but I’ve always been mature (as I’m sure my other letters portray).

Anyway, I had no interest in hooking up with you, which I thought I made clear by shifting my position in the bed so I was not facing you, and passed out. This has been, by the way, my biggest issue when it comes to making out (and by making out, I mean getting laid). I have standards, and those standards involve more than just a pretty face or a hot body. If your personality sucks, chances are I have no interest in hooking up with you, I just (un)fortunately missed out on that DNA (un = my ‘head’, fortunately = my head…get it?).

I thought I had accomplished my goal when I started to dream…only problem was my dream involved us making out and your hand slowly moving from my chest downwards. Then I came too (read: I woke up, get your mind out of the effing gutter), and guess what? We were making out and your hand was at my belly button. Well, I’m only human so I kind of got into it. Unfortunately for myself, and probably more for your ego, the other thing that started to happen was the tequila shots from a few hours before starting to resurrect themselves in my esophagus. I blustered out a, “one sec…I need to run to the bathroom,’ hoping you’d think I just needed to take a leak…but there is no way you didn’t hear my wretching.

Bottom line is this, I want to state for the record that A. I was not puking at the idea of hooking up with you B. While you didn’t sexually assault me, I feel like Benson & Stabler would’ve successfully forced a confession out of you on Law & Order: SVU, and finally, C. I totally understand why you didn’t let me back into the bed.

Even though I brushed my teeth after I was done vomiting.

*Law & Order: Special Victims Unit

28
Jan
11

“tonight, allegra cole may get her ‘last’ first kiss.” *

editors note: i have a great brand new letter that needs to be written…and i had all these grand plans to do just that this morning. however, it is 28 degrees, and not a cloud in the sky. so im going to ski instead. this is my 3rd ever letter and had like 17 viewers though, i figured id give it another chance. if you have already read it, sorry. but it’s my blog, and i can do what i want. including writing in all lowercase letters. deal with it.

Dear Carolyn,

It was over 20 years ago, but I remember it like it was yesterday.  Tucked away into the hills of a small town New England State (can’t give away my anonymity quite yet), I was a 9 year old kid who received his first kiss from the cutest 12 year old this side of the Mississippi.  Granted, I made it entirely awkward by turning to the side and I think half of your lips were on my cheek, the other half on my ear, but you have to cut me a break…I was 9, and I was being held up to you against my will by my bunkmates.

I believe it was during those thirty minutes after evening activity was over (capture the flag, perhaps?), back in the days of overnight camp when boys and girls could still socialize without having to worry about some kind of parental complaints.  Though to be completely honest, there is no way I was actually socializing with you – A. you were a girl & I was (still am) a boy (well, almost a man)  B. I was 9 & you were 12 C. you were cute & I was somehow the most awkward looking 9 year old who didn’t have braces, probably due to my bowl cut and freckles…and a face that reminded many of Paul from The Wonder Years.

But my bunkmates forced the relevant information out of me; and by forced I mean they probably asked me who I was going to ask to banquet.  My immediate response was “no one,” but after a couple older boys told me I couldn’t go alone, my next response was you, Carolyn.  So they convinced my to ask you, right then and there.  I walked over to you, and like out of a movie you were somehow sitting alone on your cabin steps, which of course made it far easier for me to talk to you (and way too hard to back out).  Somehow I stumbled up the courage, or fear of more torture from my entourage who was right behind me, and here’s how I’d like remember the conversation transpiring,

Me: Would you like to go to banquet with me?

You: Awww, you are too sweet…but I’m already going with the best athlete and cutest guy at camp.  If you had asked me first though, I totally would’ve gone with you.

This is probably how the conversation went,

Me: Um, hey…I’m XXXXX, oh yeah, we are on the same tennis court, you know that. Um, I know you probably don’t want to, but um, I need a date to the banquet and uh….

You: Oh, no. Thanks though.

I turned to walk away, quickly.  Some idiot ‘friend’ of mine shouted, “he wants a kiss too!” You were too sweet, you should’ve just laughed it off…but you told me to turn around, which some of my friends did for me by grabbing hold of my arms.  That’s when you went in to kiss me on the cheek, and I turned and you got some ear.  There is almost nothing I regret about that night, Carolyn, except not turning the other way.  If I had done that, perhaps you would’ve felt the chemistry that I knew was there between us when our lips connected…or more likely you would’ve slapped me in the face.  Either way, at least I would remember my first kiss a little more successfully.  Anyway, that’s enough for now.  Hope this letter finds you well…and maybe still single?

I shall forever remember your lips upon my ear,

Paul Pfieffer

*Hitch (not a huge fan of this movie, but it fits)




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