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Band camp gross
Band camp gross

Band camp gross

If you’ve ever done band camp, you know band camp gross. If you’ve ever done band camp in the midwest, you really know band camp gross. And if you marched drum corps, well…I just don’t understand you because you pay to be band camp gross all summer long. But kudos to you, ’cause those shows are awesome.

What is band camp gross, you ask? If you’re asking, I know you’ve never done band camp and you’ll just never understand but I’ll try to explain. Band camp gross (midwest version) is when you’re outside in 90 degree heat with 90 percent humidity for 12 hours a day. You’re slathered in SPF 90 (sensing a theme here?), sweat has taken on tree-ring like properties (ooh! there’s the sweat from the 10am drill! and there’s the flop sweat from the 2pm sectional! ohhh, the 5pm dear god is it dinnertime yet sweat is particularly pungent), and you’ve more than likely been hit with wayward spit valve punge.

Punge: the saliva/condensation/valve oil/sweat mixture from brass instruments, usually randomly and with great nonchalance expelled by arrogant trumpet players musicians. Yes, I made that word up. Please credit me, thankyouverymuch.

Band camp gross is when you’ve sweat through your clothing and wonder if you’re ever going to be clean and cool again. Band camp gross is when you’ve done a full day of outside camp in the 90/90 midwest stew, including a flash thunderstorm, have had celebratory ice cream which dripped all over you and you didn’t care, and came home to take a shower only to have your fiancé shove shoes into the bathroom because the aforementioned storm had leaked through the ceiling in your pit of an apartment and now your kitchen floor (directly adjacent to the bathroom, natch) was flooded with water and maggots. True story.

The thing about band camp gross is that you really don’t care. Everyone else is as miserable as you, you all stink to high heaven, and eventually you’ll look back and call it fun.

Today was almost as bad as band camp gross but was nowhere near fun. No, I wasn’t out in 90/90 learning drill, and god willing never will again (I will make two exceptions: a job, being a band mom). My darling husband and I were cleaning out the garages. Yes, plural. The attached garage is essentially storage and will eventually live again as offices for the two of us. With doors. And locks. And mine will have a wee little fireplace that slaps out some wicked heat in January and I am totally off topic. The unattached garage houses the vehicles and additional storage. Both were in desperate need of attention. The previous several owners had left all kinds of crap and we finally got around to taking care of it. Yes, we’ve lived here for a few weeks shy of two years, thanks for noticing.

Attached garage was time consuming but easy. It was also the third time I’d cleaned that sucker since we moved in. It will also be the LAST time I clean that sucker before it becomes offices for the the two of us. With doors. And locks. And mine will have a wee little fireplace…damn, off topic again. The car garage was gagtastic. There was wood and there was leftover sheetrock and there was old laminate flooring and there were leftover shingles and there was an old sink cabinet, aka mouse condo, that had to be moved to the “gonna drag it all to the curb Thursday night” pile (it’s a bigass pile in the office garage). The dirt and droppings and leaves and maple leaf helicopters (scourge of the modern earth I swear) and blacktop gravel and WhatTheHellIsThatNoDon’tTellMe, mixed with sweat and fertilized with heat and humidity…

Almost as bad as band camp gross.

The upside, for there is one, is that after band camp and the resultant ice cold shower I didn’t have a gin and tonic. And tonight we have gin and tonics. And very clean and organized garages.

Much better than band camp gross.

Whaddya think?

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