This weekend we went camping.  Not roughing-it-in-the-woods-with-a-tent-and-no-toilets camping, but sleeping-in-a-trailer-with-hot-water-and-a-bathroom-and-air-conditioning-and-a-full-size-refrigerator camping.

The good kind of camping.

Especially when it’s over 100-degrees outside.

But that’s not the awesome part.

The awesome part is who went camping with.  Remember Catherine, from Simply Solo?  I wrote a guest post for her a while back.  Well, we figured it was time to bring our blogging friendship to the next level — the real world.  And since her family has a camp site about half way between where we both live, she was gracious enough to invite us out for the weekend.

And I’m pretty sure I had a blast, from what I can vaguely remember.

There was a lot of food, a lot of alcohol, and many, many good times.

I mean, how can you not have a good time in a place like this?

I probably had a little too good of a time, because we spent the first couple of hours playing beer pong on a floating raft in the water, and suffice to say I don’t really have any pictures after that point.

FAIL.

After reading each others’ blogs for so long, Catherine and I already felt like we knew each other.  I was a bit surprised, though, when she confessed I seem younger in person than I do on my blog.

At first I wasn’t sure what she meant, but after some explaining, I think I get it.

My blog is all over the place.  I know this.  You, as a reader, never know what to expect from me.  Will I be lamenting about my quarter-life crisis, talking about depression and failed relationships with counselors and my quest for my dream job?  Or will I get all Martha Stewart on yo’ ass and come at you with hippie recipes for chipotle sun-dried tomato hummus and spinach feta turkey burgers?  Will I organize a closet?  Will I try to figure out my design style?  Will I bitch about work?

No one knows.  Not even me.

But it made me realize that, over the past few months especially, I’ve started trying to portray a level of perfection that simply doesn’t exist. At least not for me.

Even though I tell you stories of how I ruined a quiche or how our carpets (circa 1994) are so heinously dirty that I tell people to leave their shoes on when they come in my house.  I could even tell you about how I stabbed myself with a corn skewer at dinner with Catherine, the infamous Chef, and her parents this weekend, but some of you still, for some reason, will think I have my sh*t together.

The problem is all those DIY home improvement Martha-esque blogs out there that make people — myself included — want to attain that practically unattainable level of perfection.  We all try so hard to pull our own weight.  To keep up with the Joneses.  To be better wives.  Husbands.  Cooks.  Housekeepers.  Professionals.  Our focus becomes one of competition — how to be better at something than someone else (or at least just as good), and it doesn’t even matter if that something is a thing we even give one ounce of a damn about.

And that, my friends, is how you waste a life.

So I think that what I’m trying to do right now is remind you — and remind myself — that I am one hot mess of a human.  I screw things up.  My windows are never clean and my finger nails are probably dirty.  I like cooking, but I detest figuring out what to cook.  I’m too cheap to buy new underwear or get my hair cut when I need it.  Sometimes my refrigerator smells and I don’t know why.  I had braces for 2 1/2 years.  Dusting bites the big one, I kill all of my plants, and perfume makes me sneeze.  I Google everything because there is a lot I don’t know and I want to get it right the first time.  Yet that desk I painted still has streaks.  I’m chill in public but get stressed at home, and I feel bad that Justin always has to see the worst of me, and I’m terrified of wasting this precious, precious life by spending it in a competitive, restless trance.

I have a lot to figure out.

But I’m working on it.

And, in the meantime, I might need to share the occasional hummus recipe that turned out awesome to remind myself that I’m not a total failure.  That sometimes I get things right.

And I highly — highly — suggest you do the same.

We’re all in this together, you know?