– There is a 5-song max!!! Normally someone will pick up the guitar and timidly pluck at the strings and say something like, “Oh I haven’t played in forever,” or “I only know a couple songs.” This is what you want to hear because these people will play their “House of the Rising Sun,” “Ring of Fire” and “Wish you Were Here” and be done with it. Everyone sings along and laughs and times are good. If someone starts tuning the guitar by ear or drops that they are in a band, run for the fucking hills. You are about to sit through a brutal session, which usually entails long periods of required silence and obligatory compliments such as, “wow that was really powerful.” I don’t care how many chords you know or how sultry your voice may be, I didn’t ask for a private concert so please play your 5 songs and shut that shit.

Side note: Beware of those who bring hand drums. While a skilled percussionist can add depth to a jam session, a drunk or “in the zone” hand slapper can quickly become a nuisance.

We’re all adults now, which means find your stick, widdle what you will, apply the mallow and exercise a bit of patience. I’ll have none of this juvenile putting the entire mallow in the hot, hot flame and burning the crap out of it. Everyone knows you are not enjoying your burnt ass smore. Get your grown smore on.

– I recently went camping with some friends. Before we left I asked if any of them had a tent I could share. Apparently this is the most inappropriate question to ask before a camping trip. “Umm that’s weird. Why don’t you have a tent?” Oh is that weird? Sorry, but in the midst of trying to get a fulfilling job, find love, make friends, travel, build my skill set, and rage, buying a fucking tent slipped my mind! My apologies!

Side note: Stop bringing all of your bedding from home and putting into your tent like its your bed away from bed. Everyone knows sleeping in a tent is uncomfortable no matter how many amenities one brings. They are smelly, hot sickly chambers usually on uneven ground. Your duvet won’t help matters.

(I think I’m actually included in this group) Kindly roll yourself off a ravine.

Stay the eff in your own campsite. This ain’t the club. I don’t care if you need firewood, firs aid or just a friend. I’m here with my friends trying to create my own memories. I don’t need you coming over in your Tour De France outfit telling me about how long it takes to bike down the California coast. You’re smelly and making people uncomfortable.

Side note: If you are an attractive group of female campers you may approach. BUT WITH CAUTION.

Double Side note: This never happens.

– Oh! Didn’t know we invited Julia and Julia, Alice Waters and Wolfgang Puck on this trip. If you are going to spend half your rent check on organic foods for one weekend then so be it, but don’t have the audacity to critique my bud lights, block of cheese and ballpark franks. You can eat your quinoa and leek beet salad sandwich, but do so sans smirk and in silence.

– Nobody cares that you took a wilderness survival-training course or went backpacking for a week in Yosemite. Everyone has a Bic and can find some paper and kindling. “Hmm I noticed you didn’t create a teepee structure, which is really the most efficient…” Shut that shit. I have a lighter. We’ll all be just fine.

GET THAT HEADLAMP OUT MY FACE!