I’m back from camping with only 3 bugbites on my right arm (for some odd reason). I have pictures and will try to get them up tonight. We had a great time with the usual crowd and it was great to see the Point guys putting up that great big tent blimp hangar structure for wedding/parties/anything as well as upgrades to the pool. Now to make more showers…
I do have one story to relate: Last year, there was a guy so far gone drunk at the social tent gatherings he was dubbed “Stumbalina” due to his mode of stumbling transport through the crowd. The first party of the weekend in the new Blimp Hangar, Stumbalina was there, doing his thing through the crowd, mumbling drunk disjointed come-on lines.
Sharkboy and I leave to fall asleep in our tent in the quiet wooded section we love to rent (its away from the seasonal party people hence it’s 99% quiet). At about 3am, I’m nudged awake by Sharkboy with “There’s someone outside the tent!”
Outside, about 2 feet away from our tent door, eerily standing right in front of the nearly full moon creating a silloette with a misty halo, is Stumbalina. Swaying slightly.
Immediately the entire Blair Witch movie replays in my mind and I’m awake. I am freaked out. Sharkboy yells “Can you go away, please?”
“Muh lookn fr my tent,” I think he says.
“This ain’t it,” Sharkboy shoots back.
Stumbalina stumbles (duh) away loudly into the night. I’m still sitting bold upright. I’m certainly not going to be able to sleep.
Ten minutes later I can hear him kicking up underbrush near our car/cooler/food area, with no real direction in his movements. I am up out of the warm arms of Sharkboy and with a large, heavy flashlight in hand I am out of the tent and advancing on Stumbalina, who hasn’t drunkenly registered that someone is coming at him. I hit him with the powerful beam from the flashlight.
His reaction to the light was exactly like that scene from the 50’s War of the Worlds when Dr. Clayton Forrester shines his flashlight on the Martian: eEEEeeeeeEEE!!! His hands come up over his face, which is contorted like I sprayed him with ice cold water. “Buddy… where is your tent?” I ask calmly (Sharkboy says I was calm. I wanted to sink the flashlight into his face – years of being a bouncer at the Black Eagle kicks in when dealing with drunks).
“mulglgalgg …Eight!” Meaning he was in lot #8.
“Over there,” I point with the flashlight. He slowly turns and follows the beam.
Stumbalina stumbles into the night.
About 5 minutes later we hear a zipper and a thump.
The next day we see Stumbalina drinking gallons of water. He won’t make eye contact with us.