Camp Rock

 It's natural to start again.

Ahhhh.


It's good to be back.
I have no excuse for my long absence, other than the unplanned series of events in my life that have occupied my thoughts, rendering me unable to write anything but poetry. Bad poetry.

But fear not, I am back. Back in black, as they say.

I am back and I am employed. Surprised? You should be. After last summer's infamous "My dad threw me out of the house and refused to let me back in until I found a job" day, which ended with "Dad please let me back in the house on account of no one is hiring because we are in an economic recession and I think I'm going to have a heat stroke out here under the hot Carolina sun" hour; I decided to start earlier this year. You know, to avoid homelessness and having to pay for college on my own. Also to limit the risk of a heat stroke.

I work at a Summer Safari Program, which is a day camp for kids ages 5 to 11 at Crooked Creek Park.  It is also nothing at all like Camp Rock.

  Working at a camp I suppose makes me a camp counselor, which allows me to do two things;

1) Carry a walkie talkie around
2) Feel really old

I remember every camp counselor I ever had. There was Hope, with the long curly hair with a fellow camp-counselor-boyfriend with an even longer and curlier beard.
There was Reba, the crazy redhead who didn't shave her legs. There was Jessica, Weston, Julianne, and Spencer (who would constantly play/sing "Idiot Boyfriend" by Jimmy Fallon in the church vans). I say all this to say, its quite strange actually being one and not looking up to one.

Getting out of bed in the morning is incredibly difficult. Morning shift is like waking up for school, except no late Wednesdays. I punch in and I punch out. I wear a name tag. It's very "working girl" and sophisticated. I don't expect my younger readers to understand.

There are two parts of work I like.

The first part is called "The Kids."

Even though the days are long and hot and sticky and sometimes difficult, I can hardly help but smile when I see my kids. I work with 6 and 7 year old boys most of the time. Yesterday, to kill some down-time, I suggested we play telephone. I started the game with "I like my scrambled eggs with peanut butter" and at the end of the game it ended up being "Miss Natalie is hot." Never play telephone with 6 year old boys.

The second part I like is called "Pay check."

This one is pretty self explanatory.

Nazarene Squirrel

It's natural to think about the future.

Decisions. That has been the word on every senior’s lips these last couple of months, whether they like the taste or not. We are no longer promised another year safely tucked away in the halls of High School, identification badges around our neck and a hall pass in hand.

This, personally, is fine by me.

Recently, I visited Trevecca Nazarene University in Nashville, Tennessee. Being raised Presbyterian, I was unsure to the inner workings of this “cult” called the Nazarenes. Given that we both worship the same God (I think), I decided to give the school a try. I asked God whether or not Trevecca was somewhere I belonged. I figured getting accepted was a good sign.

We arrived at the church early that Saturday morning, and my weariness mixed with the annoying fact that I knew no one beyond my friend Jenna, put me in a mood as we loaded the church vans. I felt very much like Mr. Darcy. Our van contained a variety of characters, and I soon found that I couldn’t keep pretending to sleep. Two guys from Charleston, who referred to themselves as “big daddy” and “big nasty” provided the entertainment during the 8 hour drive. While I contemplated the largeness of these boy’s egos, and unwillingly, the origin behind their nick names, "big daddy" proceeded to inform me that he had a grand total of 10 Brittany’s in his contact list. He then prank called every one of them, pretending to be Radio. As in the movie, Radio.
Inappropriate? Maybe. Entertaining? I’d say so.

This is a public apology for all the Brittany’s of the world.

It was strange being the only non-Nazarene on the trip. I felt like they were all in a club that I just wasn’t apart of, like there was some sort of unspoken bond between all of them.

When we finally arrived in Nashville, we went straight to Trevecca to eat dinner and attend the basketball game. I was excited to finally get out of the van due to the deadly combination of teenage boys and Wendy’s chili. What is it with church vans having no ventilation at all?

As soon as I stepped foot on campus, there was this guy just sitting on a bench playing violin. There was something very beautiful about it. I immediately loved it. The campus was peaceful at night. You could see all of Nashville lit up with lights and the dreams of hopeful musicians. The next day we drove around downtown Nashville looking for Tim and Faith in hopes that they might adopt us.

We stopped at the Parthenon (which is just a replica of the real one in Greece) overlooking this huge park. People were playing music and Frisbee and reading.

It was very much my scene.

To begin our tour, the President told us about his first day at Trevecca. They had planned on placing a huge Jesus statue in the middle of the school, but only the pedestal was done when the president arrived.

Jesus was apparently getting some work done.

That night, some students got together and created a six foot tall paper mache squirrel, and placed it on the pedestal. The squirrel wore a sign around his head that read, “Jesus is coming!”
My next thought was:

Where can I sign up?

More thoughts on college to come.