My Weekend at Fat Camp

Well, it isn’t actually fat camp…it’s a “resort” in the middle of nowhere. Literally. The town is called Middleburg. It’s almost as if the person who named this place at the “what should we call this place” meeting just stood up and was like “FUCK IT. I’M CALLING IT MIDDLE…MIDDLE…TOWN…MIDDLE…BURG. MIDDLEBURG. THERE YOU GO. I’M GOING TO CHILIS.”

And before you call me a pretentious asshole for not enjoying my stay at a resort, just remember that YOU ARE ON MY SIDE HERE.

So let me go back a little bit and explain how I got here. My Aunt is getting remarried—she lives in Virginia (about 30 minutes away from Washington D.C.) and she decided to have her wedding out in horse country. Being the adventurous little scholar that I am, I came early and spent three days smack in the middle of the great city of D.C. I was close even enough to the white house that I was able to catch a glimpse of Obama hiding in his bathroom with a bottle of vodka watching Arrested Development on his iPad.

Just kidding! (I was pretty close, though.)

Anyways, every morning I got up and went to all the museums, American History, Natural History, International Spy, Holocaust, all the monuments, it was all good fun. 

Now, I wasn’t originally going to stay at this at this “resort” but it was an hour and half drive from D.C. so my parents convinced me to stay in their room at the resort for a few nights rather than drive back and forth for the rehearsal dinner and the wedding. It’s a resort, they said. It would be fun, they said.

So I drove out to this place, and as I pulled up to the front I felt immediately uncomfortable. The bellhops were all dressed in horseback riding outfits (the theme of this place is all about horses) and as you walk in you realize the guests are all dressed in dapper suits and dresses. What the fuck? I said under my breath as I walked in and a lady dressed in riding gear pointed me towards the horse themed library which contained only books about horses and pictures of horses and little statues of horses.

So everyone knew that one girl in high school that was the “horse girl”, obsessed with them. All they do is talk about horses, what their horses eat and the tricks they can do. Horse people are pretty close to the top of my list of people that are the FUCKING WORST. They just have this annoying air about them, like “LOOK AT ME RIDING THIS THING!!1!! IT CAN DO TRICKS AND EAT CARROTS IF I DIG MY HEALS INTO ITS RIBS HARD ENOUGH!!1!! DO YOU SEE IT?? SEE HOW MUCH MONEY I HAVE?? LOOK I CAN EVEN MOVE ITS HEAD WITH THIS ROPE I HAVE WRAPPED AROUND ITS FACE AND INSIDE ITS THROAT!!1!!” 

I passed a store in town called “wealth management services”. Do you have a shitload of money and a hard time physically handling it?? WE CAN HELP YOU WITH THAT FOR A SMALL PERCENTAGE it said on a sign outside the door. (Well, it didn’t really say that but it implied that). So this resort is basically a room full of rich horse people that are taking “vacation” from their horses and money to sit in a room full of other rich people to talk about their horses and money.

This is not my crowd, I explained to my cousin, who asked me why I was hiding in the bathroom with a bottle of vodka watching Arrested Development on my iPad. She pulled me out of the room and took me for a walk around the commune. This looks like fat camp in disguise...WAS THIS YOUR PLAN ALL ALONG?? I SWEAR I'LL TAKE IT EASY ON THE BREAKFAST TACOS JUST LET ME GO HOME! 

No! She said, there are no fat people here, silly girl! Only leather-skinned divorcees and good ol' fashioned weirds!  

Are you one hundred percent positive that this isn’t rehab for rich people, then? I asked, genuinely meaning it.

Let’s play a game. Four of the pictures below are pictures of rich people rehab centers. One is the resort I stayed at. Can you guess which one it is?  

Could you figure it out? It's the last one.

DOESN’T THIS LOOK LIKE A REHAB CENTER FOR RICH PEOPLE?? Look at all that grass! What am I supposed to do all day? Sit in the grass?

Remember, I’m sharing a room with my parents. Apparently they can’t bring in a rollaway bed because of the “fire code”, so I was forced to create a bed out of extra pillows and two chairs.

I'm a god damn adult sleeping on a makeshift bed in a horse themed “resort” surrounded by grass and the worst type of people.

THIS PLACE IS MY OWN PERSONAL HELL. (Not going to lie brunch was delicious) BUT OTHER THAN THAT IT IS AWFUL