I turned 24 surrounded by drag queens at Halloqueen, and I turned 25 somewhere in Delaware on a seven hour bus ride from DC back to New York. Progress! I will probably turn 26 under a bridge.
But the upside is that camping was a blast - with enough fire and carbohydrates, you can withstand a surprising amount of cold. The campsite was like if Burning Man mated with a bear, and that bear was a member of a frat. We got out to the campsite and they were dishing up scraps of the 300 pound pig they had ordered, and they were like, "here, have the remains of this barrel of coleslaw and this massive pan of beans" and instead I had cake and s'mores for dinner. (The cake had bacon in it, which I studiously and successfully avoided.) We played some harmonica, I bumped into a guy I went to college with, we hung out around the fire and made s'mores, there was a bluegrass band, and there are photos of us riding a rocking horse at some point? The cake was half buttercream, and I woke up in the middle of the night and was torn between getting out of my sleeping bag and being exceedingly cold and staying put and possibly being $3 wine and s'more sick in a tent full of people. I decided on the sleeping bag and just focused really, really hard on contracting my stomach muscles selectively and eventually fell back asleep, and then in the morning we packed up the tent and had avocados and chevre and flax bread, because a) it turns out that we can put together a tent, which surprised me, and b) it turns out that it was the yuppie tent, which did not. (I had a tiny packet of Via and a couple of emergency packets of Sweet n' Low in my jacket that I did not have to use. I am a well-educated MacGyver.)