Summer of ’91: I turned 11, started my period, saw my first concert (The Nelson Twins) and my mom let me shave my legs. Big things happened. It was the early '90s. I was in Newport Beach, Calif. I had a Walkman and a pair of rollerblades. The world was my oyster and Nelson my DJ. Life was good, or so I thought, until everyone left for summer camp, except me.

The Christians headed to Yosemite Sierra Summer Camp while the Jews left for Camp Ramah; and I was left behind, at home, with a summer full of sailing classes to look forward to. Thanks mom — just me, sitting in a sabot, wearing a dorky lifejacket for the rest of the summer. Beth Godber came back from camp with stories of climbing Half Dome. Jamie Markowitz returned with tales of Israeli dancing. All I had to show for my summer was a pair of Aqua Socks.

Clearly this is a sore spot in my childhood. Every day I continue to work through my life jacket resentment issues, deal with my tendency to harbor anger toward arts and crafts and vow to send my own children to astronaut camp. But yesterday, I believe I had what they call a breakthrough. As I stood in line at the lunch truck on set, surrounded by outdoorsy-looking men with headsets and 100 extras in nightclub gear, the sky parted, angels’ voices sang and it hit me — I’m at TV Camp.

Finally, after all these years — eat your heart out Gina Wallace! (She went to Camp Rawhide, and every summer when she got home I’d have to hear about her bruises from riding horses.) Well, I’m at camp now… and I may not ride horses, and I may not have bug bites, but it’s summer and I’m in Canada and I’m going to have everyone sign my t-shirt before I leave here.

But my camp needs a name. White Pine TV Camp? No. Lesbo Mountain Camp? No. I need something cooler sounding, more camp-like. Camp Lwordowatta? Yes! Done. That’s it. I’m at Camp Lwordowatta and Ilene Chaiken is my camp counselor. Rose Troche is my lifeguard. Angela Robinson is my backpacking guide. Elizabeth Ziff is my singalong leader. That guy with the beard, wearing the headset, he’s my canoe instructor. And the cast, they’re the cool campers that come every year and this is their last summer here.

The rest of my day was a series of epiphanies. The art department became my haven for arts and crafts. I dubbed Max’s studio my bunk. The props department became the shed with all of my camper paraphernalia: bikes, kayaks, ropes, etc. If I need a bathing suit, I’ll hit up the wardrobe department, and when an afternoon face painting session is in order, I’ll knock on the makeup department’s door.

It was nostalgia meets redemption all at the same time. I wanted to make macaroni art and wear a friendship bracelet. I wanted to tread water for 15 minutes in Bette and Tina’s pool to pass the swim test. I wanted to be the new camper that has a cool name like Buckaroo. I wanted to write my mom a letter asking for hair scrunchies, a flashlight and lanyard string.

Today at Camp Lwordowatta I’m wearing a flannel shirt. I have bug spray in my purse. I’m carrying a metal L word water bottle with a carabiner. The caribiner water bottle really makes me feel like I’m at camp. It says, "I may hit up the ropes course later, or I may just be thirsty," without trying too hard. That’s my mode of operation while I’m here. Be a cool camper, don’t try too hard and remember the camp motto: “Anything you wanna, at Camp Lwordowatta.”

No really, in an effort to be environmentally friendly, everyone on the production staff was issued this limited edition water bottle. Going green is the new pink.