Why Not Just Rip My Heart Out and Blend it Into a Nice Pureé?

by Camille Posted on June 13, 2008

Sometimes the proverbial rug gets pulled right out from under my feet. When it happens, I am never less affected than the time before.

Do you know what I mean? When the delicate balance of my life’s routine is upset, I feel so dejected. Like nothing will ever be the same.

It’s happened to me before. First with the hospital of my childhood, and again with the only Mexican food joint whose salsa I actually considered selling my soul for.

And now again. Tastespotting.com. Go ahead, click the link, and see what happens. Actually, never mind the link. I’ll just paste a picture of it here:

*Photo courtesy of the now nonexistent Tastespotting.com.*

When what I should have seen was something like this:

*Photo from these traitors.*

Life can really turn on a dime, you know? Just yesterday I was checking up on Tastespotting.com, since I’d been out of town and had gotten behind on my recipes. Then today I opened the page again, and was kind of startled to realise it hadn’t been updated since the day before. Figuring the Tastespotting.com crew were experiencing technical difficulties, I carried on along my merry way. And just now, at 10:40 p.m., I opened the website again, only to be met with a little handwritten note from some person named Jean with lovely penmanship who is now my least favourite individual on the planet.

Come on, Jean with nice penmanship! Couldn’t you have given me some warning? Some sort of explanation, even? Let me prepare myself? I didn’t even bookmark all those recipes I discovered yesterday–I thought I had all the time in the world. I thought Tastespotting.com would always be with me–or at least that if it left, I would have the chance to say goodbye. But this? This lack of closure? This is not okay with me.

I have issues with closure, and Tastespotting.com’s hasty exit from my life is almost cause for me to find a good therapist. What if all the websites I read just…up and leave me some day? Decide they have some legal problems they can’t work out…tell me they still love me, just not their web servers; that it’s nothing I did or didn’t do…these things just happen sometimes. Why even bother becoming attached? How can I ever open my heart to love again?

I’m going to get an ulcer worrying about whether I could have done something to prevent this. Maybe I could have posted my own recipes to Tastespotting.com. Maybe I could have written fan mail to Jean with the good penmanship…let her know how much I care. Maybe I could have given Tastespotting.com more publicity–more hits.

If Jean from Tastespotting.com thinks she has legal complications now, just wait until she gets a bill from my new therapist and acupuncture-for-ulcers doctor.

Posted in I hate change, sad things | 12 Comments

{I’ve Never Been to Boston In the Fall}

by Camille Posted on June 12, 2008

I’ve never been to Boston in the Fall, and I think I’d like to take a birthday trip there this year.

I mean, why not? I have no job; I have no classes to attend. I have no children to fuss over. I’m turning 22 years old, I have already set a goal to see all fifty states, and I’ve been given a free airline ticket to anywhere within the continental United States. If I fly into Boston and drive through all of New England, I could cross six states off my list for the price of one! What a deal.

The original intent of my airline ticket gift was to come visit my family in Arizona, but I’ll be down in October for a wedding and again in December for Christmas, making a total of five trips down in one year. Plus I’ll see all my family in July (Utah family reunion) and my big sister is bringing That Baby up for a visit in August.

So why shouldn’t I swing over to Boston in September?

My only problem is that nobody will go with me. [Actually, I don’t view this as a problem so much as a minor setback. I mean, I toured Paris for a week all by myself and could not have had a better time.] I’m not afraid of traveling alone–it’s just that…well…I won’t be able to rent a car once I get there. Because I’m too young.

Also, I would love to meet up with some blogging friends while there, but it seems that my already-sparse readership is especially scant east of Albany, New York [and by “scant” I mean nonexistent].



Short of begging the vast internet world for a travel buddy over the age of 25 (and who wants to tour New England with a stranger? I’d rather be alone [no offense, Internet]), there’s really nothing I can do about it. Poor Kyle won’t come with me because he doesn’t care to, and nobody else I know has the means (either financially, physically, time-wise or child-wise) to come along.

On top of all this, I really don’t know how to squeeze all of New England into five or six days by car. In fact, I don’t even know if it can be done. Aside from landing in Boston, I haven’t a clue as to where I should start.

But now I’ve confessed I’m going, there’s no way I can back out of it. So there it is. I’m going to Boston in the Fall.

And I can’t stop singing Veggie Tales because of it:

Posted in Travel, what I'm about | 15 Comments

I Should Have Gotten a Degree in Marriage.

by Camille Posted on June 11, 2008

At BYU, students can earn a degree in Marriage, Family and Human Development.

To me this seems like an incredible cop-out.

“What did you go to college for?”

“Oh, I got my degree in Marriage.”

“Really? So what was your final exam–snagging a husband/wife?”

“Actually Miss Snooty Pants, I consider marriage to be my life’s eternal final exam.”

“…Oh. Sorry.”

I mean, what could a college possibly teach that would prepare young newlyweds for marriage?

Nothing. They could tell their students that marriage will be a big transition, but those pre-marriage scholars would still enter into their nuptials with a starry-eyed outlook and marshmallows in their brains. The marriage professors could assign projects involving bags of flour dressed as babies, but really–there’s no comparison between a bag of Robin Hood Fast Rise™ and a slobbery baby. None.

Furthermore, I firmly believe that some of life’s best lessons are learned outside of the classroom. Like how I took communication classes and still suck at communicating; I took computer classes and still hate technology. Heck , I even took Introduction to Sexuality and Human Psychology and…well…never you mind about the Sexuality class. [When I signed up for it, I was under the impression it was more of a study in women’s rights and development across the globe. I was totally misled. I promise.]

At any rate, even though I believe in the value of a degree as far as getting an honest-to-goodness job goes, I have a hard time with any school handing out a degree in marriage. I mean, if a person’s sole purpose in attending college is to learn how to be a proper stay-at-home-spouse (I’m being gender-equal, notice), then why go to college at all?

On their website, BYU notes that graduates of the marriage program often go on to pursue volunteer work. Most likely when their little darling children are at neighborhood preschool. But really, if someone wanted to pursue a career in volunteerism, shouldn’t he or she seek a degree in Nonprofit Organizations or something?

But what do I know? I myself am on the 10-year plan for my degree in Art History and Museum Studies. (A degree which I thoroughly enjoy pursuing, but let’s face it: there’s not much future for my career in museums, now that I live in a town that’s smaller than my high school student population.)

I’m so smug, when actually I know nothing. Who knows? Maybe if I’d gotten my degree in Marriage, Family and Human Development, I would know how to cook chicken enchiladas that my husband would actually eat. I would not have sewn crooked valances and hung them up in my living room anyway. I would not plant a garden in my backyard, just to leave for a month in Arizona the next week. If I’d gotten a degree in Marriage, then I would have known that leaving Poor Kyle for a whole month was a bad idea, and he wouldn’t have felt it necessary to fly down from Canada for a surprise visit during my stay here.

Which I am thrilled about, by the way. And which I could have totally anticipated if I’d graduated from BYU with a degree in Marriage.

Posted in Married Life, oh brother what next | 16 Comments

I Guarantee This WILL Change Your Life…

by Camille Posted on June 10, 2008
I was so incredulous. Poor Kyle told me it would be amazing, but I did not believe. He’s been talking about this crap for the past few days–he ate some chewy sour candy and it reminded him of his childhood, which in turn reminded him of Magic Mud, which is evidently the I-Ching of all childhood recipes for entertainment. And which we needed to make in my sister’s pristine kitchen–pronto.

So tonight, as I despaired over my blogger’s block, Poor Kyle said, “Now would be a good time to make Magic Mud. You’ll love it, and you can blog about that.”

“Oh, would you quit with the Magic Mud already,” I whined, “it couldn’t possibly be as good as you remember.”

Well, as luck would have it, I was wrong [shocked, are you?], and now I’ve got to eat mud (Magic Mud, even) in front of the whole e-world:

And so you see: Magic Mud will change your life. Make it–you won’t regret it.

Magic Mud
-2 parts corn starch (the dollar store type will suffice)
-1 part water

Mix corn starch and water in bowl. Enjoy.

But a word of caution: I’ve kind of become obsessed with this stuff. I’m thinking kiddie pool in the backyard, garden hose, and 20 boxes of cornstarch. Stay tuned for that exciting update!
Posted in do what I say | 10 Comments

{I Lost 10 Pounds in Five Hours}

by Camille Posted on June 6, 2008

The spring in my proverbial step has gone in for servicing, and has come out looking 10 years younger.

And I’m not kidding, either:

Before–Hello, halfway houses of America; meet your newest druggie!


After–Even in dim lighting and using a webcam, the difference is shocking:


And yes, both these photos were taken today.


I probably should have gotten my hair done in March, but my stylist had mono, and nobody in Canada could possibly know my hair as well as she. So I waited three more months. She’s just that good. And it was totally worth it; these photos don’t even do my hair justice–wait until I take some decent ones tomorrow!

It may seem arrogant or vain for me to flaunt such accolades of my own hair, but trust me when I confess that my beautiful hair has nothing to do with me. The best hair days of my life have been because of Lindsey. Here are some photos of my hair under the influence of her magic hands throughout the years:

Work in progress…

Even Poor Kyle’s hair cooperates when Lindsey has her way with it.

Here we all are–Lindsey having spruced us all up nicely. I think she ended up being the hairstylist for the entire wedding party.

She usually agrees to do my hair before a big trip when I know I’ll take lots of photos.

She fixed me up for my engagement photos…

My bridal shower…

And my wedding.

She has a real gift.

In contrast, here are photos of my hair when I’m in Canada and left to my own pitiful devices:




…There are no words to express the debt I owe this woman.

Posted in Overall Good Things, photos, what I'm about | 17 Comments

***I’VE JUST WON £1,000,000!!!!!!***

by Camille Posted on June 5, 2008

If I had a million British pounds (£) for every time I get emails telling me I won a million British pounds (£), I would be eating crumpets in one of the 20 sitting rooms of my very own castle near the Cotswalds right this minute, instead of updating this blog.


I would take morning walks along streets like this:

*Photo from here.*


And I would star in movies like this:

I would take holidays–not vacations–and store my trunks (luggage) in the boot (trunk) of my auto (car).

If I had £1,000,000 for every time those sneaky Brits tell me I’ve won £1,000,000, I would hire someone technologically-inclined to spruce up my blog–maybe even help me become self-hosted. I would give away $500.00 gift cards like Pioneer Woman does, and I would put all my leftovers in glass–not plastic–containers.

With my daily average income at two or three million pounds (£), I would have extra money for stuff like that. I might even take up horseback riding (the fancy kind, with helmets instead of Stetsons™, and jodhpurs instead of Wranglers™ [Anyone know how to pronounce “jodhpurs?”]).

I would hire someone else to get kamikaze insects stuck in their ears. I would pay to have my hair professionally styled every day. I would holiday in Fiji and drink from their artesian wells:

*Photo from here.*

And I would hire someone to create a Mini Cooper Hybrid that would be less taxing on the environment, and then I would buy that new-and-improved Mini Cooper, along with my own peace of mind that I’m reducing my carbon footprint.

Then, I would begin a campaign to increase Nutella’s™ popularity in these United States. Because I think the creator of Nutella™ should be given all the breaks that life can afford.


And with his improved wealth, I would encourage him to formulate sugar-free Nutella™ (which would also be beneficial to my peace of mind).

And then I would petition Her Majesty the Queen to abdicate her throne, since who gave her the right to all those British pounds (£) anyway, and she doesn’t even have much of a say, so what gives?

*Photo from here.*

And when she would invariably tell me to get lost, I would petition for one more thing before being thrown out of Her Royal Highness’ presence: that she put an end to scammers generating false hope by sending out fraudulent emails to poverty-stricken bloggers. Because telling a poor person that they’ve just won £1,000,000 only to let them down day after day…

..that’s cruel.

Posted in thisandthat, what I'm about | 9 Comments

{Kamikaze Insects}

by Camille Posted on June 4, 2008

Girls’ Camp was delightful–a lot of hard work, but delightful.

My duties (jointly shared with “L” of “CL,” who just so happens to be a dear friend of mine) were mainly to entertain the girls. Every night on stage, we dressed up as Kim and Aggie from “How Clean is Your House,” and regaled the audience with tales of atrocious bedding, stolen cabin windows (ours was missing when we arrived at camp, which proved to be great ammunition later on), and kamikaze insects.

I’m sure you would appreciate hearing the account of everything that happened at camp, but probably most things wouldn’t be as funny, since you don’t know who I’m talking about when I write, for example, “Vonda is so sneaky–she stole our window right from its frame!”

But there is one story universal enough to share on my blog:

The Time a Kamikaze Fly Became a Squatter in My Ear Canal
a.k.a.
“The Scariest Thing of My Life”

I was on my top bunk in our window-less cabin, trying to enjoy what bit of free time I had. A fly was buzzing around my head, annoying me to the point of anger. I wanted to finish reading my book, and That Fly wanted to frolic around my face, making reading impossible for me.

“Cut it out, you stupid fly,” I muttered. But the fly only inched closer to my head. I swatted and swatted, to no avail: the insect seemed determined that its goal was my head.

Just as I was going to abandon my book and head for the hills (or at least to the mess hall for lunch), I heard a final “buzz,” felt a tickling on my right ear, and then I died.

Or at least, I wished I’d died. Because That Kamikaze Fly was in my ear, buzzing and tapping on my eardrum for all he was worth.

According to medicinenet.com, “insects can…fly or crawl into the [ear] canal. Usually this happens while sleeping on the floor or camping. This is often a frightening and dramatic event as the insect’s buzzing and movement is very loud and sometimes painful.”

*Picture from here.*

Okay. To describe the experience of having the Kamikaze Fly in my ear canal as “frightening and dramatic” does not even come close. It was paralysing. And then, after I stopped being paralysed, it was vomit-worthy. And then it became immensely stressful. The witnesses to the occasion said I was quite amusing, smacking my head with all my might like that. And when smacking the right side of my head did not work, I tipped it sideways and smacked the other ear.

But still That Fly would not leave. He loved being in my ear where it was nice and warm, (if not a bit violent). He loved it so much that he did a little jig on my ear drum, and it sounded something like this:

“Tap-a tap-a tap tap tap tap TAP TAP TAP TAP TICKA-TAP TICKA-TAP TICKA TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP THUNK TICKA TAP THUNK TICKA TAPITTY TAPITTY TAP!!!!!!!!“

That bastard.

(I’m sorry for the foul language, Poor Kyle, but I tried lots of other words to describe That Fly, and none fit quite as well. Please forgive me. And think how I feel. I had a fly in my ear.)

Finally I gathered my wits enough to scream “B!!!” (another name for “L” of “CL”), which, directly translated means, “I hate to bother you, but this insolent kamikaze fly will not exit my ear canal, which causes me great strife and his little jig is not helping, and for the love of Pete get over here I need you!!”

She came to me, good friend that she is, and made me stop flailing about like a crazy person (which I totally was by that point). She pulled my ear back, and watched as That Fly creepity-crawled sheepishly out of my ear (and the mental image of a fly creeping out of my ear still makes me want to kill myself a little bit).

She said that as the little bugger surfaced the light of day, he paused, looked at her with all his eyes and said, “Whoa. I’m sorry, lady, but your friend is nuts.” And then he took off for greener pastures. Or less angry humans.

Afterwards, I discovered I’d hit my ear so hard and violently that it was bleeding inside. Blood, of course, makes me pass out. My whole face was swollen the rest of the day, but the camp infirmary supplied me with a capful of rubbing alcohol to ease my worries.

It is an experience I hope none of you ever have to suffer.

Posted in fiascos, oh brother what next, thisandthat | 11 Comments