First Ever “Give This Commissioned Painting a Cute Saying” Contest

by Camille Posted on June 14, 2010

I am happy.

I am happy today.

I am happy today because who wouldn’t be happy after looking at this:

That, my friends, is a digital representation of a hand-painted masterpiece, acrylic on canvas, commissioned by me, painted by a dear friend I have known since high school. I say “commissioned” because it makes me feel like the fancy art connoisseur that I always aspired to be back when I was an art history major, but perhaps the better word choice is “begged on my hands and knees for.”

And I bet you’re happier for looking at it, too. Because, like I said: who wouldn’t be? I have never seen a cupcake that didn’t make me smile, and this here is a CUPCAKE THAT WILL NEVER DIE. Seriously? What more could I want out of life?

Actually, just one thing: a cute phrase.

See, here’s the story. My friend Lindsay is an exceptional artist (as you can see by her beautiful work above), and because I like to think I know good art when I see it, I asked her to paint something for me—a cupcake, specifically.

I’d had this vision in my head of a beautiful, luscious cupcake in pale pastel colours with a gleaming cherry on top. I wanted to hang it in my kitchen back when I was painting it last summer, and scoured the earth for this painting from my head, but never did find the one I wanted. I tried simply painting it myself, but HA! What nonsense that phase was.

So, resigned to my fate, I never did hang the cupcake. Because I never found the cupcake.

Then, six months later, I was visiting Lindsay at her house and saw in her studio a series of hand-painted masterpieces just sitting on her desk looking lonely. I flipped through them and saw that they were good.

Really good.

Lindsay, I said, I want one. Will you make me one? Please?

Sure, she replied, and that was the end of it.

Then, six months later, there I was again. Back in Lindsay’s studio flipping through her paintings, and I remembered: I NEVER GOT MY CUPCAKE!

When I brought it up again, she said she just assumed I was only asking to be nice and that I didn’t really want a Lindsay original, so she’d never bothered to create me one.

Well, if there’s one thing I hate, it’s when I come off as insincere when I mean quite the opposite. So this time I made myself very clear: I WANT A CUPCAKE AND I WANT IT NOW.

Except not so demanding.

And now I’ve had word that my cupcake is done, just how I’d always dreamed it would look, but it’s missing one thing: a cute saying.

Lindsay’s trademark is her handwriting, you see. For as long as I have known her, I have thought it should be a font all its own. If you can make out in the right side of the below photo, there is a painting of a girl with words painted around her head. It is along those same lines that I am hoping to have some words written on my cupcake painting, only the problem is this: I, for all my witty charm and brilliance, am coming up blank with anything wonderful to have written.

It’s a lot of pressure, you know. Whatever I choose will be on my cupcake painting forever. This could make or break the entire feel of my commissioned masterpiece. I CAN’T BE RESPONSIBLE FOR SUCH A DECISION. (Good thing I’m never having children, or they’d all be named numbers or days of the week or something.)

So I am opening it up to you, my readers. Can you help me? Can you help me think of what my cupcake’s caption should be? Can you help me think of what my cupcake’s caption should be that will be stunning and magnificent and everything I am not?

And can you do it within 24 hours? I am leaving Mesa Wednesday morning, and I want to take my cupcake with me before the appointed hour.

So here’s the deal. You think of the saying, as many as you like. Send it to me in comment form, and by the end of the day, the person who has suggested the best caption will win.

What will said person win? A grand prize package consisting of 1) The knowledge that his or her words will be hanging in my kitchen for all eternity, 2) The delight of succeeding where I have failed, and 3) A cupcake painting of your own, hand-crafted by my friend Lindsey in the colours of your choice [a $50 retail value, but really, who can put a price on such exquisite beauty?] Or, if cupcake paintings are not your style (psh, cupcakes are everybody’s style…they’re timeless like that), I will work out a deal for a $10 Amazon gift card to the winner.

But you’d be better off to choose the cupcake, because these paintings are going to be sought after classics someday.

I’m just sayin’.

Ready?

Set?

GIVE THIS CUPCAKE A CAPTION!

(Contest closes at 11:59 p.m. Monday night, Arizona time.)

p.s. I hear an Etsy shop is in the works for my friend Lindsay, but as of yet, it is not finalised. If you would like to commission a painting of your own, send me a line and I will direct you to the very woman herself.

Posted in friends, giveaways, Overall Good Things, Pretty Things | Tagged | 24 Comments

Saturday Steals: Yard Sale Tactics (A Review)

by Camille Posted on June 11, 2010

Inasmuch as last week’s Saturday Steals had a pathetic turnout (which is not to discredit the three participants who did show up—thanks, guys!), I have decided that you all might need a little help knowing exactly how to find steals and deals in the first place. I mean, if you are stealing and dealing challenged, how will you ever be able to join my good deal party?

Don’t worry, my friends. Camille will not abandon you in your time of distress. I will walk you through this process, and you will see that it is easy. You can steal. YOU CAN STEAL. Repeat after me: YOU…CAN…STEAL.

The following is a post I wrote last summer during my trip to Mesa while my sister and I were at the height of our steal-finding glory. Read it carefully. It will help you learn all you need to know for finding good steals at yard sales.

And make sure to stay tuned for a brand new tutorial next Saturday: How to Find Steals in Other Places than Your Neighbor’s Front Yard.

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How to Find Deals at Yard Sales/Garage Sales/Moving Sales/Rummage Sales

originally published May 25, 2009

My sister and I are on a quest to revamp my parents’ kitchen/dining room/great room.  We’re doing it (the decorating part, at least), on a $500 budget, so a lot of things—okay, pretty much every thing—we’ve sourced has come from a yard sale or thrift store or Craigslist.  We spent over 12 hours a day on both Friday and Saturday scavenging for good deals.  We’ve learned a lot of things about how to shop the yard sales, and since my blog would not be my blog if I withheld good things from you, I will share my tips here.  Today.  Now.

Do’s and Dont’s of  Scrounging Up Amazing Deals at Yard Sales

1.  DO prepare your money ahead of time. Take a canister of change for small knick-knack purchases, $1 bills for medium purchases (anything between $1-$15 qualifies as a mid-range purchase), and $20 bills for larger buys (like furniture and large appliances).

Coin BagThis bag of coins used to be full to the brim.  The fact that it’s nearing empty speaks volumes of our weekend—it means we got loads of good deals and plenty of DDPs from QT.

Take a variety of cash—it is much easier to haggle if you can hand the sellers exact change—haggling, say, a clock down from $10 to $5 looks a little ridiculous when you hand over a $20 bill. That said…

2.  DO haggle. I never accept the initial price at yard sales.  So many people are afraid to haggle because it’s such an awful word—it sounds very hag-ish.  But I tell you this: people who haggle are not hags.  They are brilliant.  Even if you only ask for a dollar less than the asking price, you can almost always get a better deal.  Why not get more for your money?  If you are the shy type who is afraid to negotiate, remember this: you are doing these people a favour by taking their old junk off their hands.  They are probably happy to get ANY money for it, since whatever’s leftover will likely go to Goodwill.  The worst they can do is say no, in which case you either decide how badly you want the item—if you want it so bad your teeth hurt, offer more.  If you could walk away and never give it another thought, do that.  (It also helps to ask in your sweetest, most non-argumentative voice.  Being too aggressive makes people feel defensive, as if you think there’s no way their stuff is POSSIBLY worth what they’re asking.  You never want to make sellers feel this way, or else you’re doomed.  Be sweet.) (Here’s a post I wrote not long ago about the finer points of haggling, if you’d like more information about this fine, fine art.)

3.  DO take a GPS. We had two days of solid yard-saleing joy, thanks to our Garmin Nuvi Some Big Number GPS. With a GPS, you can set in an address of a sale posted on Craigslist, and work your way there via any sale signs you see along the way.

Garmin NuviMeet Tips, the GPS who has saved our hides on more than one occasion.  We heart Tips.

With a GPS, you can remain on a general course without getting lost by all the confusing detours.  It is very time-effective.  Borrow a friend’s if you don’t have one, or maybe just invest in a cheap one if you’re a frequent finder (of deals, that is).

4.  Do go with a friend. Even if it means you’ll probably want to kill each other by the end of the day (or maybe that’s just me and my sister when we get hungry…), it really helps to have another set of eyes watching for signs.

Seven Dollar BasketsEven if your friend refuses to post for a decent picture, you’re still likely to have good times.

Also, between the two of us, my sister and I were able to mostly avoid hitting up the same sales twice (sounds sill, but it can get kind of confusing in Phoenix neighborhoods).  Two is better than one.  Just make sure the friend won’t steal your deals—it’s best to be working on a similar project together, so all the good finds contribute to the greater good.

5.  Do take provisions. No matter where you live, this means some sort of snack—you never know if a sale is going to offer treats as part of their wares, so it’s best to be prepared.  Also, the fact that you’re shopping yard sales likely indicates a margin of frugality in your life, and we all know it’s cheaper to eat from home rather than from Taco Bell™ (there’s a time and a place for Taco Bell™, though, and for me, it’s any time, anywhere; but I digress).  If you live in Arizona, “provisions” could also mean extra sunscreen and water bottles—two things you should never leave home without anyway.

So there you have it—five of the best things you can do for yourself to become a deal-finding fiend.

And now, the deal reveal you’ve all been waiting for…

Yard Sale DealsBlack pedestal with glass dome cover (not pictured): free.  Pile of baskets: $3.00.

Live Laugh Love SignLive Laugh Love Sign: $10.00 (to be painted over {“Live Laugh Love” is a fine sentiment, but I’m not a fan of the colour}).  Sturdy metal farm basket: $1.00.

Skinny Pedastal TableSkinny wooden pedestal table, reminiscent of my two favourite Goodwill™ finds back in Canada: $5.00.

Rabbit HutchRabbit Hutch: $60.00.  (Just kidding, we didn’t buy this Craigslist find, but we did go look at it.  And seriously considered it.  It does have a sort of charm of its own, don’t you think?)

And now, for the absolute biggest steal of the entire weekend…the steal of a deal my mind can’t stop thinking about…the one thing I’m desperate to take back to Canada with me instead of leaving behind for my dear mother…

Sofa ChairDecrepit old sofa chair with dog hair and chewed off knobs and tattered fabric and missing caning…$1.00.  ONE dollar.  The poor schmucks were giggling when we offered real money for it—they were planning to take it to Goodwill™ when nobody bought it from their yard sale.

One Dollar Yard Sale SofaI just love it when other people don’t see the potential that I do.  Even if it costs $100.00 to get this sofa/chair recovered, it would still be a smoking deal.

Yard Sale FindSuckers.

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So now you know all the tricks of my trade. Now it’s your turn! If you don’t have a steal ready yet this week, there’s still time to go sale-hopping on Saturday and write your post for Sunday (or next week).

If you do have your Steal posted, go ahead and link up right here, right now:

Posted in do what I say, looking back, Saturday Steals | Tagged , | 4 Comments

Dynamic(s)

by Camille Posted on June 10, 2010

This post is written in conjunction with the Spin Cycle over at Sprite’s Keeper, the topic of which this week is relatives. Click here to see more of the most related posts on the internet this week.

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I come from a dramatic bunch. You might think I’m degrading myself or my family by saying so, but if you’ve come to accept—nay, embrace—the drama like I have, you understand that our drama-by-nature need not necessarily bear such negative connotations.

It’s like the manager at the first job I ever had once told me: any old girl can be boring and easygoing; it takes a woman with skills to drum up a good drama.

And if a flair for the dramatic takes skill…well…let’s just say the women in my family would take gold in the Drum Up Your Own Drama event of the Emotional Olympics, should such an occasion ever present itself to us. (Oh wise Olympic council, hear my call for justice. My voice shall not be silenced until there is at last an event at the Olympics that I might actually have a chance at winning.)

(See? Drama. Like I said.)

My aunt is getting her big toe amputated today. It’s sad, it’s awful, and we all feel really bad for her. Becoming an amputee is no small potatoes, to be sure.

But by the time the story trickled down the family grape vine, you would have thought she was losing her entire leg.

See, if losing one toe sounds awful, losing two sounds even worse. And nobody in my family can resist a good embellishment, myself included.

One time I embellished so much that my lips grew to twelve times their normal size from all the exercise.

You get my drift.

And if there’s one thing we all really love to dramatize, it’s bad news. We are bad news barracudas, the whole lot of us. Nothing is more thrilling than being the first to tell bad news. Like that time I hit a guy with my car? Some people might have been embarrassed to divulge the details of such a harrowing experience, but not me. I had no sooner stopped shaking than I was dialing my phone to tell everyone I knew. And once I’d exhausted my contact list, I sat straightaway at my computer and typed the tale for all the world to read on my blog. 12 hours later, I’d done all I could to spread the word of my misfortune. I don’t know if I can adequately express the high that comes from hearing the shocked exclamations of someone who hasn’t already heard the news. It’s addicting.

I don’t mean to minimalise my favourite aunt’s distress. Truly I don’t. It’s come at a horrible time for her, right before our family reunion which she was so looking forward to attending. Her presence there will be missed, inasmuch as she always brings the life of the party wherever she goes.

And I hear that learning to walk without one’s big toe is actually trickier than it sounds. I don’t envy her that task.

But I must admit I was so happy to hear that it was just one toe she was losing and not her entire foot like I heard first.

And I’m also glad she’s not dead like I heard next.

I guess you’d just have to know my family to understand.

And you? What’s your family’s specialty?

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My much-beloved aunt always was one to relish a good steal. In fact, it was she who taught my sister and me how to dumpster dive so many years ago (a learned skill I will always be proud of, right up there with biting my toenails and rolling my tongue). In honour of Aunt Linda and her poor toe, let’s see if we can’t make this weekend’s Saturday Steal the best one ever! For more information on how you can participate in my weekly steal party, read these posts. All of them. Then come back Friday evening (or any time throughout the weekend) for the best time of your e-life.
Posted in family, fiascos, It's All Good | Tagged | 8 Comments

Hit. Run. Repeat.

by Camille Posted on June 7, 2010

Image from here.

So there I was, driving down the streets of Mesa in my trusty steed, George Jettson. It was high noon. I needed to turn left at the next intersection. I switched lanes to do so. As I approached the traffic signal, I noticed that the left turn light was red. Naturally, I began my deceleration—running red lights is so tacky, you know.

So then there I was, stopped first in line in the left turn lane at University and Dobson in my trusty steed, George Jettson. Staring at that red arrow pointing left, I allowed myself a few moments of contemplation. I contemplated everything in that short space of time—my purpose in life, the decline of the Suns, and everything else of much importance. I had just discovered the Great Secret of the Universe when the left turn arrow blinked from red to green. It was go-time.

I went.

Not fast, mind you. Ever since my days of driving the beast of a truck my husband inherited in high school—you know the truck? the one with the huge lift kit and roll bars and ridiculous bass speaker wedged behind the seats?—well, ever since then, I have really toned my driving down a lot. I’m practically a granny. So when the light turned green, I gently eased my foot onto the gas pedal like every responsible driver would do. Simple.

Milliseconds later, I was slamming on the brakes. I heard them screech like I never knew George Jettson could screech. I felt my heart leap in my chest and then out my my chest and through my rib cage like a hard boiled egg in one of those hard boiled egg slicers—I was pulverised from the inside out.

There, at the grill of my car—being hit by the grill of my car—was a guy on a bike, seventeen or so, no helmet unless you count that atrocious head of hair, which may have softened the blow but certainly not enough to protect that thick skull of his. He was a skater-looking kid, wearing clothes too baggy and riding a bike too small. He was a cookie cutter resemblance of half the kids at my high school. He was tough. He was cool. And in his eyes was a look of sheer terror unlike I have seen on any face, ever.

This must be how the Taliban feels.

All these thoughts in the space of probably one second, maybe two, and before I knew it, the kid was pedaling off in the direction he’d started.

The turn arrow was still green.

So there I was, having just hit a kid with my car. I was confused—hit and runs are illegal, aren’t they? Did I just break the law? Pedestrians always have the right of way, so I probably did. Oh crap. Well I know he’s not dead, and he probably doesn’t have broken legs because he straightened out and took off, but then maybe he’s in shock. Shock patients do crazy things sometimes. His head didn’t even hit the street—his bike didn’t even fall over. He never fell off of it. But then, even though I wasn’t going fast, I was going fast enough that slamming on my brakes didn’t avoid the collision. He’s probably hurt. I need to find out.

Making my decision, I made the turn and immediately pulled into the next available parking lot. During those few moments, I attempted to piece together what had happened: The white truck in the turning lane to the right of me had not made the turn—the driver must have seen the biker before I did. Thus, the biker must have been right in front of the truck when the light turned green. Then by the time I started my turn, the biker must have assumed I’d seen him. He must have figured he could go around me and I would stop. What an idiot.

I parked my car and started the walk back to the kid, who had stopped at the corner of the street where he rode after I HIT HIM WITH MY CAR. His back was to me—he was facing the way he’d come, waiting for another guy on a similar bike to cross the street. Apparently the smarter of the two friends, who’d waited for his turn to cross legally.

“Hey!” I yelled, getting his attention while I was still a parking lot away. He didn’t look at me.

“HEY!” I tried again, but nothing. Dude was either ignoring me or brain damaged from the collision.

“Hey, are you okay?” Finally he turned sheepishly.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he muttered.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

By that time his buddy had crossed over to our side of the street, and the first guy mounted his bike to ride away with his friend. Just like that. I had come to see if he was okay and he was totally blowing me off.

As they rode away, his friend piped up: “He knows it was his fault! He was being stupid.”

“I know it was his fault,” I yelled at the two figures rapidly fleeing the scene. “But I still want to know if he’s okay!”

“He’s FINE!” was the final response from the friend.

And with that, they were gone.

So there I was, standing on the sidewalk with my arms at my side, exhausted as though I’d just run a marathon. I had run a marathon—a marathon of OH SHIT I JUST KILLED A MAN. He may have been fine, but my hands didn’t stop shaking for an hour.

I should sue for all the years of life I lost.

Posted in fiascos, oh brother what next, on the road again, what a nightmare | 17 Comments

Saturday Steals: FREE (F-R-E-E-E) Corkboard from the Side of the Road

by Camille Posted on June 4, 2010

Hi, all! Welcome to another rip-roarin’ round of Saturday Steals. Stay tuned at the bottom of this post for a list of this week’s participants.

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My steal this week was sponsored by that old pal…your friend and mine…FATE.

Fate brought me to this steal, and with any luck, Fate will keep us together.

Let me set the stage…

My sister and I were driving down the street yesterday around my nephew’s nap time in the hopes that he might doze off and give us a few hour’s respite from building blocks and train tracks, which are lovely in their own right, but not at 2 p.m. after waking up at 6 a.m. Don’t get me wrong; we love the kid. He just wears us out.

We decided to drive down the street where we once lived as a family years ago for a trip down memory lane, and to see how all fared in that neck of the woods.

I was driving George Jettson, my sister was sitting shotgun, and wee nephew was tucked snugly in his car seat in the middle of the back seat.

I had just turned onto the street when out of the corner of my eye I spotted a large rectangular sheet—I thought at first it was plywood or drywall—propped up against a garbage barrel on the curb a few houses down. Not thinking much of it, I continued driving. I had nearly passed the stiff tan sheet when something caught my eye: a white piece of paper tacked to the board with the word “FREE” scrawled across it in pink and yellow highlighter.

Never one to pass up the word “FREE”—not since the days of dumpster diving with Aunt Linda for some good old-fashioned white trash ’90s fun [and I only aspire to be half as great an aunt as she]—I slammed on George Jettson’s brakes, threw the car into reverse, and screeched back in front of whatever it was that was going to be free to me. It was mine.

Imagine my delight when I realised it was not plywood—something I have little use for but would’ve taken anyway because hello: FREE—but in fact an enormous cork board, just the thing for an aspiring writer who has been mentally decorating her soon-to-be home office since last semester.

But it gets better.

It was not your average everyday run-of-the-mill bulletin board, no—it was framed with a pretty thick, decorative piece of trim!

It was an aftermarket beauty.

Just see for yourself:

The cork itself was in great shape.

See what I mean about the frame? Lovely!

It was so big it took up the entire bed of the truck—the truck we RACED home to switch out for George Jettson so we could pick it up without anyone else stealing it first.

Don’t believe me that it’s big? Well I’m six feet tall, so there’s a reference point for you.

And the best part? Whoever was giving it away didn’t even bother to remove the 10 thumbtacks already stuck in the cork, so BONUS FOR ME.

Special thanks to my sister who hopped in her truck and went back to get the board for me all by herself. Five months pregnant, she is, but I was too embarrassed to do it myself so she did it for me. Hi, my name is Camile, and I am a ninny. And now I hang my head in shame.

But not as much shame as the person who gave away the cork board for free. Thanks, Fate.

Now if I could just figure out how to get it back to Canada. It’s bigger than my entire car, let alone the trunk. Any suggestions?

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So let’s hear it! What did you steal this week? New participants are always welcome, so do feel free to join in the fun. Simply write your post at your own blog and add the hyperlink to the link list below.

Let the fun begin!


Posted in Saturday Steals | Tagged , | 10 Comments

SS

by Camille Posted on June 4, 2010

Come back in a few hours (or any time throughout the weekend) to link up to your own Saturday Steals posts and read what others have stolen this week.

That is all. I’m off to shake my Shake Weight for the fourth time today. (I got a little behind.) (Actually I have a very large behind.) (But then, isn’t that the point of me trying this new exercise regimen?) (And really, calling it a regimen is kind of a joke.) (The end.)

Posted in Project: Proxy, Saturday Steals | Tagged | Comments Off on SS

My Old Haunts

by Camille Posted on June 3, 2010

One of the bad things (among many) about visiting my hometown after having moved away three years ago is the enormous rush of nostalgia that hits me like a tsunami every time I leave the house.

Around every corner, there is an element of my past lurking, waiting to jump out in front of me like one of those terrible jack-in-the-box toys that leave my nerves totally fried from the stress and anxiety of wondering when that dadgum jack will pop out at me.

Curse you, jack.

And curse you, nostalgia, because you are a petty friend to keep. On the one hand, you fill my little soul with light-hearted memories of the past; but on the other hand, you crush that same soul with the knowledge that 1) the past can never come back, and 2) I’m pathetic for even wanting it to.

Take the Mesa Public Library, for example. I could never begin to tally the number of hours I spent at the Mesa Public Library during the first 21 years of my life.

As a kid, my sister and I would go there with our mom and we’d each get to pick out a certain number of books for the week. I remember the thrill I would get when it was time to return the books—how exciting to drive up to that drop box, open the door, and throw away the books like they were garbage. Not that I didn’t like to take care of books, but it was always so exciting to feel like I was breaking the rules. Kind of like running at the pool right under the lifeguard’s tower. What fun.

Later, when I was in elementary school, my mom would drop me off there with my friend Jamie and we would work on our school projects together for ten minutes or so before we’d get distracted by the library’s CD collection. It was in the Mesa Public Library that I first heard Brooks and Dunn’s song, “Boot Scoot and Boogie.” (I have since tried to erase that particular part of my memory, but to no avail.) In fact, it may have been in the Mesa Public Library that I saw my first CD at all.

Then, in junior high, I remember another visit with a different friend when I had set out to discover what I wanted to be when I grew up. We found some career books on the shelves, commandeered a table, and giggled for hours over thoughts of ourselves growing up to have crazy jobs like didgeridoo player or theme park ride operator.

I thought it would be cool to be a chimney sweep. They still have those, you know. Chim chim chiroo.

And then there were the countless hours I spent there alone, wandering through the aisles of books, discovering new favourite authors and remembering old ones.

Anyone who grew up in Mesa like I did will recognise this atrocious mural instantly.

It always frightened me. I mean, can you blame me? Just look at it. It still scares me a little bit even today.

Now that I’m back in town for a while, I find myself assaulted by these memories—and many more—on a daily basis. And even though I’m happy to remember my idyllic childhood and my good times with friends, I can’t deny that it’s a little sad thinking about how much has changed since then. I’ve grown up, my sister is a mother herself, I have not kept in touch with friends like I should’ve, I never became a chimney sweep or a lawyer (my two top picks during sophomore year), et cetera, et cetera, et cetera,

Even though coming back to Mesa is undeniably good for my soul, my visits are always accompanied by a little sting.

And I will not lie: it hurts.

Posted in introspection, the great state of AZ, this little girl, Travel | Tagged | 6 Comments