I’m a Hard Tryer

by Camille Posted on February 11, 2009

Sometimes all I can do is try.  Often, even my best of tries turn out to be failures.  Still, at the end of the day, I really am a hard tryer.

Remember that exam? You know, the first exam I’ve had since my last pap smear?  I knew I had missed a few points, and I was already beating myself up over them.  I figured I had cost myself a few percentage points, and that at the least—the very least—I would score a 90% (which in itself would have made me mad, because I know I could have gotten 100%).

It’s backwards, but you get the idea.  39/50=78%.

Hi.  Try 78%.  By my standards, I might as well drop out of school right now, curl up in the fetal position in the corner of my basement, and make friends with the spiders that build their webs there, because I’ll never amount to anything.  No, I know: “Bs and Cs earn degrees,” and 78% is still passing.

NO. 78% is, in this situation, a BLATANT, GLARING, EMPHATIC FAILURE. (And I don’t capitalise my words very often, so you know I mean business.)

Why?  Because this is a basic English class.  If it were calculus or chemistry or biology or trig or (heaven forbid) computers, I could accept a 78%.  It would be a low score, but it wouldn’t be surprising to me.  However, despite the fact that I have already taken—and aced—both English 101 and 102 at an accredited university, up here I am taking the very most basic English course for the third time in my college career.  According to my Canadian university, those 101 and 102 classes taught me nothing, so I have to take their prerequisite English class in order to continue with my major (English).

“Okay, that’s fine,” I thought to myself, “I’ll spend $1,000 on a class to learn something I’ve already done, and I’ll sail right through it.”

And this exam, though a bit nerve-wracking, was not that hard.  I literally expected the LOWEST I might get would be a 90% (and even that would have been annoyingly low for me).

But 78%??  Even in my dumbest of subjects, a 78% is a disappointing grade for me.  78% is a C.  I am not a 78% English student.  (Again, the sciences and the maths?  I could be a 78% student.  I know my flaws, people.  Trust me: I’m very aware of them.)

I have a myriad of issues with the way the exam was worded and consequently graded (as far as I can see it, 6 of the 11 points I missed are completely controversial, and if I got them back, I would be back at the 90% I was expecting), and I am so frustrated with it, I actually might go talk to my professor about it.  I never thought I would be that person—the one who could not accept a low grade, and automatically assumes there must be something wrong with the exam if I’m getting a 78%.  But look at me now; I AM that student.  I’m the one who is about to whine to her professor about the way the exam was graded.

I’ve never done this before—I really don’t like confrontation, and saying I really don’t like confrontation is kind of like saying MINI Coopers™ are cool: it’s an enormous understatement.  Part of me knows that approaching the woman isn’t going to get me anywhere; she has a doctorate, I am in remedial English; she will counter all of my arguments with beautifully-formed rebuttals that leave me shaking in my fake Uggs™; she will laugh in my face, leave me with my 78%, and proceed to grade me even more harshly for the remainder of the semester.

But the other half of me remembers how I was taught to fight for what I believe, and not to let the world get me down and all that motivational stuff.

And you know what?  I buy it.  I believe all that motivational stuff.  I consider myself—without a doubt—an A student when it comes to English.  Not a C student.  Not 78% good and 22% bad.  I need a better ratio than that.  I suppose that sounds arrogant and cocky, but I consider it “confidence.”  I know what subjects I’m not good at (anything math-related), and I accept those flaws.

But I can’t seem to come to terms with this 78%.

All I can do is try, right?

…that, and drown my sorrows with a face mask.

Posted in failures, mediocrity, my edjumacation and me | Tagged | 32 Comments

I Lost 9 Pounds and All I Got Was This Lousy Post.

by Camille Posted on February 9, 2009

I’ve lost nine pounds since January 1st, which means I’m 16 pounds away from my goal weight, and 6 pounds away from the skinniest I’ve ever been.  I’m quite pleased, thanks.  I haven’t had a bite of sweets this year, I’ve been striving to eat healthy snacks like homemade (sugar-free) granola, salads, wheat bread, carrots, tomatoes, yoghurt, nuts, and berries.  In other words, eat like a squirrel and you, too, can lose weight.

Seriously, though, it’s given me hope for the future. I mean, since the world is evidently going to pot, it’s nice to know I’ll be able to live in the woods and forage for food without missing a beat, while the rest of the world offers their life’s savings for the last gallon of 2% milk at Safeway™.

Along with making my own granola, I’ve learned the most delicious recipe for salsa, tried my hand (and succeeded) at homemade organic yoghurt, and I am currently brewing my very own batch of Diet Dr. Pepper in the backyard.  I don’t want to be without it during my last days.

Unfortunately, despite all my noble weight-loss efforts, I haven’t been able to see a lot of changes in my body. Let’s do a roll-call:

Buggy Eyes? Chin?

Check.  Check.

Second Chin?

Check.

Love handles?

Check left.  Check right.  Check.

Watch this:  they’ll go away if I stretch my arms way up high.  Go away, Love handles.

Check.  If only this was the normal way to walk.

Paunch?

Present.

Same trick works with Paunch:

Once again, though, it’s just not feasible to walk around with my hands behind my head all day.  It’s not natural.

Bum?

Check.

Thighs?

Check.

Dejection?

Heartbreak?

Check and check.

Posted in change, Cutting Back, failures, photos, woe is me | Tagged | 29 Comments

Stuff to Make You Smile on an Otherwise Horrid Day

by Camille Posted on February 8, 2009

I always say, “Nothing should be hard on a Monday.”

Unfortunately, I rarely get what I want in life.

I am often faced with difficult encounters on Mondays.  Today, for example, I will be meeting with the wisdom teeth weasels consultants, who will tell me all about how they’re going to drug me up, knock me out, slit open my gums, and tear out my four wisdom teeth by their roots with pliers and sundry torture tools.  Of course such an atrocity would happen on a Monday, and the worst part is that it’s not actually happening today—they’re just going to tell me about it.  I guess that’s standard procedure, but honestly, wisdom teeth people?  I already know what this involves—you’re going to steal my teeth I’ve worked so hard to grow, take my Poor Kyle’s money, and leave me be to wallow in my lock jocket/dry locket/sock pocket.  I hate you.

For anyone else who is having one of those Mondays today, I have come up with a post to help take your mind off your worries.  It’s called a Random, and it’s not that random because every other blogger in the world has already done something exactly like this, but do your best to enjoy it anyway, because it’s all I’ve got for today.

1.  People find my blog in such funny ways. I always get a kick out of search terms that lead unsuspecting internetters to my website:

My favourite recent one: Can I make it through childbirth if I am queasy? Some poor soul is pregnant and worried sick about it, so she turns to the internet to help calm her down, and what does she find?  My website.  Yeah, that oughtta cheer her right up.  Poor sucker.  A word of advice, love:  You should have thought of that before you got knocked up.

2.  The other day at school, I was descending a staircase and heard footsteps close behind me. {Tangent:  Does that drive anybody else mad?  I mean, I might not be walking down the stairs as fast as you’d like, buddy, but it’s wide enough for two—pass me!  As it is, your right-on-my-tail footsteps are making me nervous.}  This guy was following closely enough that I could hear him making funny noises with his mouth, and it sounded to me like he was a) trying to be a cappuccino machine like those old commercials {anyone remember them?}, or b) pretending to fly an airplane.  At first I was weirded out, but then I thought, “Hey, why not?  A guy can’t live in Never-Neverland anymore, just because he goes to university?” Fly high, buddy.  Fly high.

3.  The last time I went for my daily jog, I came across an album on my iPod entitled “Tyler’s Mix.” I have no idea who Tyler is—to my knowledge, I have only known two Tylers in my life: one is a distant relative, and the other I knew way before CDs were ever invented, so he couldn’t have possibly made me a mix.  It’s too bad I don’t know Tyler, because his mix is pretty good, and I’d like to thank him.

Posted in mondays suck, quickies | Tagged | 16 Comments

Sorry Excuse for a Writer.

by Camille Posted on February 5, 2009

My arsenal of choice.

Last night I took the first exam I’ve had in a long time (unless you count my last pap smear, but please let’s not talk about that).

Did you know?  In Canada, students “write exams” instead of “take tests.”

“Even if it’s multiple choice and no actual writing is involved,” you ask?  I asked that too.  Yes.  Even if no writing is involved, Canadian students write their exams.  All you Americans: Wouldn’t it have confused you if I had started this post out with the sentence, “Last night I wrote the first exam…”?  That’s why I didn’t.

Anyway, I took a test—a midterm, actually.

Believe it or not, I used to really enjoy exam days.  I am faster than the average test-taker (not that I’m any smarter, necessarily), so I am usually finished well before the allotted time is up, which means I get a short class.  Which is always a bonus.  Plus, any day that I don’t have to listen to a professor droning on about random nothingness is a good day.

But like I said, it’s been a while.  In my 1.5 year hiatus from college classes, I have gotten a little out of practice.  The exam was announced, and I actually had to go purchase 3×5 cards to make into flashcards—two years ago I would’ve had them on hand.

(By the way, I use flashcards to study for any and every exam I’ve ever taken.  It is a practically fail-proof method for me and my head.  I totally dig flashcards.  [Which, looking back, makes me quite a dork, doesn’t it?])

This time around, I had to buy the note cards, cut them up, make them into flashcards, memorise the information, and I was actually nervous about it. The Old Me would have gone through the motions as naturally as popping open a DDP, but this time I was stressing.  In fact, moments before the class started, I was still frantically flipping through and shuffling my flashcards like a maniac table dealer gone mad on the streets of Vegas, whereas the Old Me would have said, “Aw, screw it—if I don’t know it by now, I’ll never know it.”

Anyway, the point is this:  All my worrying was silly.  I did just fine.  There were a few last-minute questions on which I ridiculously second-guessed myself [Is alliteration the repetition of vowels or consonants, or is it just repeptition of any sound at the beginning of words?  Then what is assonance?  And what is the difference between assonant rhyme and slant rhyme?  Is there such a thing as slant rhyme?  What kind of rhyme is “broom/bruise?”].  Luckily, they weren’t worth very many points, so I’m pretty sure I’ll be okay.  I’m back into the swing of things.

But I still can’t believe I forgot the exact definition of alliteration. What self-respecting English major does that?  “To sit in solemn silence on a dull, dark dock.” I will never forget buxomous Ms. White (not “Miss” or “Mrs.,” but MIZ White), my 8th Grade English teacher, dancing her jiggly self around the classroom to her own voice chanting that Gilbert and Sullivan classic.  What a bad teacher she was—she didn’t even help me remember the exact definition of alliteration in my time of need.  When I am a famous writer, I will thank her for absolutely nothing.

I hate her.

Posted in failures, my edjumacation and me | 23 Comments

Forgive Me Readers; I Have Lied.

by Camille Posted on February 5, 2009

Dear Readers,

It is with much sorrow that I come to you today, humbled and apologetic.  Humbled and apologetic indeed…for I have lied to you.

Yesterday, I blithely proclaimed to all the internetting world that I, Camille of Archives of Our Lives, would skimp on anything if it was necessary.  In the height of my martyrdom, I proudly implied that I am the best scrimper and saver in the world, and the only thing I don’t ration is the air I breathe.

Dear Readers, I have lied.

I am not the most frugal or most thrifty person in the world.  Nay, for even now, in these most perilous of eek-onomic perils, I have purchased an extravagance. And I don’t regret it, readers—I don’t regret it one bit.

The one thing I will NEVER skimp on is…

DIET DR. PEPPER.

Now, lest you think I am a cola-drinking machine, let me clarify: If times were dire enough, I would go without soda altogether, and drink only water.  However, since times are only a little dire (i.e. common newlywed poorness, as opposed to completely poverty-stricken and destitute on the streets), I still make 12-packs of soda a fairly regular purchase in this household.

About twice a month, Poor Kyle and I each get a 12-pack all to ourselves.  Last month, Pepsi™ and Diet Pepsi™ were the only two brands on sale.  Poor Kyle enjoys his ice cold Pepsi™ as much as any other soda, so he was fully willing to drink the stuff.  I, on the other hand, will drink Diet Dr. Pepper or no soda at all (almost always).  That being said, it was with some doubtful hesitancy that I purchased my case of Diet Pepsi™:

“Is it really a deal,” I wondered, “if it doesn’t make me happy?”

And indeed, readers, it did not make me happy.

Readers?  Hi.  Just wanted to make sure you were still with me.  No.  No, it is not a deal. For 12 days I carried a Diet Pepsi™ with me to school, left it in my car until lunchtime (to chill, you see), and at the appointed hour, I drank the vile stuff.  No longer was lunchtime the solace and joy it once had been; with a Diet Pepsi™ waiting for me in my car, I lost my thirst.

Now it’s a new month with a new grocery budget, and you’d better believe I bought my DDP with a vengeance.  It still wasn’t a good deal, but when I was drinking Diet Pepsi™, I wasn’t happy.  It all goes back to Quality of Life, like Jordan Ferney was saying…

Ahh…quality.

I wish you all Quality of Life, whichever soft drink (or fruit juice or liquor) can bring it to you.

Posted in change, Cutting Back, fiascos, It's All Good | 21 Comments

{These EEK-onomic Times}

by Camille Posted on February 4, 2009

So I guess we really are in a depression—everyone’s saying so.  At least ten times a day, I hear the phrase “these economic times.”  (I pronounce it “eek-onomic,” just for the record.  It’s the Eee-conomy, and these times are eek-onomically difficult.)

Not enough of this stuff, I guess.  Image from here.

A lot of people are losing their jobs and finding it necessary to cut back on their spending.  Cutting back is probably a good idea, all things considered.

So far, Poor Kyle and I haven’t really felt many repercussions of These Hard Economic Times (knock on wood); we’ve been poor for a lot longer than this depression has been around, so we’re accustomed to the discomfort of a BUDGET.  Of course, I use the term “poor” in a relative sense—a lot of people have it worse than we do, and many have it better.  I consider myself poor because I am not rich—that makes me an economic pessimist, I suppose.  I also consider myself poor because I do not contribute any money to our household, and therefore I feel guilty any time I want to spend money on my hair or paint for the kitchen or a new pair of jeans.  In my head, “rich” equals “buying new jeans and not feeling defensive about it.”  Someday…

Until that day, or until I start making money of my own, it’s ripped jeans for me.  Poor me.

For now, however, we’re trying to cut back, perhaps even more than before.  According to news reporters and economic advisors, Poor Kyle is just a natural disaster away from losing his job, and we’re all going to die.  So we’re trying to be prepared.  Still, as I go about my shopping, I take particular notice of things I won’t skimp on just to save money.

It’s always interesting to see what people will refuse to skimp on.  A lot of people say there are some things they simply will never cut out of their lives, but I think if times got hard enough, they would go without a lot more than they realise.

For example, Jordan Ferney from Oh Happy Day {adorbale blog, by the way, and updated almost daily}, has recently announced that “there are a few things [she] refuses to skimp on:”

1. Cut flowers or plants in the house
2. Fresh unprocessed food
3. Good quality shoes

Oh, really?  That’s nice, Jordan Ferney, because at my richest of times I don’t buy cut flowers, fresh unprocessed foods, or good quality shoes.  Then again, Jordan Ferney is a lady who buys imported German crépe paper for her parties—I’m pretty sure Jordan and I are on two completely different planes.

When I’m trying to cut back, here are three things I have—so far—refused to skimp on:

1.  House payment.

2.  Toilet paper. Not that I always buy the soft kind, but the fact that I always buy toilet paper, period.  Hopefully I will always be able to afford a Costco™ pack of Kirkland™ toilet paper every six months.  When the time comes that I am wiping my bum with a rag that will be washed and reused, I might as well just buy a shotgun and head for the hills; that’s no way to live.

3.  Air. I always breathe as much as I possibly can.  It’s free—that’s a great value, as far as I’m concerned.

So there you have it: I’m willing to skimp on pretty much anything, if times get dire enough.  Luckily, they haven’t (yet).

What about you?  Are you feeling the sting of These Hard Economic Times?  What do you/don’t you skimp on?

Posted in change, Cutting Back, I hate change, It's All Good, like-it-link-it, Married Life | 26 Comments

Summer is Dead

by Camille Posted on February 2, 2009

Several months ago I accompanied Poor Kyle on a road trip to Dwight, North Dakota.  You read it correctly—the place was called Dwight.

The little town quickly became the second Dwight to claim a piece of my heart.

What a stud.  Image from here.

While Poor Kyle was busy doing the work thing, I occupied myself by walking around Dwight, looking for adventure or anything worthy of a photograph.  I was not disappointed…

The first thing I spotted was a quaint little cemetery.  I have enjoyed walking through cemeteries ever since I was a kid.  I always feel peaceful in cemeteries.  I remember how disappointed I was when I learned Mesa’s city cemetery stopped letting people use tall headstones years ago—I’ll have to be buried with a boring flat one, which is a major bummer.

This particular headstone caught my attention because of the peculiar way it was tilted.  When I lived in Belgium, I walked through entire cemeteries filled with crooked tombstones, but I haven’t seen many like this in America.

I fancied it.

Next I moseyed my way over to the community park, but I couldn’t pass the railroad tracks without snapping a quick shot.  I never can.

There was not a single soul at the park or anywhere nearby.  I realised that it was the end of August, and the kids must’ve been back at school.  It was an utterly depressing thought for me, and my tour of the town became rather melancholy and contemplative.  It made me sad, but sort of in a good way.

At the park,  I noticed almost everything was in a general state of disrepair; it was beautiful.  Every time I saw something abandoned and lonely, I kept thinking, “My summer is dead.”

I couldn’t figure out why this bench was overturned, but instead of putting it to rights, I just took a photo and walked away.  I’m pathetic. Summer is dead.

Summer is Dead.

…if only I had known how much deadder it was going to be in a few months…

Posted in change, I hate change, introspection, on the road again, photos, sad things | 17 Comments