And Now for Some Worthless Three-word Phrases…

by Camille Posted on January 12, 2009

You know it’s bad when I resort to stealing tags off people’s blogs who never tagged me in the first place.  I’m suffering from a syndrome known as Not-a-Thing-to-Write-About, which seems to be a chronic affliction lately.

This tag was unabashedly stolen from Niki’s blog, but adapted to three-word answers instead of one-word, because, let’s face it…I’m a wordy girl.

But I digress. I firmly believe that nothing should be very hard on Mondays, so here’s an easy post for you to read [or, even easier, skip the words altogether, and just look at the pictures.  Probably none of this is new information anyway].

1. Where is your phone? Lost in abyss.

2. Where is your significant other? Lost in basement.

3.Your hair color? Not even real.

4. Your Mother? A motivating force.

5. Your Father? Undeniably very genuine.

6. Your favorite thing? Impossible to say.

7. Your dream last night? Regarding English homework.

8. Your dream/goal? Make real money.

9. The room you’re in? Totally made bed.

10. Your hobby? Travel all over.

11. Your fear? Poor Kyle’s remarriage.

12. Where do you want to be in 6 years? Done with school.

13.  I don’t like the number “13” in general.

14. What you’re not? Done with school.

15. One of your wish-list items? Degree in hand.

16. Where you grew up? Hot hot Arizona.

Image from here.

17. The last thing you drank? Diet Dr. Pepper.

18. What are you wearing? Leftover church clothes.

19. Your TV? Husband’s new buddy.

20. Your pet? Comes with kids.

21. Your computer? Put to work.

22. Your mood? Chipper, as usual.

23. Missing someone? Almost every day.

24. Your car? Unassuming Tamra Camry.

25. Something you’re not wearing? Ummm…a parka?

26. Favorite store? Ones with deals.

27. Your Summer? Figment of imagination.

28. Love someone? Sure, you bet.

29. Your favorite color? Most green hues.

30. When was the last time you laughed? In the teacups.

31. Last time you cried? White-pill week.

32. Something you crave? Super Burrito carne.

33. Why you blog? Can’t quite stop.

Posted in blogger finger, quickies, thisandthat | Tagged | 10 Comments

Year of A Million Broken Dreams

by Camille Posted on January 9, 2009

Don’t let him fool you—Poor Kyle was faking this grin.  He was actually totally embarrassed to be riding on the teacups with me; to have his picture taken was the ultimate humiliation.

All throughout my teenage years, I fantasised what it would be like to go to Disneyland with a boy [one who actually liked me enough to hold my hand on rides like Small World and Pirates of the Caribbean].  Being in band and orchestra all my high school career afforded me a total of six trips to Disneyland each spring.  The general theme of Cali trips in high school was, “So-and-so hooked up with so-and-so in a log on Splash Mountain,” or in other words, DRAMA.

Drama that I always secretly wished for a piece of, but never actually got.

Enter Poor Kyle.  Poor, poor Poor Kyle.  He puts up with so much from me.  After years of my overly-romanticised notions of the way it should be to visit the Happiest Place on Earth with a boy, is it any wonder that Poor Kyle failed in practically every aspect?

I never imagined I’d marry a man who would roll his eyes at the teacups.  I felt so immature for being giddy about the whole thing…

It wasn’t even remotely his fault, either; he was doomed before he met me…

First of all, Poor Kyle is not a Disneyland virgin—he’d already gone with an ex-girlfriend back in high school [who, at the time, tagged along for a family vacation, which for some reason hurt my broken heart even more].  Being that I had never before Disneyed with a significant other, it was kind of awkward for me.  I mean…did he cuddle with her on Small World?  Did she hold his hand waiting in line for Indiana Jones?  Did they sneak a kiss in between bites of gumbo from New Orleans Square? Such were the torturous thoughts I couldn’t seem to remove from my petty mind.  Let this be a lesson to all you kids out there: Disneyland abstinence is the only way to go.  Save your first romantic trip to Disneyland for someone you really love; your long-term partner will thank you later.

On top of all my foolish insecurities about not being Poor Kyle’s first, our debut trip to Disneyland together was accompanied by two other girls—children—who are adorable and sweet in every way.

Adorable and sweet in every way I am not, that is.  They stole my thunder, and I can’t even be grumpy about it because, well, look at them:

Sweetness #1

Sweetness #2

I know, I know…you’ve never heard me talk so nicely about children before.  That’s because these children are above average on all levels: friendliness, cuteness, personable-ness.  Fetching little things, these two.

Anyway, they were so sweet and excited to be at Disneyland, their enthusiasm became contagious and the most fun we had ended up being when we were hanging out with them.  The downside to that was Poor Kyle became so enamored with his nieces, he completely forgot he already had a wife [and a clingy one at that], instead becoming the protector, defender, and best best buddy of these two winsome little girls.

And, okay, I know it’s ridiculous that I might feel a little threatened by Sweetness #2.  She’s three years old, for Heaven’s sake…

…but whatever. She’s totally cuter than me.

They fought over him on rides (fights in which I could barely hold my own.  I mean, they have dimples; I have a butt-chin. They call him “Uncle Ky-ole,” I call him “Snookums.”  [I don’t really call him “Snookums.]  They were a shoe-in to win over me), they showered him with kisses, and they cowered into his shoulder on the Pirates of the Caribbean.

Basically, they got all the sweet action with their uncle, and I got to bond with my in-laws [who are splendid, by the way.  Thanks guys, for a great trip!].

Papa and Sweetness #1, sharing a precious moment together in a giant blue elephant.  Only in Walt’s world...

Gamma and Sweetness #2, looking chipper despite the chill in the nighttime air.

But I’m not bitter, because I decided early on in the day that Walt wouldn’t want any grouchy-pants people in his Land; and anyway, it was no big deal—I was at Disneyland, and I enjoyed every minute of it.  Even—especially—seeing how fun it was for the kids.

And it helped me learn that Disneyland is still Disneyland, even without a ride on Space Mountain, Splash Mountain, Haunted Mansion, Small World, the Matterhorn or Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride.

It was certainly different from the other times I’ve walked the streets of the magical place, but every bit as fun.

Posted in fiascos, It's All Good, kid stuffs, Married Life, on the road again, Overall Good Things, photos, Travel | 30 Comments

Gettin’ Edjumacated.

by Camille Posted on January 7, 2009

I graduated high school in May of 2004.

Almost five years later I’m not even close to holding a college degree in my hot sweaty hand.  At first I feel a little pathetic, when so many of my high school comrades are now certified teachers, accountants, nutritionists, nurses, dental hygienists, occupational therapists, and marine biologists.

**Side note:  It’s not my lack of degree that leaves me feeling pathetic; it’s my lack of degree in a timely manner.  I don’t judge anyone who has not gone to college.  Heck,  I don’t even want to go to college.  However, since I do want a degree, it seems ridiculous that it’s taking me so long to get one.  It’s self-loathing, people.  I only judge my own person.**

So it is with a certain amount of self-deprecation that I announce on my website…I am on the 10 Year Plan of university graduation.

Not really the 10 Year Plan.  From May of 2004, it will be probably be a 7 Year Plan, but the 10 Year Plan sounds so much more mournful.  At any rate (a slow rate in my case), I will be done with school sometime, and that’s the point.  And before I get too depressed by thinking of all I haven’t done with my life to date, I should tell you what I have done:

Moved to Canada one month before my 19th birthday, a year into my college experience.  I transferred my first year credits from ASU up to a local college in Alberta, and continued taking my general requirement courses.

Met Poor Kyle while continuing my second year of university.

Moved back to Arizona in April of 2006, done with two years of college.  I spent that summer basically carefree with friends and family, still dating Poor Kyle (albeit long-distance) and trying to sort out myself.

Started back at ASU in fall of 2006, having decided against returning to Canada for school.  Finally settled on Art History/Museum Studies as my major.  Image from here.

Got engaged to Poor Kyle and immediately decided I was too young to get married.  Finished the Fall ’06 semester at ASU and fancied myself a French speaker. Started looking into study abroad programs for the next semester, so I could get married the next fall with the knowledge I’d seen the world and would not regret becoming a wife so soon in life.

Decided study abroad was a waste of money, and signed up to be a nanny.  Why pay to live in Europe, when getting paid to live there was so much more fun?  Took two classes online from ASU while living in Belgium.  Me and Manneken Pis, chillin’ like a couple villains.  Man, I miss that continent.

Those were the last classes on my official college transcripts; the next three semesters have been spent…

…getting hitched…

…honeymooning…

…failing in the kitchen…

…and doing basically anything else that sounds like fun, including spelling out our names with pretzels.

But now the good times are over.  I’m back to school today, and it’s the end of my married life as I’ve known it.  Poor Kyle will no longer have home-cooked meals on the table when he comes home from work, because I’ll still be in my night class.  There will be a lot less cuddling ’round these parts, because when I’m not writing for school I’ll be writing for this website, and after the mental strain of all the thinking, I’ll basically crash every night.  Thinking’s not my forte. Poor, poor Poor Kyle.

And poor me, because I’m the one who has to take these classes for another couple of years.

How very dreadful.  This had better be worth it, or I’ll be really mad.

Posted in change, I hate change, Married Life, my edjumacation and me | 24 Comments

How to Survive a Multi-hour Road Trip in Five Easy Steps

by Camille Posted on January 6, 2009

Our trip is nearly over, and by “nearly” I mean absolutely, definitely.

All we have left is the drive home, and that’s never any fun.  Can you blame me?  I should think not—it’s 30 hours in a truck (albeit a truck with lovely heated seats) driven by a guy who cares more about fuel economy than personal sanity, and a whole lot of twangy country music blaring through the speakers.  [It’s a rule in our minuscule family that whoever is driving gets his or her iPod™ on the transmitter in the vehicle.  Poor Kyle always drives.  We always listen to country.  Simply a matter of cause-and-effect.]

And not that I have a problem with country or anything…but I have a problem with country.

Luckily, Poor Kyle and I have figured out a splendid routine for road trips, since we’ve taken so many together [more than I can remember enough to number] in the past three years.  Here’s the run-down:

How to Survive a Multi-hour Road Trip in Five Easy Steps

1.  I am not a shotgun [backseat] driver. I just don’t do that.  Poor Kyle knows what’s up, and I know that he knows what’s up.  I trust him with my life and then some, and he has basically driven for a living his entire adult life.  He can do it without my help. If I ever do have reason to believe he’s missing something (like a pedestrian crossing or a coming-up exit), I tell him only once to watch out for whatever it may be.  And then I apologise for being a shotgun driver.  He knows I don’t mean to nag, and I know he appreciates it when I’m concentrating right along with him.  We’re a team like that.

2.  He lets me eat. Poor Kyle has learned if I go any extended period of time without food, I get antsy.  And by “antsy” I mean HELLO, WICKED WITCH OF THE NORTH, SOUTH, EAST AND WEST—NICE MOLE YOU’VE GOT GROWING ON YOUR NOSE THERE.  Seriously.  I pack snacks and backup snacks, and if those run out, there had better be a hamburger in my husband’s pocket or very seriously nearby.  I don’t like to be hungry.

3.  I give at least an hour warning prior to necessary bathroom breaks. I try to be as convenient as possible and only go when there’s a stop planned; sometimes, however, that’s simply not possible.  In such situations, as soon as I feel the need, I tell Poor Kyle that we’ve got 30 minutes or so—maybe an hour—before it is going to get urgent.  And then I wait it out.  No sense in whining if it won’t get me closer to a toilet.

4.  I ask before I doze off. I know it sounds silly, but it’s not so much that I’m asking permission to take a nap—it’s just common courtesy.  I mean, if Poor Kyle is nice enough to drive for such extended periods of time [Who am I kidding?   He loves driving and doesn’t trust me with the FWhatever50 anyway, so it’s not like it’s a huge burden on him.], it seems kind of rude just to sleep the day away and let him do all the hard work.  Especially at night on windy roads when he’s already been awake for lots of hours.  Keeping my eyes open along with his seems like the least I can do.  [Not that I’m naturally so courteous…I may have gotten rebuked once for sleeping during a road trip when he needed help staying awake.]

5.    We own a GPS. Enough said.

Image from here. Highly recommended, if you don’t already have one.  Everyone in PK’s family (and mine, too as of Christmas Day) owns one of these, and we all swear by them.

I am convinced these five tips can make anybody’s road trips pleasant, at least until a kid gets thrown into the mix.  Kids always seem to foil even the best-laid plans, so if you’re a parent looking for road trip tips, try a different website.  I got nothin’ for ya here.

Otherwise, happy traveling!

Posted in Married Life, on the road again, Poor Kyle, theories, Travel | Tagged | 19 Comments

The Man Huddle

by Camille Posted on January 4, 2009

Have you ever noticed the way grown men huddle?

They huddle. As in, when something engine-ish goes wrong, and one guy is standing in the driveway looking under the hood of the truck, suddenly that one man becomes two…

and then three…

…and before anyone can even hunt down a wrench, there are no less than ten men scratching their heads, peering, perplexed, into the centre of The Huddle.

And it’s not just a “macho man” characteristic; all walks of men embrace The Huddle.  Tech guys huddle over their Macbook Pros™, drug pushers huddle over their fires in rubbish bins, and emo boys huddle around their feelings.  They all huddle.

It’s all about the huddle with men.

Strangely enough, nothing productive ever seems to come of The Huddle.  Which isn’t really surprising, since the only suggestions one might overhear in The Huddle are, “Well, didja try shakin’ the little sunnofagun over there next to the red doohickey?  That oughtta do it…” or “Hit it a little harder.” Oh, really?  Hit it a little harder?  Brilliant.

It makes them happy, though, to huddle up like that.  It gives them the moral support they need to brave the unknown of fixing whatever’s ailing them.

At any rate, The Huddle is a very real phenomenon, one I had the joy of observing last week and the Imperial Sand Dunes near Yuma.  I must say I’m not smitten with “dune-ing” and all the motor-head behaviour that comes with it, but it makes Poor Kyle happy, and I’m petitioning myself for Wife of the Year in 2009, so I might as well get used to it.

If only my prize as Wife of the Year ’09 came with free wireless internet access anywhere in the world…

…then it might actually be a competition worth winning.

Posted in It's All Good, oh brother what next, on the road again, Poor Kyle, theories | 16 Comments

A Hands-Off Approach to Marriage

by Camille Posted on January 1, 2009

A few months ago I was mourning the cold weather in a particular blog post, and a reader named Whitney, in a comment, asked this:

“Yeah I’m sorry. It’s a beautiful day in AZ today. There is a beautiful breeze. Not too hot but not too cold. I’m not trying to rub this in your face I’m only trying to help you feel like you’re here. I don’t understand why Poor Kyle can’t bring you back home. Whats up with that? Should I post that in one of your question posts? Why don’t you live here Camille?  What’s keeping you from making PK get a job in AZ?”

Answer:

First off, Whitney, thanks for commenting.  I appreciate all my readers, and cherish each comment I am given.  I write this blog for you. Secondly, you ask me why I don’t make PK get a job in Arizona, as if you think I have any pull at all.  Wrong.  I have no clout.  I’ve tried nagging; I’ve tried whining; I’ve tried withholding; I’ve tried sending him to bed with no dinner.  At the end of the day, however, Poor Kyle is quite a bit more stubborn than me, and I have learned there is no way I can make him do something he doesn’t want to do.  And anyway, I don’t really want to be that kind of wife.  I make an honest effort to share decision-making with Poor Kyle, rather than take over {or let him walk all over me}.

However, Poor Kyle’s stubbornness has nothing to do with us living in Canada—he would move to Arizona in the time it takes to say, “Like the desert missed the rain,” if it was feasible. As would I.

Unfortunately, Poor Kyle has no secondary education or backup career plan aside from his current job—a job which, gratefully, he enjoys.  He doesn’t like school (I don’t blame him), and has no interest in continuing his education {which is where my stance as a laissez-faire sort of wife comes into play}.  I am not going to force him to pursue an education or a career in something he’s not interested in, nor would he ask me to do so.

His same career in Mesa would pay substantially less, with fewer days off per year and 100% not as many perks.  So unless we wanted our parents to support us, and/or live on a bench in Pioneer Park, there’s no way we can live comfortably in Arizona right now—and we’re all about living comfortably. It sounds greedy or money-hungry, but it’s so obvious: why would we choose to be poor when there’s another option, and one that doesn’t involve robbing banks?  If you could work at something you enjoyed and make a decent living doing it…well…wouldn’t you do it?

That’s not to say we’re rich; sometimes we have to eat cereal without milk, but we are fighters.

I can’t say exactly what our future holds, but I can assure you that if or when the opportunity arises, we would surely jump at the chance to live in Arizona.

My only hope is to make scads of money writing so that we can live anywhere in the world and still make millions.  That way, Arizona would be a shoe-in.

Of course, every aspiring blogger and Literature major in the free world hopes the same thing for their lives, and I’m no better than any of them…

…so for now I’ll keep on keepin’ on in the land of the freezing and the home of the brrrrr.

Posted in ask me anything, Canada, change, Married Life, Poor Kyle | 15 Comments

Good Thing I’m So Goal-Oriented.

by Camille Posted on December 31, 2008

Once upon a time, I set my New Year’s resolutions in February.

It worked for me.  I knew I was going to break them all anyway, so why start in January when the rest of the world is equally failing?  February suited me.

This year I am once again jumping on the bandwagon of traditions, but I’m not waiting until January first. I started today.

My first resolution was a joint goal with a friend: lose 25 pounds in six months.  Together, we have committed to exercising at least four days a week from now until June 31st, and for every day we work out we will each put a quarter (25 cents) in a jar.  For every pound we lose, we’ll put a dollar in the jar.  Hopefully by June 31st, we’ll have worked out and lost enough weight to have a fairly decent down payment on a pair of jeans from the Buckle™.  [At least, jeans are my incentive. Chelsie might choose something else, but whatever it is, we’ll be shopping together.]

If I lose 25 pounds, I will be 10 pounds lighter than I’ve ever weighed in my adult life.  What an exciting thought.

Also, we aren’t eating sweets.  I’ve had no less than 10 opportunities to eat sugary sweets today, and I’ve passed them all up.  Perhaps you might be proud of me, thinking I’m getting my health in order and starting the year off on the right foot.  Maybe it seems like I’m full of will-power and self control.

You’re wrong; it’s going to be a very long six months.

Don’t worry, though: if I fail at this weight-loss resolution, I’ll have about a million chances to succeed at something else.  This year, I have a long list of ways I’d like to better myself.  On the off chance you might be interested to see what I’d like to improve, I’ve listed my resolutions here for all the world to see…

…In poem form.

I Resolve

An Archives of Our Lives Original

I resolve to grow my hair,

To trim my nails and floss with care;

To brush my teeth both morn and night

Despite the days I’m tucked inside.

I resolve to swear off pop,

[To really, really, really stop].

And furthermore, I’m spurning sweets

Which is, for me, a loathsome feat.

On top of that, I’ll wear more hats,

And learn to love my belly fat.

I’ll read my camera’s owner’s guide,

And take more pictures from outside.

I’ll do my best to blog each day

To earn some cash the AdSense™ way;

So when I am done with school

I’ll be a high-paid English fool.

As usual, I’ve set the standards high for myself:  Brush my teeth every day even if I’m not seeing people; read up on taking pictures; try and earn money of my very own {legally, if at all possible}.  If I accomplish even one of these pathetic resolutions, I’ll have really accomplished something.  Obviously, I view New Year’s Eve as an overrated time to set goals—sometime I’ll share with you my life list of things to do, which is far more interesting than the willy-nilly fake goals I set every year as a joke.  Until then…

…Happy New Year, everyone.  Do something nice for yourself and set the bar low this midnight—I’m pretty sure you’ll thank me later.

Posted in failures, I hate change, It's All Good, mediocrity | Tagged , | 17 Comments