Discrediting a common belief. Plus thoughts on Google and a British word

Every person I've ever met touts that Google and Facebook know basically everything there is to know about ourselves. They say so that way they can tell advertisers who then tell companies, that, you (for example) really would like a Delta Delta Delta sweatshirt because adding someone on fb that you kind of knew in the same sorority brings about nostalgia for your 10 minutes when you were a TriDelt. Or that you probably need black running socks because your friend Alex tagged you in a picture wearing running clothes and assumably doing athletic sport. And don't even worry that you searched for "kittens in baskets" last night! They would never try to sell that information to company that wants to sell you crocheted kitten mittens!

The good news is that today I prove that Googledoesntforget and knowsmyFace-book in fact know nothing about me!!

Evidence: My customized ad today was:

"Mumsabroad! How to live in Spain with your little ones and still be a great mum!"

OBVIOUSLY  they are clueless about my life! They think I'm British! And a mum! I could never be a mum abroad! Mainly because I could never be a mum. I can't even say mum without giggling and thinking about my mom trying to get me to keep a secret when I was little and saying "mum's the word!". (Us Americans don't even know what "mum" means. We think it's a secret password.)

Ok to wrap up this blog post and get everything tidy.... Two things.

1). I am going to continue to Carmen SanDiego google and facebook and I suggest you do too.

And.....

2). I highly suggest you go watch the Arrested Development episode where Tobias dresses up as Mrs. Featherbottom, the British nanny. (Googledoesntforget reminded me it was Featherbottom and not Featherbutton. So thoughtful).

How would we ever categorize my blog? Analyzing the frivolties of the world! And sometimes talking about Spain.

(Brag sesh) I think I forgot to mention that I found the most bad ass apartment this year with the most bad ass roommate! It is enormous with terraces and super centrico. My room is green! Even the horrific halfcat that it came with is starting to warm up to me. (I say halfcat because its a scrawny cantakerous noncatlike cat I've ever met). However what's not warming up is the apartment. In September when I moved in and it was still beach weather I was like "Who even needs central heating?? This apartment is right next to La Pera! I have a terrace where I can read books and look down on street people!"

And then it started raining. Which I forgot it kind of does that here for oh, three months. And I realized, having heat might have been nice. And e-books are just as useless in the rain as those real books from like the 1800s or something.

What I do have though is a little one room electric heater. And my heater and I have a very serious relationship. I'm talking Kardashian serious. Anyway, on especially cold mornings I practically maul/smother it trying to warm all of my limbs. You know when you see a mother carrying a too-big-to-be-carried child? Well its the exact same. Except.. maybe.. I'm just bear hugging an electrical appliance even though I can walk and walking would make me warmer... No. Forget reference. This is just me and my bf.

(At school I find myself slowly sashaying to the right corner of the classroom. It provides the best teaching angle and a certain airvent that I may be cheating on my heater at home with.)

Also the other ominous thing about this combination of cold weather / cold house is that I tend to grow. Not intellectually or height wise. Just around the midsection. Obviously I have to wear sweats to keep warm and alive (also very stylish to the Spanish when they see me leaving my house in a Razorbacks sweater, workout pants ha! and bandana). So I put the comfy clothes on. And then I start the snacking. And then I convince myself that staying in is way more desireable than going out. Its my more sophisticated psuedo Camille that eggs me on. "I do say Camille with this kind of weather what devil would even propose to go out and be active? Why if I were you and I am, I would say pop another bag or two of popcorn and enjoy a marvelous novel! By the way you look dashing! Is that bandana tye died?!"*

Oh god, I just realized it is Saturday night, I am blogging, and I am wearing said Razorback sweater. I also just practiced shadow puppets for a good part of an hour. (What else do people do with the internets than look up how to perfect the "camel" shadow? Besides Risch family talent show is this Christmas. Duh.) Ok. I am digging myself a deeper hole. Time to refill the wine glass. But hey at least I'm out of popcorn!*

Shadow puppet art is actually an interesting topic. Did you know shadow puppetry was forbidden for awhile in China because the puppeteers were addressing political issues and they wanted to prevent peasant uprising? Actually, that's not really that suprising. I'm sure China still creates a huge fuss about girl puppeteers. I was planning on doing a handful of animals (harharpun) but now I may do Causal Shadow Puppetry and educaate the rischaudience about important current affairs! (Aka two dobermin pinchers explaining the one percent whoo-haa).

This blog about Spain is so good. The girl from Oklahoma moves to Spain. And still talks nonesense.



*Important to note I just finished a novel set in 18th century England and I sometimes tend to live in the book even after I finish it. Oh Henry would never dare to court her. She is but a mere apothecary's daughter and can bring neither dowry nor honour to a marriage! What a laugh! Ok. I stop now.


**Does anyone else think the size of the bag has dimished recently? Or is my tolerance really just increasing with such alacrity? Good grief.

Today is November 1.

Today is November 1. And that means several things.  

1.     The Day of the Great Reseca. (Being in such a gnarley hangover fog myself, it seems inconceivable that anything else on the list would go first). Yesterday was the great holiday of Halloween which Americans proudly celebrate in whichever country they are currently in. Spain has absolutely no ties to this holiday except what’s been seen in American movies. But there is a weird phenomenon with the younger generations to adopt American culture, so there you have it. Halloween exists here too. Its kind of like adopting a 16 year old kid from  that you dont know much about or speak its language.

I had a great costume I made in an hour and hit my dancing fun-self high around 1:00 a.m. This is how I disguised myself and confused the zombies from stealing my soul:

We actually ran into another Eduardo-manos-tijeras and everyone was like take a picture with Camille! Maybe the girl was really playing her part but she definitely acted like she was a 13 year old getting coerced into taking her picture with a creepy mall Santa. (I excitedly suggested we pretend to cut each others hair and she curtly declined.) Also while we were getting our picture taken my friend Eric yelled “Camille’s costume was cheaper!” I immediately felt proud that I was a crafty little Sally and didn’t buy one thing for my costume. (I borrowed the cardboard and tinfoil from the bar next to my house). Score! I’m amazing! But this probably was my friend building me up so that when I saw the picture I wouldn’t feel so bad standing next to an Eduardo that could have cut my tinfoil hands off in one quick snip.

Today is also a scary hair day. Since I spent 20 minutes creating a rat nest in my hair last night and then making it truly flammable with hairspray, it is beyond salvation now. If I was a shih tsu at my dad’s office, he would call my hair a matted mess and turn on the clippers. But Im not a shihtsu and I need my hair. It keeps me girl.

2.     (No, I did not forget we were counting something. Although that is a nice indicator of classic blog-digression). November 1 also marks “Day after Halloween Day” “All Saints Day”. It is a national holiday for Spain and everyone is off school / work. Spain is very Catholic. (Meaning they don’t like to work very much). When I told my mom we don’t have school Tuesday. She said immediately, “All Saints Day!” I could hear the pride in her voice.

3.     November 1 is also my half birthday. Why does no one celebrate this? (Except the Spanish obviously). I remind you people every year. It’s like with the LED Hula Hoop. How many hints does it take to get to the center of the tootsie pop??

4.     This half birthday means I’m halfway to 49. Expect to receive an email from me reminding you about a certain grand party that I will want but act like I don’t want in 24 and a half years.

5.     And….. today I quit smoking. (Shock! Camille smokes!) But not anymore beaches!

I smoked maybe a pack a week which is an infinitely small amount compared to the sturdy Spaniard smoking regimen, but probably more than the trendy Social Smoker. I’d like to say I’ve never been a real “Smoker”. Not that anyone likes to admit to the foul nomenclature. It just sounds so concrete. Like I’m a girl. I’m white. I’m a smoker. And what is the real amount that makes these people real smokers? (Remember- I’m not one.)

Side note: I picked up on connotations from a very young age and I knew by age 5 that “Smokers” were bad, smelly sinners. (I was also in MathCounts, an after school math class for middle school kids to compete and math wiz it out. I had no reason to be there since I am the worlds worst at math. But Jim Risch really wanted me there. He also ran the program.)

So needless to say, November 1 marks my quitting day. Many reasons to quit but really only two are important to me. One, I’m pretty sure my teeth have become a shade of yellow. Its gross. I can’t live with kitchen color teeth being, said pale white girl. No contrast is scary. The second reason is I’m quitting is to keep my body in check. So that Camille’s in control. In the past, I received a lot of harsh (unsolicited) criticism from some people (Patrick) and I always told these people (Patrick), “I don’t have an addictive personality, so I can quit in a drop of a hat.” That never stopped those smoking abolitionists (Patrick) from tearing my cigarettes in half or flushing them down the toilet. But then I started wondering, what does that even mean? I don’t have an addictive personality. That’s like the people who say “This slimfast bar is SO filling.” (Liars!).

But here we start. No smoking! I will be sure to keep you updated of my success. And if I don’t then that probably means I’ve fallen off the wagon. Check facebook for pictures of white sparkly teeth and then you’ll know.

Well that is all. Today is a day of recuperation, birthdays, Saints celebration and some endings and new beginnings. Tomorrow I break down November 2.

P.S. Have I ever mentioned how smart my brother Patrick is? He can tell you anything about anything!

  

-Cococamille