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Make Your Camera Disposable, Not Your Adventure

disposable camera

[Hey, remember me? I know that I am responsible for that embarrassing picture your mom found of you and your high school boyfriend making out, but Instagram still ain’t got nothing on me.]

If you want to successfully relive your escapades, my suggestion is to invest in a disposable camera. You’re welcome¬†Kodak. I carried out this plan as I traveled last month. If you have trouble finding one of these at your local store, just look next to the fanny packs and pocket protectors. I understand that disposable cameras are equivalent to reverting back to VHS, but I do have a sound argument for resorting to something so seemingly obsolete.

My trip marked my second time ever flying in an airplane, my first time traveling out of the south as an adult, and my first big vacation that I have funded entirely on my own. Naturally, I anticipate taking photos of my time there.

I know what you are thinking. Does she not have an omnipotent smart phone or something? Of course I do. What am I a cave woman? In fact, some would say I qualify as a camera phone abuser as I even take pictures of pictures. This is where the problem exists, and upon admitting my denial of said abuse, I did reach an epiphany. Read the rest of this entry

Nixing the Paper Trail

Memory lane

[Awww yeahhh 1993. What a bright pink bathing suit I’ve got there. Wait a damn minute, was that really almost twenty years ago?!]

Sometimes I forget about things. Sometimes I get lazy. Sometimes I do both simultaneously.

As I was driving down the highway, I could hear the ice chest in the trunk sloshing around. It sounded like I had a dead body back there. We were close enough to the next stop we were making on our way to Denham Springs for me to ignore it for a few more miles. We finally pulled up on the curb of a friend’s house. The caravan of cars ahead of us had filed neatly into the driveway.

I peeled myself from the driver’s seat and went around the rear of my car. I figured I would investigate what was causing my ice chest to slingshot around my back seat like a bouncy ball. My friend had initially loaded the ice chest. Since I frequently stash things in my trunk (don’t worry, nothing that’s alive… wait that didn’t sound right), I knew there was no telling what I would rediscover when I opened that door.

Whew, it was only an old box. A half-opened old box labeled memories. Read the rest of this entry

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