It's like...it's like God knows what I like to watch, and he creates it for me.

Has anyone else watched Campus Ladies on the Oxygen Network, or am I the only one not in the know?

This show is wheezing hilarious. As in, I'm laughing so hard I'm wheezing and really glad I don't have a boyfriend so he can't be around to witness this and therefore can't make fun of me for it later, so take that Grandma! wheezing hilarious.

Seriously. This show is good. I wanna be friends with it.

HOLLA! Day.

Listening To: Love Is On the Way by Saigon Kick

Floating Holiday, that is.

Today has and is going to continue to be a "I Ain't Doin' Shit Today" day. These are designated days in my life that require singing, "I aiiin't doin' shit TODAAAAAAAAY!" (sung to the same tune that Whitney sings to Bobby in the Harrod's Dept. store when she gets irritated with him and sings "I ain't doin' this with you todaaaay!" while she shakes her big ol' fro wig...proof positive that "Being Bobby" had a positive impact upon someone) upon waking, and reminding oneself of that very goal any time oneself starts feeling guilty about "not doing shit".

So that's it. That's all I'm doing today. Nuthin'. Nothing I'm supposed to do, nothing that I should do, nothing included on a "ways to effectively kill your free-time buzz" type list. And if you ask me to do something, I'm just going to sing you my little song while I get all up in your grill, just so's you know I mean bizness.

Good tidings of comfort and joy.

Last night - Christmas Eve - I made a snide remark regarding how come I don't get special gifts like Kris and Becky get for their dogs.

"Because you don't have a dog," chuckled my Grandma. "Or a cat. You don't even have a steady boyfriend."


Thanks, Grandma.

Root down.

Listening To: Christmas With Roger Whittaker

I would like to think that every family gets better with each new branch on the tree. My parents' families were not that great. My family has improved upon that and - to our credit - on our own history. I want to be able to say, "You know, when we were kids, we never got to ____." because I think that thought is comforting to parents. It says, "Look what I've done! I've given you better."

Lessons in Patheticism.

Listening To: Degausser by Brand New

I got a black belt in keepin' it real, y'all, so I'm gonna keep it real. Sometimes, your girl Amber...she ain't so cool.

Not many men turn my head. This is nice because I therefore don't get disappointed very often. It's not so nice when I can see myself getting potentially amped on someone, and then have to deal with disappointment.

So I was amped on this guy. For the essence of the point of this post, he's on an online thing where you have profiles of yourself and stuff (guess). Through a myriad of interactions both on and off this site, clarity has revealed to me that he's not really amped on me. That's cool. Not everyone is going to dig me, and I'm fine with that. I'm fine with it even though he's pretty righteous looking, intelligent, interesting, funny, well-read, talented....

Ahem. But I'm strong. I have a good sense of self-awareness. The self-esteem is pretty good, as is the perception. Like I said, all signs point to he's just not that into me. So I did what any self-respecting girl would do...I stopped checking out his profile and deleted him from my Favorites list. Clean break.

Then I added him again. I figured that it was probably less psycho to just click his easily accessible image from my Favorites list than to have to do a name search for him every time I wanted to just get a glimpse of his hot face, which was bordering on about once a day (okay, fine, probably twice a day, and maybe three times if I was bored). The same day or the next, however, I would get another surge of self-righteousness and delete him again.

And then shortly thereafter I would add him again.

I am fully aware that this is pathetic. I know that what I'm doing is maybe not something that everyone would talk about out loud. I get points for not writing him emails or finding some "convenient way" to keep in contact with him, which would be super lame...I'm just staring at his picture every so often. I also admit that some days it can be a vanity thing...sometimes a girl needs to remind herself that occasionally she gets to make out with brutally hot guys. I also figure that since the length of time keeps getting longer in between deleting and adding cycles, that's baby steps in the right direction.

Besides, I tell you guys this stuff so I can be relatable. Y'know, make it so you don't put me on such a high pedastal all the time. So you can better understand that I'm a real person, too. Learn from me. Soak up all my wisdom. Repeat it to the coming generations so that I may not have suffered in vain.

Hooked-On-Phonics DID work for me, mofo's...

Listening To: Mess by Ben Folds Five

Some of the best days of my life are spent reading Michael Perry. These days, I do not have an admirable attention span. It takes me, on average, five hours to watch a two-hour movie. My mind goes and I have to hit pause so I can write down a sentence, check something out, maybe brew another pot of coffee. Very few things these days can hold my attention, and Perry’s books are on that list. When a book of his comes out (and I snatch it up the day after it hits the shops), I battle with myself. Do I carve out a couple of days to devour it the way I want to? Or do I reserve an hour here and there so I can absorb it, turning the sentences and images around in my head? It is a dilemma in its’ best form.

I write the same way I talk, as if I were reciting a story to Katy over Starbucks. Perry writes the way I would like to think...picking up on the beauty of the everyday world, without posturing or trite. For two years, I lived in the same area where Perry grew up, lives now as an adult, and writes primarily about. It’s the kind of place that’s easy to fall hard in love with, and reading his stories and observations causes recognition, nostalgia, and homesickness to settle in at various stages. Most of the time, though, it simply comforts me to know that someone else can see what I see and love about small town and rural life. He strives to keep the dignity and beauty it often loses in the common caricatures.

I have run across Perry a number of times, and he is not the sort of fellow you would immediately peg as an author. In terms of writing about small town life in Wisconsin, the boys’ got street cred. He looks more logger than writer, which I admit makes me love his writing even more. At book readings his voice digs into you, and now when I read something he’s written I hear his deep gravelly voice instead of mine.

If I care about you, then I have already given you the recommendation of Perry's first (and my favorite) book, "Population: 485". If I only semi-care about you, then I am certain you have at least heard me mention it in passing. And if I don't care about you, well then...read it, and maybe I will.

If you're lucky.

Motivational Zemmizar.

Listening To: Gettin' In Tune by The Who

I have always kind of hated those motivational Daily Planners. The kind that come with inspirational sayings, most likely a "so over used it's lost all meaning" bible verse or two included (um, I Corinthians 13:4, anyone?). It can be hard enough for me to look at my Daily Planner and be confronted with all the obligations I must uphold that day, much less be forced to gulp down a "Dance like nobody's watching!" sunshine command.

I'm not immune to inspiration. Don't tell anyone this, but I have a huge file folder bulging with things I've culled from magazines, newspapers, and the like. It's not the self-hug stuff, though. They're things that have caught my eye and caused a moment of ponderment. Mostly cool shit, like "There's tons of guys out there who want to make out with you, hot stuff!". Who doesn't want to open their Daily Planner and see that?!

So I've made my own Daily Planner. I've taken my black Moleskin and have written little notes on random pages, taped in a few images here and there, sprinkled in a couple of quotes from Oprah. It's pretty cool. It makes me want to actually look at my Daily Planner and check out what I've got going on that day, as opposed to the old credit card statement approach of "if I don't look at it, then it doesn't exist".

I love my mom.

I just got an email from her, and I quote -

"Hi, It’s me, your Mom. Remember me? You never email and never call. What’s up with dat?"

I don't know which is better...the fact that my mom actually wrote "What's up with dat?", or the fact that I know she knew that would make me laugh.

First "Guitar Hero", now this.

I'm not a big fan of Beyonce's new video. I don't really understand the band scene. I'm not a musician, and I couldn't be in a band. I do, however, know how to strum a guitar. Therefore it's pretty obvious to me that the girls weren't hired for their musical talent, but rather for their cool 'fros and dreads. Beyonce has indie and ethnic friends. I get it. Cool indie and ethnic friends who know how to rock out. They're all "Girl power! We're in a band with Beyonce!", while Beyonce is head-banging to a song that doesn't really warrant head-banging. But it's cool. It's a nice change of pace from the whole "I'm posing in my underwear and giving myself seductive looks in the mirror to remind myself that I'm Irreplaceable" bit.

Whoops.

My - long abandoned - online dating profile on Esquire.com (aka, Citypages.com, Onion.com...they're all through the same network) is being featured in advertisements and in those "profile teasers" they show when you access the login page.

The only reason I noticed this is because I had started to receive a bunch of alerts from the messaging system. I found this odd since I had rarely been on the site more than a handful of times within the past five months. I checked it out, and an unusual number of messages were from guys in other cities. Most of them were of the "Loved your profile but not into the long-distance thing" variety, which is cool - I like compliments with no strings attached - but a couple were serious. So I had to take the bait. I wrote one and asked him what had possessed him to write a girl who was halfway across the country. He wrote back and told me he had been reading The Onion one day and had seen my picture and a small blurb linking to my profile. "Makes sense," I thought to myself while reading this. "Of course they would feature my profile when I'm off men." There's no reason why they would do that when I was dating and active on their service for the past two years.

Musical Snapshot.

"Hey Ya" by OutKast is my Old Navy commercial. It came out at a time when I felt more alienated from everyone around me than I ever had before, and it was like a symbol: People were living their lives, going out, dancing to this song, and I was just kind of stuck in my own pain. That's why I think of it as akin to Old Navy retro, sugary, artificial happiness...everyone is having the most amazing time, and you want to look like you are, too. So you're dancing around, being all "This is great! Look at how big I'm smiling! I love this!"...yet all the while you're only noticing the things you don't have, like boyfriends, kicky snowball fights, cool musician friends, and pink fleece pullovers. It feels like missing out. Sometimes on purpose.

I thought you should know.

I don't like people who say, "Well, poop on you." Hearing someone say that makes me want to curl my lip at them and give them my "Seriously, dude?" eyes. It upsets me that they cannot come up with a wittier insult, and it also offends me that they have to say "poop", thereby conjuring up a mental visual I would rather not think about.

Strangly, I do not at all feel the same way when someone says, "Eat shit." That, my friends, feels like it's being given good, and good till it's all been given out.

Because I love you, I bring you my music recommendations...

"...Is A Real Boy" by Say Anything.

Some of you coolies out there might think this is old news, but check it. While I hate doing the "It's like ___" comparison, I do have to say that I'm a huge fan of Goldfinger (or was, back when Simon and Charlie were still in the band), and Say Anything is like a Goldfinger fans' wet dream, but better. With lyrics like "...'cause of you I won't ever have rough sex with Molly Connolly again" and song titles like "It's a Metaphor, Fool"...dudes, it's the shiznit. Plus, it's 20 songs for effin' $6.99 on iTunes.

Kind of makes life worth living, doesn't it?

This is ridiculous.

So my goal this week was to get through a week of work without getting sick.

Yeah, didn't make it.

The week has been good health-wise...was still recovering from being a germatronic, but good. Today I woke up and was all, "It's Thursday! One more day to go and I'm golden!" Then I threw up.

It's not surprising to me that I've been sick so much. Where I work can be a breeding ground for illness - lots of kids sharing lots of germs with lots of therapists. Yesterday we had a couple of kids out for the flu, and a bunch of us looked at each other, wild-eyed, wondering who was going to be next. Yeah, joke's on Amber...

What I really need to do is just figure out how to not be quite so susceptible to the germs. I wash my hands but don't overdo it on the anti-bacterial stuff, I eat healthier than I ever have before, I work out on a regular and consistent basis, I've cut down on my - ahem - social habits...what else can I possibly do? Vitamin C supplements? Herbal tea?

This is the only time I'll ever let you guys give me advice that I might actually take. Use this opportunity wisely.

Balancing Act.

Listening to: Beware by Deftones

I'm not very good when it comes to moderation. I recall the one afternoon my North Park crush Steven, an upperclassman and a ska boy, came up to my dorm room. He reclined in my chair while I sat on my bed, nervously pulling up my striped knee-highs while I watched him survey the mountain of textbooks on my desk. He asked me what I was majoring in, and studied me as I replied that I was a ‘double-major’. "Are you ambitious, Amber?" he asked, a playful smile spreading across his hot face, those gorgeously penetrating blue eyes boring into me. It was all I could do to hug my knees to my chest, nod and smile. It had only just occurred that I was when he had asked the question, and I wondered why I hadn't realized it before.

I am stubborn, rebellious, and tenacious. I have a propensity for task-mastering, and once I put my mind to something I'll go at it with balls to the wall. This grouping of characteristics hasn't always worked out for my benefit, however. In the past, it has caused me to stay in relationships I should have walked away from much sooner, or propelled me through misery just so I could say I finished a certain project. That's why I now find something so perfect in the act of giving up: Because I never used to be able to, it feels like I'm amassing a great deal of strength when I'm able to say, "Aaaand I'm done." Pivot. Strut away. Don't look back.

I'm also trying out this new thing where I don't purposely do things - or people, for that matter - I know are bad for me. I am a sucka for temptation and a challenge: I want to prove the rules wrong, but more than that, I can’t resist finding out how it will all end. These days I'm trying to be smarter than that...the Man Ban started out with this idea. It wasn't good for me to date this summer, and as my buddy Dave has so eloquently put it, I was a serial dater. I was starting to see that I was playing with peoples' hearts and that I wasn't really gaining anything from serial dating...truth be told, it was actually starting to make me miserable. Thus, an entire Man Ban/celibacy jag took effect.

The thing is, even when I give up on something I can’t seem to do it in moderation...I have to make this grand scheme filled with lofty ambitions. I’m a goal girl. Satiation and deprivation seem to be the two recurring themes in my life as well as the banes of my existence. Meeting in the middle, as a general rule, would be refreshing. I think I'd rather try to just get better at it as I go rather than set up goals for it, though.

For your consideration.

There are certain things about my day that I love. I love waking up to "DN" by Seymour Saves The World. It even sounds like a song that would play in a morning film scene; rolling over, shutting off the alarm clock, staring at it for a moment, then finally mustering up the energy to throw back the covers and slide out of bed. It's sweet, gentle, and thoughtful, which to me is a pretty great way to have your day start out.

You may know him as Shocka Khan...to me, he will always be Hippo.

And this is why I love him.

And that's how I feel about THAT.

Regarding convos with settled/married people about boys and "soul mates"...

"It'll happen when it's supposed to happen."

You know what? Shut the fuck up. You only say that because it's already happened for you.

Futures.

I saw this image online. "This is how it feels," I remember thinking, with a certain measure of relief. "Someone else knows."

It’s difficult to maintain a balance between honesty and privacy on here. There are certain things I don’t like to talk about. Lately, though, I’ve felt a need to write more about them. It’s not out of a need for self-disclosure; rather, it’s a simple desire to write it out so I can stop ruminating and move on.

I don’t tend to allow comments on certain posts because I’m not writing in a quest for pity, sympathy, or advice. In all honesty, those three things tend to only incur my anger. I don’t want people to tell me how they think I can get over this. I don’t want people to give me encouragement or try to make me feel better. I don’t want people to feel sorry for me. This happened. Unless it happened to you, you have no idea how it feels. Unless you’ve struggled with something similar yourself, you don’t know anything about it.

Another reason why I will be writing more about certain events is because, after the initial shock wore off, I went into productive mode and desperately searched for any resource that would help prepare me for the tidal wave I knew was about to come my way. There was nothing. At least, nothing I could remotely relate to. Maybe someday someone will need this. Maybe not. At the bottom of everything, though, I simply want this to be worth something.

Admittedly, they were pretty hot boots.

Listening to: Out of Control by She Wants Revenge

At Ground Zero last night, a guy asked to kiss my boots. Then he offered to be my sex slave, even going so far as to slipping me his phone number.

And the whole time I'm thinking, "...all I really want is for someone to just like me enough to ask me on an actual date."

Guess you can't have it all, kids.

Bored people entertain me.

I'll admit: I normally hate Craigslists' Missed Connections, and I try to make a point of rarely reading it. However, a recent event has caused me to read it more than usual. But that's not what this is about - this is about when two posts collide, making sure that my Saturday afternoon is even more entertaining.

First one:

"Missed connection with "you're" and "your"

Before posting the missed connection ad that will save your world, you're going to have to learn the difference between "your" and "you're". I will give no help here. It is up to you. While you're at it, and looking through your previously uncracked dictionary, check out "to", "too" and "two" it might prove useful in landing your mate. Since you have chosen the lottery method, your odds will vastly improve to... ummmm.... maybe 3 in a million rather than none. I'm not a perfect speller, or a grammar expert, but this is third grade stuff. Your beautiful and perfect missed connection is likely looking for someone in or beyond fourth grade I would suspect.

Location: nobodies purfekt"

The reply:

"Your Special Too Me - m4w

It suprises me how much we are like eachother. And how much we like eachother! You know its true. I think twice when I think of you. Its cause I hope your thinking of me two. When I dream its of you, and I dream of you're orchid colered eyes, and you're dimples when you smile. Its like the feathers of a butiful peacock. Do we connection? I love it when your so teacher-ish. "

Love it.

A Poem. Or, A Query. Or, How I Feel About Love.

When you make love...
Do you look in the mirror?
Who do you think of?
Does she look like me?
Do you tell lies...
and say that it's forever?
Do you think twice?
Or just touch and see?

When you're alone...
Do you let go?
Are you wild and willing?!
Or is it just for show?

I don't wanna touch you too much, baby...
Because making love to you might drive me crazy.
I know you think that love is the way you make it...
So I don't wanna be there when you decide to break it.

OH!
Love bites!
Love bleeds!
It's bringing me to my knees!
Love lives!
Love dies!
It's no suprise!
Love begs.
Love pleads.
It's what I need.


The End.

Today, I want Greg Behrendt to change my life.

I'm thankful that people allow me to learn a great deal about myself through them. I'm glad that, because of them, I now know how to distinguish between what I want and what I need. Brooding boys with dark hair, for instance...I tend to want them. They tend to make me not so happy. Bad with the little things, which demonstrates that they'll also be okay with disappointing me when it comes to the big things.

But it's all good. Whenever I come into contact with them, I learn more and more about how to say no. How not to share too much of myself. How to distinquish between what I want - them - and what I need. Consistency. That's good for me. Honesty works, too. Knowing what your intentions are...god, that's like the whole universe wrapped up in one big Victoria's Secret bag.

It's too good. It's just too good not to post it...

I would have told you earlier, but I was too busy not blogging.

Last week The Greater Good Network was giving away free pearl necklaces with every order.

I think giving away free pearl necklaces would probably benefit the greater good, as well. Well, with the exception of me...I'm not so into the pearl necklaces. I prefer to keep my collarbone clean and free of any adornment. You know, decoration free. I don't really need trinkets to remind me of someone else's affection.

Aaaand...done.

It's hard to feel pretty when you're DYING.

I'm So Sick by Flyleaf

So your old friend Amber has been sick for the past, oh, two weeks. Started off small, turned full-blown over the weekend, and now it's become this worsening thing that I can't seem to shake. I'm getting tested for mono today, so be forewarned, all of those who have kissed me in the past two weeks (which would be a total sum of about, oh...zero).

I love my job and I want to be there. I think my super supervisor is getting a little annoyed, though, by the fact that I keep coming into work only to be sent home again, as it is obvious that I'm too sick to run around with kids all day. She said she knows I don't want to seem undependable or in possession of a poor work ethic, yet I can't quite seem to stop stressing about missing work and just concentrate on getting better. How do you concentrate on "getting better", though? Is it a Zen thing? Because all I seem to be able to do is sit around and think about how much better I don't feel.

And I really shouldn't be all that surprised. This is what happens to me: I'll ignore something for so long and keep pushing myself to fuction. Finally my body screeches to a slamming halt, and I'm left lying face down with my head facing the foot of my bed, one eye peeking out so I can watch a Made-For-Teens-Movie while I wonder how long it would take for my roommate to wander down to the basement to find my dead body. Yesterday I estimated about three days. He's a busy guy, and he just got a shiny new laptop, so...

"Chia-like, I shall grow."

Yeah...I pretty much couldn't get more cliche than this - black turtleneck, Starbucks coffee, and listening to Brick by Ben Folds Five.

This blog thing feels so ridiculous sometimes. I hate feeling that, because I have a blog, people will think I'm this arrogant asshole with an inflated sense of self-importance. I'll be the first to admit that what I have to say is really not all that important. The things I've experienced...they're important and dramatic to me, but in the span of things I'm just a girl who knows she's no more special than anyone else. I'm not getting down on myself...it's an embracement. Everyone is special. We all have things to say.

I love reading other people. Not too long ago I spent the weekend devouring the entire blog of a particular male who shall remain nameless. I won't tell you who it is because you'd never believe me, but it's the greatest stuff. He regards things at such interesting angles...it blows my mind. I'll read something of his and think, "God, I never would have noticed that." It's so simple - usually the most normal, everyday thing - but I keep missing it and he keeps picking it up. The whole junk/treasure philosophy, the Thoughts & Observations chapter.

I'm a sucker for inspiration. I want to be worthy of something. I don't want to take myself too seriously, though...that gets to be a drag. I think the best blogs read like love letters to their readers, with songs to narrate the passage. Not the 18th Century sappy-crappy love letters, but the kind I think Cameron Crowe was trying to get across in the road trip/photo album bit in Elizabethtown (before Kirsten Dunst and Orlando Bloom fucked it all up with their atrocious acting): Pieces of who you are that you're driven to share with others, and some other stuff that you just think they might like.

And if they don't like it, they can just eat shit because it's still your blog.

And it would be titled, "That One Soundtrack From That One Movie."

So my old buddy Mitch posted this as a MySpace bulletin, and it was so fun I thought I would post it on the blog. I did, however, add a few scenes of my own (what kind of movie doesn't have a gratuitous sex scene? I don't even get to get laid in my own movie?!), but added them before I started the shuffle play, so as to not fuck up the experiment. Some songs are rather fucked up for the "scenes" they're in (hence the point and fun of it), but some of them were so dead-on it was freak-ay.

If Your Life Was A Movie:
Here's how it works:
1. Open your library (iTunes, Winamp, Media Play, iPod, etc.)
2. Put it on shuffle
3. Press play
4. For every question, type the song that's playing
5. When you go to a new question, press the next button
6. Don't lie and try to pretend you're cool.

Opening Credits:
MakeDamnSure by Taking Back Sunday
Waking Up:
Money Talks by AC/DC
First Day of School:
Short Stories by Harry Chapin
Falling In Love:
Beware by The Deftones
Sex Scene:
The Greatest by Cat Power
Fight Song:
Neighborhood #3 (Power Out) by Arcade Fire
Breaking Up:
No Hard Feelings (Birthday) by Bloodhound Gang (I shit you NOT)
Prom:
Gin & Juice by The Gourds
Life:
23 by Jimmy Eat World
Mental Breakdown:
Song Seven by Interpol
Driving:
Solitary Man by Chris Isaak
Flashback:
Everything In Its Right Place by Radiohead
Getting Back Together:
Love Is On The Way by Saigon Kick
Wedding:
Sweet Thing by Van Morrison
Birth of A Child:
Existentialism on Prom Night by Straylight Run
Final Battle:
Rock This Bitch by Ben Folds
Death Scene:
Wish You Were Here by Incubus

Bring it in for the real thing.

Sometimes I need to be quiet for a while. It comes in waves. The majority of my days now are the lulls, but then another one will hit and I'll find myself withdrawing. The line "I don't wanna talk / if it makes you feel bad..." (from "The Winner Takes It All" by ABBA. Yeah. I know.) will turn over and over in my head, and I know enough now to regard it as a signal.

It's this thing where I feel like I'm molting. It's extremely uncomfortable, a little unnerving, and I would rather that no one be around to watch it. These are the darkest, and when they have passed I'm glad for it. I hate to mock it and say it's like having an existential crisis over the weekend, but that is what it can feel like. I'm forced to dig up the parts of myself that I feel miserable about and either make peace with them or find some way to change them. You can imagine how much fun that is. Everything gets questioned. Some things stay, some things will change.

It is, admittedly, an excruciating process, but one that I'm always grateful for once it's done. What I'm left with is a more honest idea of who I wish to be...what makes me happy and what's raspberry filling. Things on here are going to be a little different. There are things I need to be more honest about. There are other things I need to focus less on. What I really want, though, is to get to the point where my inside story and my outside story read the same.

So break's off. For one, it was really hard at times to shut the hell up like I said I would...I swear to God, some of you are crazy. Which I love. I delight in the fact that I could take a break for a month and some of you would still keep the comment sections going, making them your own little party. To me that's beyond cool. You guys are beyond cool. Even you, Anonymous Troll: Let's hug it out.

Fabulous.

Simply.