An Amber-Colored Life

Basically, just imagine me saying many incredibly witty and informational things, and it will be like you actually got to listen to it.

2012-01-27T15:58:00.001-05:00

Today, as part of my efforts for 2 Million in 2012, I got to do a radio interview on my favorite radio station, WOJB. Some of you longtime readers will remember that, back when I first lived in Wisconsin, I used to have my own radio show on WOJB. I am most famous and remembered for (mistakenly) playing more songs with swear words in them than anyone else in the history of the station. In the afternoon. On Saturdays.

Due to my experience in radio, you'd think that lining interviews would be a no-brainer and something I would have tried a long time ago. You would be wrong. You see, dear readers, I hate talking on the phone. I find phone conversations to often be awkward and uncomfortable, and when those conversations are broadcast on the radio airwaves? A no thank you.

BUT - much like some of my other pet peeves, this little personal is quirk something that I'm going to have to either tolerate or embrace if I want to reach my goal. AND, the DJ who was going to interview me, Jackie, had graciously offered to have me on her show, which I enthusiastically agreed to, so being a wuss and backing out wasn't an option. So this morning I took a deep breath, put my big girl knickers on, and dialed in.

And it was awesome! Jackie was a fantastic interviewer, and not once did I feel like a moron. Whether I sounded like one is a different story, but since I gave my family and friends short-enough notice that they missed the interview, that is feedback that I don't have to get.

The best part was that I had such a great time that I'm going to make a point to set up more interviews on podcasts, radios...and someday, maybe even public access shows.

I'm reaching for the stars, here, kids. After all...you don't get to be a star if you don't reach for them.

Right? I thought I saw that on a paperweight somewhere...

* If you would like to have a brilliant and always-entertaining guest on your podcast and radio show, you should contact this guy. If you would like to have a pretty smart, super sarcastic, sometimes funny, and always adorable guest on your podcast and radio show, contact me.

And now for another episode of Adventures In Amberland, where Chris discovers the joy that is taking care of me when I'm sick.

2012-01-26T11:27:00.000-05:00

"No more laundry for you," Chris said, laying me back on the couch in the late afternoon, after I attempted to do two loads of laundry and then almost started to cry over how miserable my cold was making me feel.
"I'll do laundry if I want to," I retorted.
"What did you say?"
"Naaathiiiiing," I whined as I sat up to rearrange the couch pillows. Then, thinking better of it as I laid back down, I repeated, "I'll do laundry if I want to."
"Huh," he laughed, then brushed the hair on the top of my head back with his hand. "You really weren't kidding when you said that you turn into a big baby when you're sick."
"I TOLD you."

Who wouldn't look forward to spending a lifetime with this, huh? Right?

The Adventure Loft, so calleth because not only do many adventures take place in said loft, but because you could lose your life just by trying to gain entry into and exit out of the loft, which makes it an ADVENTURE.

2012-01-25T17:36:00.002-05:00

For months now I've been planning on posting these pictures to show you what my place in the Northwoods looks like. Because I know you've been dying to know...it's like, how can you imagine all the really amazing and exciting things that happen to me up here unless you can also visualize the background against which all those really amazing and exciting things happen? So let us do it now, for prosperity sake...

Because this girl is saying goodbye to all of it and moving back to Minneapolis (!)

Rest is something all women need.

2012-01-25T11:33:00.000-05:00

I did not write this. I will, however, not give public attribution to this poem, for I am not a monster. But godamnit, you guys. I cannot bear to read this poem and not share it with you...for to hide it would be like hiding the greatest gift of all from the people I love the most.

And the greatest gift would be this poem, dear reader. And those people...are you.

Feel free to play this appropriate music in the background while taking it all in.

She Is A Lady

She sits at the piano by herself in an empty room…
Playing note after note of Moon River…

Audrey Hepburn’s voice reminds her of what she loves most…
Elegance, class, and timeless beauty.

The party she just left was nothing that reflects her fine taste.
The dress she wore represents the word beautiful if an image were required in the dictionary.

She closes her eyes and dreams of what she needs…
Unfulfilled by what the world has offered her.

Her hair frames her face…she is a lady.
Dreaming of proper behavior and romance unmatched.

She walks over to the window and views the stars…
The dark night, the rose garden, and thinks of Old Hollywood…

She is delicate and well-mannered…
Her level of patience only exists because of her visions…

She waits for him…a man that need not be taught.
A glass of red she sips as her lipstick marks the glass…

Cherry red is the color...it highlights her porcelain skin.
She closes the curtains to the bay window…

In the living room she waltzes by herself…
With grace she glides and smiles with confidence…

She thinks of James Dean and fantasizes of a real man…
One that takes over her thoughts….

Irresistible charm and a gentleman…
As she picks up the violin in the corner and begins to play…

The bow lays across the strings and creates music to her ears…
A teardrop of loneliness drops to the ground…

Is he out there? Maybe he doesn’t exist…
She takes another sip of the red…he must …

Waiting for love…the right kind…
She walks out to the garden and picks a rose…

She smells it and holds it to her heart….
The scent is like her perfume…God sent.

It is a white rose..it represents friendship….
Not the deep love she dreams of…that would be a red one.

She drops it to the ground and continues down the stone path…
She looks at the moon…the clouds are part of the scene…

They hide the moon just enough to emphasize the mystique.
She wishes on a star…and heads back to her home…

A lady….a true lady…yearning for quality…
She slips into her lace lingerie and heads off to bed…

As her head rests along the pillow she closes her eyes…
Rest is something all women need..

Available tonight for a dream….looking for true love...
She is a woman beyond her time…She is a lady.

"But the point is, I have a gold record."

2012-01-24T21:41:00.002-05:00

When announcing my goal for selling 2 million copies of Holiday Chick by the end of 2012, I purposely worded it very carefully because I hadn't quite decided whether the goal was going to mean that I wanted to sell 2 million copies all in the span of 2012, or just have my total sales of Holiday Chick reach 2 million by the end of 2012.

Before we get into what I finally decided on, though, I want to talk about a little pet peeve of mine that has come to light since publishing Holiday Chick, because it also played a part in my inner-debate. And that is -

"How many books have you sold?"

Now, when I first published Holiday Chick, the original pet peeve was the question, "Who published it?" At first, this question would catch me off guard because I would never dream of asking an author this - mostly because I could give a shit about who published what, but also because...why would I want to know? Am I asking because I want to know if they got picked up by a huge publishing house and therefore I should be summarily impressed, or do I want to know because I'm the type of nerd who knows the difference between what houses publish what type of reading material and thus it's what I base most of my reading choices on? Neither, Mary. The second irritation came because, whenever someone asked me that, I felt like I had to go into the big long story of why I decided to go the route that I did (and then defend my choice against those who still think that "self-publishing" automatically equals "hack"). However, both these irritations fell away after a while when I realized that when most people asked this question, they really had no point of reference for judging either unless they were an agent or a bookseller.

But the "How many books have you sold?" question still irritates me. Mainly because it's really none of your damn business. I do not walk up to salespeople and demand to know how many units they've sold this quarter. I don't ask people I've just met at a party how much they make in a year. I don't quiz a musician or comedian on Twitter about how many CD's they've sold. To put it bluntly, on a purely social level, the question is just plain rude.You're not asking because you're "just curious."You're asking because you want to quantify someone's level of success with your chosen point of reference for what is deemed successful (in layman's terms, that's called "judging").

However, I do get that, in a time where everything in the book industry is changing, some people are seeking an answer to this question for their own edification...maybe they're flirting with the idea of self-publishing, or they've already self-published and are looking for some kind of metric to tell them what's realistic, what's not, etc. I get that. Sometimes people really do mean well and all that jazz. But I will admit that one of the reasons why I was tempted to just start the book sales meter at zero for #2millin2012 was because I didn't want to share my total book sales. Not because I was ashamed of the number, but because I'm suuuper super stubborn when it comes to principles, and also there was a part of me that wanted to gleefully frustrate those Nosy Nancys out there who were waiting to find out what they were.

But anyway.

As of Jan. 1st, 2012, I've sold 202 copies of Holiday Chick. That total - when I finally sat down to calculate it a couple weeks ago...I'm kind of what you'd call "lazy with numbers" - seemed small to me at first, until I realized that that number of books sold largely on its own: Admittedly, I've been kind of lazy with promotion since I published the book. I had a small launch party, I did a couple of book clubs, got the book into four bookstores, did a few discount sales, and threw out some very scattered social media marketing over various channels. So when I take that into account, I'm okay with that number.

But then the question is: Do I subtract 202 from the total of 2 million in 2012, or should I begin the tally at zero for 2012? If I count that number in, that's 202 less books that I need to sell to reach my goal. But it's also 202 books that were not sold based on the efforts that I have and will put forth in 2012. So is counting those 202 copies kind of cheating? Or can I consider them part of my overall goal for this book, which is specifically to sell 2 million copies of it by the end of 2012?

And now my brain hurts, so I'm curious...what what do you think? If this were your goal, what would you do? Count 'em? Or start at zero for 2012?

been thinking..., Let's make a deal.

2012-01-22T19:22:00.001-05:00

been thinking..., Let's make a deal.:

I’ll read Courtney Stodden tweets to him while he does the dishes. I don’t understand the lack of enthusiasm at this offer.

I love the delight that comes from finding out that, even though we're halfway across the country from each other and haven't even talked about it yet, one of my best friends finds as much delight and unabashed glee in something as I do.

Or should I say: Delightfully dreamy about the dorky dual love affair Erica and I have over a disastrously ditzy Tweeter!

That's better.

Book Trailer Fun Time.

2012-01-20T10:36:00.002-05:00

On a frigid, grey Thursday afternoon last week, Christopher K. Grap, Ryan Schaddlelee, and I gathered together in a mythical, magical location called "downtown Minneapolis" to shoot a book trailer as part of my 2 Million in 2012 goal for Holiday Chick. Here's some highlights...or, as they call it in the film world, some "teasers" (they actually don't call photos of the shoot "teasers". I just like calling them that) -

Our first order of business was to stop by the WCCO studios to get a soundbite from my friend and "I know that guy" special acquaintance, Jason DeRusha. This ended in an unexpected adventure.

After our visit to WCCO studios, we then raced to Barnes & Noble to film the very esteemed Randy Fordice, who informed me, "Amber, I got this" when I tried to give him direction. And he did, you guys. He totally did.

And then it was on to the Bulldog N.E., where we filmed Andrew Eklund, Jake Nyberg, and Tony D'Aloia.

Andrew Eklund, diggin' into the Word.

Jake Nyberg, getting ready to perform.

Tony D'Aloia is a serious thespian.

All in all, it was a fantastically fun afternoon. Special thanks to everyone who helped out with this dream project (and to everyone who was willing to help out, like Kevin, Patrick, and Melissa)...and to everyone else, keep yer eyes peeled for the video premiere, coming up in the next few weeks!

Telling the truth.

2012-01-19T21:26:00.000-05:00

"A lot of times people use the excuse that they don't want to hurt another person's feelings. This is always a lie. If you ever catch yourself thinking this, what's really happening is that you're protecting yourself from your own feelings. You're avoiding what you will feel when they get upset. It is the coward's way out, and it simply delays having all your cards on the table." - Jack Canfield

Because if you don't like having dry skin in the winter, then you should. JUST. MOVE!

2012-01-13T14:48:00.001-05:00

While filming our book trailer yesterday, we stopped by the WCCO studios to get a little soundbite from the outrageously famous and universally beloved Jason DeRusha. This was mostly just a thinly-veiled ploy to get on the news for his Good Question segment. This was much more comfortable than all the other days, when I just hang around the studio building during work hours, waiting for Jason to come out so I can ask him if he needs any help with anything he's doing that day and oh! by the way! I could totally spare some time to be on his Good Question segment just, you know, in case he needs anyone else to lend a soundbite or just stand there and smile a lot in the background somewhere.

We're making a book trailer today!

2012-01-12T11:47:00.000-05:00

After I saw this about a year ago -

the idea of a book trailer has been stuck in my mind. Probably the biggest reason for this is that if I have done nothing else during my years of Minneapolis, I've met a lot of really fun, creative, and entertaining people whom I would love to torture and publicly embarrass on a public forum for my own personal gain. But also, the idea of using different mediums to both promote and sell books is something that fascinates me. All of my writing is heavily influenced by music and film...so it kind of makes sense to incorporate music and film when sharing that writing, right?

Since this book trailer debuted, however, there's been a lot of chatter about book trailers in general. Some of the book trailers that have been recently produced are both interesting and entertaining in their own right.

Like this one-

However.

As with every big, unexpected success in the entire world, you're going to find 50 billion other people who assume they can also copy that type of success. Which, don't get me wrong - there's absolutely nothing wrong with that. If we took the attitude that good ideas shouldn't spread or be replicated, we wouldn't have fire, right? The worst is when people who know nothing about how social media or trendsetting works assume that an author should just make a video and then BOOM! A billion book sales. Or when people make one just to make one, and thus subject their audience to a totally boring 5 minute video that tells you absolutely nothing new about the book, much less entertains or grabs your attention (hint: No one wants to watch a video that only comprises of an image of your cover and you reading the description of the book aloud. WTF.)

But if you have a really fun idea (or a lot of fucking money to burn), why not, right? Because that's the whole point of this whole writing thing, isn't it? You do it because you love it. And doing something really fun with rad people that will help you continue to do the thing you love...there's a whole bunch of wins right there.

So today we'll be traipsing around downtown, getting footage for a book trailer that will be at once beautiful and uplifting, heartwarming and hilarious, glorious and inspiring...or, even better, bite-sized and super dorky. I'll try to post some pictures and updates through my Twitter and Facebook feeds, so if you'd like to be in on all the dramatic action, you can follow along here and here.

Why I love the TC.

2012-01-11T20:00:00.000-05:00

Here's the thing that I've noticed lately about Minneapolis/St. Paul that sets us apart from other cities like New York and L.A. - we go out of our way to promote and cheer on others. Take a look at Twitter sometime - it's full of TC peeps RT'ing or announcing the great things that other people on the scene have done/are doing. And then some of them take it a step further by thinking of great ways to help said people further their goals, whether it's by featuring them in a magazine, putting them up for an award, or sponsoring their endeavors. And we don't just do it for our friends: We do it because it's become a natural part of our online community. Publicly, we seem to thrive on the spirit of building others up.

Which is really freaking awesome.

Snow Wars.

2012-01-11T12:37:00.000-05:00

I like to think of this unseasonably warm weather as a big punch in the face to all the Winter Dicks out there. The kind who seem to take a sort of sadistic joy over reminding people that this is Minnesota, and no matter what you might be hoping, this winter especially is supposed to be long, cold, and bitter. "Well, hopefully if it's snowing in October, that means the snow will be gone by April," you brightly tell yourself and your friends, trying to take the optimistic route after the first snowfall hits before the leaves barely have a chance to fall off the trees. "Nope," they reply, barely able to contain their smug little smiles, "They're saying that this year it's supposed to be colder, longer, and more snowier than any winter we've had in years." Those guy are dicks. Winter Dicks.

And while some of them are holding on - claiming that we should all just wait, that it being 50 degrees in the middle January just means that we'll probably still have snow by the time June hits - there's still a small satisfaction in knowing that this year they don't get to take joy out of everyone else's frozen misery. (And yes, the fact that I can walk outside in January without even a jacket on somewhat scares the shit out of me...however, if this is what it takes for people to believe in that silly thing called science and take global warming seriously...I'll take it. I've got my Post-Apocolypse Plan set all up. I'm good). If Minnesota suddenly turns into California, I'm okay with it, pals. Then everyone else who just loooves winters will know what it feels like when people challenge them with the incredibly ridiculous "If you don't like it, then why do you live here?" weather defense.

So here's to you, unseasonable temps in January. I won't talk about you on Twitter or Facebook because I find that shit to be incredibly boring and annoying to read about, but right now, you're okay by me, little guy.

McSweeney’s Internet Tendency: Ernest Hemingway, Yelper.

2012-01-10T11:58:00.000-05:00

McSweeney’s Internet Tendency: Ernest Hemingway, Yelper.

Infusion Tea and Coffee House
Category: Coffee & Tea
THREE STARS

I got up late and the sun was already high and I had been drunk the night before. The barista brought me a cup of coffee and asked if I wanted anything else and when I said no she left. The coffee was good and very hot. I sat at the table for a while. When I was done the barista came and cleared my mug and went back behind the counter. I ordered a muffin to go and walked out into the street. By that time it was two in the afternoon and my headache was not as strong as it had been.

2 Million in 2012.

2012-01-09T11:13:00.002-05:00

What would be the one goal that would change your life forever? I'm not just talking about losing 20 pounds, or paying off your credit cards, or any of those other "if only ___" goals. We can talk about those another time (mainly because it will feel more appropriate to talk about weight loss goals when I'm not currently stuffing my face with leftover Christmas cookies). What I'm talking about is: What is the one goal, if you accomplished it, that would change your life for-ever. No looking back. Everything is different. All of your wildest I'm-in-a-hot-tub-on-top-of-a-fucking-mountain-you-guys dreams just came true.

I've been playing with this idea on the regular, ever since this. It's called a Breakthrough Goal. As Jack Canfield (I love that guy) states, it's "something that changes your life, brings you new opportunities, gets you in front of the right people, and takes every activity, relationship, or group you're involved in to a high level." It's when you dream so big and set a goal so fantastic that it's hard to go back from it, because after you've allowed your imagination to stretch that wide, regular life starts to seem like kind of a drag.

Since the publication of Holiday Chick, my Breakthrough Goal has been this quiet little secret...this small, delicious little dream I had scribbled on an index card and stuffed inside my wallet. I didn't want to share it because...what if it didn't happen? What if people did that thing where they kind of smile politely and nod at you all nice-like but deep down you know they're secretly thinking, "Yeah, good luck with that one, Amber..."? What if I announced it and I looked stupid?

Here's the answer to that, though, which I just realized today: I already look stupid. I look stupid all the time. Sometimes I even go out of my way to look stupid on purpose, just because I'm so okay with looking stupid that I don't even care if I look stupid while I'm looking stupid...or something like that.

The point is...I'm fucking doing it. And I'm gonna let you watch me as I do it.

That sounded a lot more sexy than it was meant to. You're welcome.

I'm selling 2 million copies of Holiday Chick by the end of 2012.

There's no "I'm hoping to sell" or "I'm going to try to sell" or "Maybe I might be able to sell". Nope. No built-in outs.

It's happening. Declarative. Definitive. Two million copies in 2012.

It's a lofty goal. A bold statement. I know it. That's the point. Here's why:

A. As most of you long-time blog readers know, I'm not that super awesome with follow-through. On Thanksgiving I said I was going to post 30 days of Christmas music, and I ended up posting two days worth. And one of those days was a repost of something I posted last year! Ha ha. So this is going to take guts. It's going to take dedication. Hard work. Digital pavement pounding. Follow-through. So I'm purposely not letting myself say anything resembling, "I might not make my goal, but (insert consolation prize here)" because then I'm just a wuss who's hoping you'll let me off the hook if I decide - much like most of the people who enter into sacred, must-be-protected-at-all-costs marriage these days - that this is really hard and I don't wanna do it anymore. And you know what I realized these past couple weeks? The "Ha ha, I'm really bad at following-through, it's just a part of my charm" attitude is some straight-up bullshit.

And -

B. Goals that are realistic may be attainable, but they are not inspiring. Selling 100,000 copies of Holiday Chick does not inspire me. Selling 500,000 copies of Holiday Chick inspires me a little. Selling a million copies of Holiday Chick....that stuff is in-spir-ing. But if I'm going to go that high, why not go even higher, then, right? Goals that are so ambitious capture the imagination. They challenge you to think in entirely different ways. And if you want to change your life, if you want to be in that hot tub on top of that mountain, you have to do and think differently than you did before (otherwise you'd already be in that hot tub, right?). Also: Hot tubs are awesome.

So it's happening. And to make it happen, I'll also be turning a part of my blog into a sort of experimental tutorial. We've all read the articles about Amanda Hocking (including this article that my friend Dave sent to me literally as I was crafting this blog post...how weird is that, right?) and other authors who have made millions through self-publishing. The articles make it sound so easy...just do what they did - turn it into an e-book! Sell it for 99 cents on Amazon! Pay other bloggers to review it! - and you'll be rich! Riiiiiich! So I'm going to try out some of the billion marketing tricks and tips out there for aspiring and indie authors to see what kind of results they shake out. Because at the end of the day, when it comes to bookmarks and Facebook fan pages and all that other bullshit, us writerly-folk really just want to know one thing - does it help you sell more books?

So that's my goal for this year, kids. I'm selling 2 million books in 2012. And I want you to ride along with me, every step - mile, kilometer...I'm not here to make judgements about where you're from! - of the way. This blog will be filled with madcap exploits! Hilarious hijinks! Adorable pratfalls and heartwarming lessons! And you will be stuck to your seats, blog campers! Glued to your screens! Mainly because the only thing more riveting than watching someone do something so stupidly ambitious is watching someone go on a string of horribly bad, nightmarish, oh-thank-god-it's-them-and-not-me dates.

And I've already done that for you, haven't I. Oh yes...yes I have.

Hotness & Notness.

2012-01-05T14:57:00.000-05:00

As some of you might remember, I have my own personal experience with the annual Vita.mn's Hotness Contest. And I know that we all have our own opinions about this contest...some of us think it's campy fun, others think that it's one of the most banal and disgusting things to ever be a part of the local scene.

But I think one thing we can all agree with is that this is freaking awesome. To help support it, I submitted my own picture.

You want to make out with me right now, don't you. It's okay. Those feelings are only natural, after gazing upon this glorious portrait of my beauty.

To further celebrate it, I would like to take this moment to post a couple more. Because, if we've learned anything about each other over the years, it's that you guys love it when I purposely embarrass myself on a public forum.

So here you go.

And this one I'm posting for Kevin, to help soothe his mood after our very heated debate about government spending, Planned Parenthood, and abortion.

To submit your very own picture and help support the alternative to celebrating people merely for their hotness, get your fine personality over to here.

Hippo demonstrates for you how to properly read "Holiday Chick."

2012-01-04T10:22:00.000-05:00

Note: This is the first in a week of super-fun announcements about Holiday Chick. The first one being -

Holiday Chick is now $0.99 on Smashwords!

If you're not familiar with Smashwords (and that's okay. I don't expect you to know everything), then get ready - Smashwords is like book-shopping heaven for those of us who like unexpected reads. You can find millions of books on there, and for standard prices ranging from $2.99 - $0.99, there's no buyer's remorse if you take a chance and find the book wanting.

Also, for those of you who might have gotten some super sweet e-readers (Kindle Fire? Nook? iPad?) for Christmas, this is your one-stop shop for finding books that fit whatever format you're rocking. For those of you who do not get to carry a Kindle Fire around in your back pocket, have cheer - you can also download the e-books onto your computer in PDF form. Basically, however you can best access an e-book, Smashwords can do it up for you.

So hop onto Smashwords, why don't you! And make all of your e-reading dreams come true...

And you should probably hurry up about it, because I'm seriously considering an exclusive deal with Kindle in February.

My dear acquaintance, it's so good to know you.

2012-01-03T17:54:00.000-05:00

On New Year's Eve the snow started to fall around seven o'clock. I stood at the window and stared out and up, thinking about all the people who will be so happy about the thick layers on the ground in the morning. Up here, snow means money. It harkens to the skiiers and snowmobilers and snowshoers and ice fisherman from afar, like a signal to all the Winter SuperFriends to assemble and unite. Which is great, except for the immediacy of it, which seems to happen every New Year's Eve. The worst night ever for a snowstorm, right?

Under the right circumstances, the happiest night for one, too.

Here's to a fresh, dazzling 365 days of exciting possibilities, swelling triumphs, and daring new adventures. Happy New Years, pals.

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays.

2011-12-24T16:45:00.000-05:00

This morning we woke up in my little brother's bed. Laying against each other while we watched the orange sunlight begin its rise over the frozen lake, I thought about how these small moments together seem to last forever. Drawn out, stretched and filled with happiness for their presence instead of the sad longing for more.

Last night we drank eggnog with my family and watched the dogs romp around together while we waited for Daniel to come home. The night before we had our own little Christmas: We made a roast chicken and opened a bottle of red wine and exchanged gifts and laughed through all the Christmas episodes of The Office. And it feels like every new day or night we spend together becomes the new Best Ever. Which it is, for the simple reason that we're spending it together.

While the rest of the house was still slumbering, we rose and dressed and I made coffee while you took Ella out. The acolyte lanterns at the end of the driveway were still lit, two small fires in the blue of the dawn, and I kissed you in the cold after I brought Dutch out. Coffee and rolls and then a drive through the forest, Ella's sweet, soft head buried into the crook of my shoulder as we got ready to say goodbye.

It's late morning now. My family is watching a heartwarming, inspirational movie about a dog - and you know how I feel about animal movies - so instead I'm drinking coffee and catching up with friends online. Erica is in the airport, about to make her way from her new home in L.A. with her own Chris to her family's home in the woods of Minnesota. On her blog she posted a photo of a Starbucks drink atop a book, and I smiled a little as I thought about you, traveling the blacktop of 53 to your own families (plural) Christmas celebrations. On Thursday night we talked about making our own new traditions next year, ones of seasonal beverages and weekend getaways and commemorative mugs for hot chocolate crawls. And I already can't wait.

This is the merriest Christmas, I told myself this morning, as I felt your warm arms wrap around me as we stared out the window at the cold lake and frosted wood. And you are my favorite present, the Best Ever.

My Christmas starts now. Sorry if you're jealous.

2011-12-22T20:36:00.000-05:00

A Very Magical Christmas Evening starts ANY MINUTE NOW with the arrival of Chris. The presents are wrapped, the eggnog has been made (and nicely packaged into a carton that I could conveniently buy at the store), the fire is going, Roger Whittaker is playing (Yes. I have subjected Chris to Roger Whittaker. He's coming to the Carter Clan Christmastime tomorrow night, and so I needed him to be prepared), and the cookies I burned earlier this afternoon are ready for eating.

MAGIC!

Happy Holidays from Deloris Pookerton Carter!

2011-12-21T11:22:00.000-05:00

She wishes you a Merry Christmas, indeed.

This is what awesome looks like.

2011-12-20T14:11:00.001-05:00

A few weeks ago I was explaining to Chris why, even though I sometimes need it to walk properly, I don't like using my cane in public (the main reason being that I'm 32 and not, in fact, 80). Which usually means that if I have to go out, I'll just leave my cane in the car and grit my teeth and bear it (which of course my doctor totally loves and thinks is super great).

The next day, Chris went online and found this:

It's a Kraken cane! (aka, one that I would be totally okay stomping around with in public)

Yep. Feeling pretty lucky that I imprinted on someone so awesome, instead of a stupid baby like Jacob in Breaking Dawn...

Stop it with the social media skeezebombs, biz kids.

2011-12-19T14:03:00.000-05:00

Last week, I posted a Malcom Jamal Warning to businesses that were using the holiday's charitable spirit as a way to promote and market their business or product. This was originally set off by HealthPartners, which wanted their customers to "share" their image ad on their Facebook page. For 500 "shares", HealthParters would donate a $2,000 to Second Harvest.

Then, this morning, I woke up to an email from TCF, which can now be added to the list of skeezy holiday giving -

"This winter, TCF Bank has partnered with Toys for Tots to help ensure there will be gifts for needy children during the holiday season. We're pleased to share this opportunity with you—our customer—through our Facebook page. For every "like" we receive on Facebook, we will donate $1 towards Toys for Tots, up to a total of $5,000."

Really? You're gaining valuable metrics and data - and possibly new customers - through this social media scheme, but this and the spirit of giving is only worth "up to" $5,000? And you're not "sharing" this opportunity with your customers. You're using them to promote and market you.

I thought we all got wise to this thinly-veiled marketing ploy after companies tried to exploit people's sense of charity and goodwill after natural disasters (aka, the "RT this and we'll donate $1 to the Red Cross" Twitter bullshit after Haiti and Japan), but apparently some social media marketing teams are not hip to that game*. Here's a thought - maybe just give because it's the right thing to do? Maybe just post a Tweet or an FB update stating that you're donating the sum of ____ to ____, and you hope that others are inspired to do the same. Because the thing that you don't seem to realize is that viral messages often become viral because the call to spread them is unsolicited. Us thinking people...we tend to like doing things out of our own volition. And we tend to really like promoting things that were not solely created just for the intent of promotion.

Also, businesses of America, if you're going to be sleezy with social media, at least provide some rationale by going big with it. HealthPartners and TCF, you're both national companies and you're making your customers do all of your work for you in return for donating only $2,000-$5,000 to a charitable cause? Really? Go fuck yourselves. I know that some will say that "every bit counts" but in this case, nope. How about you go above and beyond what your legal team makes in a day and really inspire some action and attention? For a donation goal of 2 million, even I'll share your shitty image on my Facebook wall with my 700 Facebook friends.

So, c'mon, guys. 'Tis the season to stop being a skeezebomb. Stop exploiting the people who help build your profit margins and start acting right. Because unlike half the people who commented on your FB page that this was "such a great idea", I actually know how to find the "share" button on Facebook. And if there's anything I love using that "share" button for, it's to spread awareness on how not to be an asshole online.

Happy Holidays!

*Please consider firing them and hiring me in their stead.

Still looking for that perfect, personalized Christmas gift for someone special/not-so-special?

2011-12-18T20:32:00.001-05:00

Look no further, slacker.

This gift says everything you want it to say. It makes that person feel like, "Hey. This person really went all out for me." And, to save you both time and money, you could probably just order 20 of these and give one to everyone on your list, because each shirt will do the same job at making your giftee feel like you did something special for them by typing up some text and uploading it on a t-shirt.

Even though I did it. Me. I made it.

But, if you feel guilty for copping out on your gifts, you can always change the type of shirt (make it American Apparel for those hipster friends of yours who do not trust a global economy. Make it red for your cousin who likes to stand out. I don't know your friends and family! I can't tell you what they would like. You were supposed to be thinking about this two months ago, remember?) to better fit the person you're giving it to. That's the beauty of Zazzle...you don't have to settle for what I think looks good. You don't have to settle for anything! That's why you're still shopping for Christmas gifts, right?

Right.

While we're on the subject of words...

2011-12-15T13:54:00.000-05:00

You know how sometimes certain words start to become layered with connotations and associations, to the point where you wish you could make up a new, fresh word for the act or thing? That's how I feel about "meditation." I feel like, when I use the word "meditation" around people who don't do it, it seems to immediately conjure up this image of a naked, long-haired, extremely-flexible yogi chanting to himself while the sun rises in the background. Or I feel like the word is overused so much that it's taken on this construct of something silly that flaky people do. Or, even on a good day, it just doesn't seem to adequately describe what an awesome, mind-blowing experience the practice can be.

So I'm trying to come up with a different word for it, to use just for myself, that describes more of what it feels like to me. Soul-mining was one that I started using a little while ago... Because it feels like wonder, or sailing on an arctic sea, or doing soaring dives off a mountain cliff, or digging deep to find out who you really are...when no one's looking, when you're just quiet and alone and allowed to think. Just think. And then not think. It doesn't feel like sunrises or chanting or bells to me. And there's something really awesome about that, you know? That it's not the same for everyone, and that kind of the whole point of it is that you don't get it until you get it.

Words. Because we can make them up and they can still be real, no matter what this guy says.

Ice Lace.

2011-12-15T12:21:00.000-05:00

Let's go ahead and add "Yummy" to the list of words that I hate.

2011-12-12T12:21:00.001-05:00

The already-cemented List of Words That I Hate -

1) Panties

Ah, the word choice of pedophiles and middle-aged women with bob haircuts.

2) Nom nom nom

You may be awesome and you may even say this in a totally awesome, hilarious way, but it's already been ruined for you by one of the most annoying, bitchest people I've ever had the misfortune of following on Twitter. All she did was post updates on what she was eating followed by "Nom nom nom!". Correction: All she did was post updates like that, interspersed with ridiculous bitch-fests about stuff that everyone else would have just considered part of a normal day. "So pissed that I had to get up at 7 today. WHAT THE FUCK!" would be an example.

3) Poop

Examples: "Do you mind if I poop out tonight?" or "Just got home from work. Totally pooped from a long day." After working with little kids for ten years, I've become immune to this word as a descriptor for a bodily function (though, it must be said, I don't use it, because I happened to have graduated from elementary school and thus added other words to my vocabulary), but using this to describe an action or a feeling drives me crazy. I feel like only people who consider themselves "cutesy" use this word in this context. Which is ironic, because people who consider themselves cutesy very rarely ever are. Unless "cutesy" is another word for "super fucking annoying."

New addition to the list -

4) Yummy

It's just like...we're not three anymore, okay? And maybe I have a thing about people over-rhapsodizing about eating - okay, so I know I do, and I have for a long time, but I kind of feel like eating is something that's a private, primal experience and so it weirds me out when people make an overly big deal about doing it, or maybe it's just that the same type of people seem to do this and it tends to be super pretentious, annoying people who just can't be cool about stuff and let a meal happen without trying to make poetry out of it because they think it will make them look cultured and sophisticated. Anyway. People who use the word "yummy" also remind me of that girl in high school who used to carry around coloring books and crayons and who wore a lot of glitter and put her hair up in high, long ponytails because she thought it was adorable to be a 16 yr old girl who acts like she's 6. And so now, in order to break other people of this habit, whenever someone says "Yummy" in my presence, I mimic them in a super creepy, high-pitched voice and say it like, "Yyyyyummaaay! YYyyyyyyyyummaaaaayyyy!" so that they will then have that association and will want to stop using that word around me. This type of survival tactic has been successful in the past with words such as "delicious", which I once hated for much the same reason as "yummy" but then started to use it in a mocking context using my "I find debates about chaos theory to be endlessly fascinating" pretentious That's-Top-Drawer preppy voice, and now using that word is fun to me.

So that's my list. What words skeeve you out? You guys, I'm asking you about stuff! Opinions and thoughts and stuff! It's like a whole new world has opened up at Amber-Colored Life today...a world where you matter.

It will most likely change back to old times tomorrow, but today....

Day 2! (Only about, oh, 12 days late, No big deal)

2011-12-08T12:06:00.000-05:00

Yeah, I'm catching up.

For Day 2, my Christmas song of the day is one of the cheesiest, most amazing Christmas songs ever produced by a pop band. And since there's no point in trying to rewrite gold, I'll just direct you to my original thoughts on the subject, as first seen here.

Dudes.

2011-12-05T22:45:00.001-05:00

"A long time ago in living rooms not too far away, the SWHS aired on CBS once…and never again. For those of you lucky enough to have missed that broadcast, a brief history lesson: SWHS depicts the saga of Han Solo trying to get his Wookiee companion, Chewbacca, back to his wife, father and son on their home planet Kashyyyk to celebrate Life Day. This involves robed Wookiees gathering around a tree listening to Princess Leia sing, Bea Arthur slinging drinks in the cantina and Diahann Carroll seducing an aging Wookiee through a virtual reality headset.

Please join us for the craziest holiday celebration Minneapolis has to offer. Have your photo taken with costumed characters from the Star Wars universe and hear the letter of apology from credited SWHS writer Pat Proft! Enjoy dinner and drinks from Bryant Lake Bowl and watch Jefferson Starship sing into a glowing, hot pink…thing! Pick up the limited edition, Princess Leia themed “Rebel Wreath” poster by Clinton Lugert of THEY design! Bring an unwrapped toy donation and help us create a happy holiday season for the tots.

On Thursday, December 8th:
Bryant Lake Bowl
810 W Lake Street
Minneapolis, MN 55408
5:00P - Tickets available at Bryant Lake Bowl with unwrapped toy donation
7:00P (6:30P doors) - Screening 1
10:00P (9:30P doors) - Screening 2
PS - Don't bring your children thinking they will enjoy this...

And if that's not enough to convince you (BEA ARTHUR. SLINGING DRINKS), here's a little musical melody to get you in the mood:

So I guess what I'm saying is...I'm going to be there. And I want you to be there, too. If not for Toys For Tots, just come and be a big Star Wars nerd for one night. We can take pictures together...talk about our favorite Star Wars memories...debate whether people who are into having sex with other people in Chewbaca costumes are pervy or just really secure in their nerdery...and then debate whether or not the Princess Leia fantasy is tired or timeless...and just laugh and laugh and laugh...

So go. But go ahead and keep your "light saber" jokes at home, because I'm really, really, really tired of hearing them.

Yesssss.

2011-12-05T12:28:00.002-05:00

"Brought you to the new Twilight movie...took you to your work for dinner...bought you a couple of scratch-offs and a US Weekly, then treated you to breakfast at Perkins... Ladies, welcome to Mr. Right."

- Chris, expounding upon his date-planning charms.

(They worked, in case you're wondering.)

Day 1: "Christmas Time (Don't Let The Bells End)" By The Darkness

2011-11-28T10:49:00.000-05:00

I love The Darkness. I love everything about them. And this song is right up there in my list of Top 5 favorite Christmas jams...it's just so...fun, but also kind of sad, but also totally awesomely metal. And, the video is freaking great.

A Month of Christmas Music. AND YOU LOVE IT.

2011-11-25T10:57:00.000-05:00

So I've been waiting all week to do this, but I didn't out of deference and sensitivity to my Thanksgiving purist friends. But now Thanksgiving is over. So we're doing it.

Let me be honest: I didn't always love Christmas music. Much like country music when I was younger, it didn't add meaning to my life. I wanted to listen to love songs by Boyz II Men. I didn't want to listen to "Jingle Bells" for the 50th time...that wasn't going to help me fantasize about slow dancing with my 4th grade soulmate! But as life turned into my mid-20's and iTunes became more of a thing, I started finding some pretty rad Christmas songs. Songs I really loved listening to...some that I loved listening to even when it was not the holiday season. And now I love it. I started listening to my Christmas playlist on Tuesday. I jammed that thing out on my way to my parents house for Thanksgiving. I've been bugging my family this whole time to play Christmas music (not so much because of the music, but more because I really like to bug them).

And when I really like something, I like to share it with you fine people. So we're doing a month of radical Christmas music here on the blog. A post for every day. A different song, and maybe a different story, depending on how motivated I feel. Maybe a heartwarming story from my childhood. Maybe just a bunch of random thoughts strung together about what I think. Maybe just the song, that you can listen to at your leisure and form your own opinion about, without any interference from me. NOBODY KNOWS. It's all a surprise, here on An Amber-Colored Life. It's what keeps you alive, keeps you living. Having a sad day? Gotta live through it, so you can see what happens tomorrow on this blog.

Alright. The first song to kick it off - aka, my all-time favorite "fun" Christmas song in the entire universe - is up next.

Hold your breath.

There's this really awesome thing called clothes. Maybe you wanna check it out sometime.

2011-11-20T18:28:00.002-05:00

Okay, I just have to get this off my chest...

I loved being a cheerleader in high school. LOVED it. And I was a cheerleader for all the right reasons, which was A. To meet boys, B. Dance at halftime, and C. Meet more boys.

The reason why I'm telling you this is because I want to cop to it before leading into the rest of the post, which was tipped off by a picture in one of my friend's Facebook feeds.

Photo Credit: Mike Sjodin

Like, WTF, cheerleaders. And not even cheerleaders...WTF, Organization That Decides On The Costume Choices For Cheerleaders.

I'm no prude. And I'm part of the feminist camp that believes that feminism is about the freedom to make your own choices vs. the freedom for me to tell my fellow sisters what I think those choices should be. But these costumes...you guys, this is ridiculous. I understand that NFL cheerleaders are meant to basically be just bouncy entertainment. I get it - though more on that in a minute - and to be fair, I wish the broadcasted games would show more of the cheerleading action, because frankly, it's the only part of the game that I truly enjoy. However, WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH THESE COSTUMES. Why are you even having them wear clothes? Why not just some white tassles and a purple g-string? Because you're making a mockery out of all of us. These look like cheerleader uniforms...if they had gotten stuck in the dryer on high for about seventeen days, or if you had mistakenly grabbed your 5-year-old niece's adorable Halloween costume instead. Isn't it kind of weird when the boots cover more skin than the entire costume combined? And it's November, right? As in, winter. These are not even seasonal!

And as I'm thinking/writing this, I'm trying to organize my thoughts, because I want to be clear: I'm not saying this as a judgement against these girls. These girls are great. And this isn't a bitter diatribe based on my own insecurities...you know, the kind where women try to knock other women down because they think it will somehow benefit them in any sort of way. These chicks are totally hot, and they may just motivate me to choose more chocolate-covered raisins over ice cream Snickers in the near future. But I do have a problem with where I see this going... Because right now, as this organization stands, these aren't cheerleaders. Cheerleading has had to fight long and hard over the last two decades to be recognized as a sport, and it is one - at the competition level, it is some hard-core, you-could-die-if-you-don't-do-this-right stuntman shiz. It might be a dance team, but I feel like...there should maybe be more dancing, yeah? Like, real dancing...the kind where you choreograph different moves to the beat and try out different tricks that do not primarily consist of hip-or-boob shaking. And then, I think, "glorified stripper troupe", but no...because strippers kind of give you a little bit more for your money, and they know some stuff, like how to climb a pole or do that weird thing where they lift and cross their legs in a way that looks like an optical illusion (I think it's the stripper shoes that do it...though I can't be sure, since the strippers up here in the north rely more on tricks like how to crush a beer can in between your buttocks and how to balance a lit cigarette on the top of your nipple and do a dance move without burning yourself in the process. TRUE STORIES.).

I guess my point is...if this is professional cheerleading, shouldn't there be a little bit more "professional" action going on? Like, shouldn't there be stunts or dancing that BLOW THE EFFIN' MIND?! Like if they were doing acrobatic stunts, I'd totally get it. I would look at those costumes and think, "Well, of course...wearing barely any clothes makes total sense when you're doing triple flips through the air. It's about aerodynamics!" Shouldn't we maybe stop relying so hard on the skimpy costumes as the main entertainment factor and focus a little bit more on "wowing" the crowd with...I don't know, actual talent? Because you gotta believe that these girls have it. They go through, like, 500 auditions to get on the team...they've gotta have more in their arsenal than just outstanding booty shaking skills, don't you think?

And what if...what if it's the key to winning? What if the cheerleaders started stepping up their game, and then the players were like, WTF, those cheerleaders are showing us up! (because that's how football players talk) and then they finally did something worth paying them millions of dollars for?

I know. The thought of the Vikings winning at anything is merely just a dream. But I guess, sometimes, that's what it's all about, here on An Amber-Colored Life. Dreaming. Changing the world... Dreaming of changing the world into a better place, for all people, even ones with names like "Mindy" who lists her abs as her best quality and cites "shopping" as her favorite hobby. Even those people.

Believe it.

Maybe you're wondering what #chophour is all about. Maybe you're not. DOESN'T MATTER, CAUSE I'M GONNA TELL YOU EITHER WAY.

2011-11-09T09:30:00.000-05:00

The best part of my day - of any day - is talking to kids who are killin' it. Intent on forging their own path. Of running head first into the belly of their dreams. The call and vision of The Courageous Life (thuuuug life), of figuring your own way in and finding your own way out. And there's this thing that happens when you decide, seek, to live your life this way...it's like a silent signal to the other one, like you, standing across the room. We don't live by scripts. We, to put it bluntly, cannot.

And it's stimulation: Even when I'm feeling downtrodden and close to giving up - why I don't just go find a real job? - it takes about 5 seconds, maybe even just a hello, to get psyched back up again and yell "We're DOIN' THIS!" inside my head.

My favorite is Patrick, a most excellent Groucho Blogger and one of the two rad kids behind 30 Days of Biking. Every time I hear that familiar ping of Gchat and look to see that it's Patrick, I automatically get a little psyched. Patrick and I have the same sense of vision for our lives, for our goals. And sometimes, it's nice to talk to someone who just gets how hard it can be sometimes. To focus. To slide all the distractions off the table. To be in that place where you're so jazzed about doing something, but it feels like it's taking forever to get there.

So the other day we were IM'ing about this, and I told Patrick about a success analogy I heard once that stuck with me. And it's this: Even if you took the biggest tree in the world and made one chop at it a day, eventually, that tree has to come down. It's the consistency. The push. The dedicated effort. Which, sportsfans, is something that your girl is not that great at. I am easily excitable, but also easily distracted. I'm great with ideas, but poor at follow through. I'm awesome with intentions, but trying to get better with the action piece.

So Patrick and I had an idea. What if we put the analogy to work and dedicated one intensive hour a day toward our goals? One goal always, until we got there. One hour, every day, until we got there.

And we decided to call it #chophour.

For me, I initially struggled because I have 3-4 really really big goals. Completing the books I'm working on and promoting the books I've already completed. Taking Groucho to the phenom level of start-ups. Building out Cyber Dating Sidekick. Which makes for a very busy - albeit exciting - life. Sometimes I feel like I'm firing on all cylinders...sometimes I feel like I'm failing. Sometimes I think I should scale back and just pick one that I focus on with intensity, and let all the others fall away until I'm done with that one and pick the others back up. But that's not how my life works, and these goals are like children - giving one of them up would be giving up a piece of what makes my life work, sing. Sophie's Choice this is not, folks.

But. Instead of feeling like I was doing different things each day for #chophour, I switched my focus. The thing that all of these goals have in common? Their inherent purpose is to get me closer to the kind of life that I want to lead, which, for me, is a very specific vision (I'm not sharing it on here. But let's say that it's easily written on a goal card) and milestone. So I don't have to feel bad about working on the book for #chophour one day and Cyber Dating Sidekick the next. As long as what I'm doing for each goal is going to lead me closer to that all-encompassing one, it still works.

So that's it. That's #chophour. Now get outta here and make some stuff happen for yourself.

Best "Sorry I got drunk last night" real-life conversation I have ever heard in my entire life.

2011-11-08T13:21:00.000-05:00

Hippy artist with an Australian accent: "I was just feeling so disconnected...so I layed down on Mother Earth, and she took care of me."

Her girlfriend: "No, you drank a bottle and a half of vodka, wandered out into the woods, and then passed out."

Metaphorical Frying Pan, Part Two

2011-11-03T08:06:00.001-04:00

Here's one thing that I've learned, more than anything else, from my adventures last year: When you start making decisions that actually support you and your self-worth, that are in alignment with the things you truly want instead of what you don't, it's kind of like magic. I tend to think of it as akin to dominoes, or - my favorite image and analogy, magnets: Take one piece and do with it what you want, and all the other pieces will fall into place.

Or, it's like this:

A few weeks ago, after effectively cutting the cord with Texter Guy, I posted something on my Facebook that went along the lines of how I was bored with the dating stuff. My friend Sean commented with the old adage that sometimes you have to kiss a lot of frogs to get to the prince. My response to that - both on FB to him and in life - is that, sometimes, kissing a lot of frogs can be a lot of fucking fun. But here's what's even better, and here's what I'm learning, lately...sometimes, all those frogs? They make you appreciate it so much more when someone un-frog-like comes along.

I don't want to give the impression that I've only dated jerks. With the exception of a few tumultuous, dramatic pairings, I've actually been pretty lucky to date some really great guys. And with all due honesty, sometimes, the frog has been me. I haven't been so great, with the dating and relationship stuff. I recognize the game because I've played it, and I've mocked others for it because I've learned how to win. But I kind of gave all of that up, last spring. There's this thing that happens, when you start to know and believe and recognize that you want the best for yourself and for the people around you...it becomes easier to spot and appreciate those who want the same. And like I said in Part One, sometimes it still takes some time to learn a couple of lessons that are lingering above your head. But once you do, it's like BAM! Rewarded. And sometimes it happens so fast that it makes your head spin.

Around the beginning of the summer, I was emailing with a man I've become friends with, and we were talking about how we had both just extracted ourselves from a complicated romantic entanglement. "Why can't it just be easy?" I remember writing. "Like, why can't it just be: I like you, you like me, and it's fun and exciting and easy...it doesn't make you feel insecure, or nervous, or worried. But it never really is like that, is it?" And I remember sitting back, reading that over, and thinking, "But why not? Why isn't it? And that's what I want."

And while it took some time to align that want with action, when it did... Along comes men who get it. Men who actually ask you out. Who actually want to spend time with you because they want to get to know you better - really and truly, and not just because they're hoping that "getting to know you better" directly correlates with making out (which, it usually does, but the original intent is different). Men who tell you great things, and you know they actually mean them. Who make you feel like you can tell them great things back, and it's not going to be a knock down in the "Who's Chasing Who" game. Men who don't makes you wonder whether or not you're going to hear from or see them again. Who make it a point to go out of their way to show you that they do, in fact, actually like you. Who make you want to go out of your way to show them that you feel the same way. And it doesn't make you feel anxious, or bored, or nervous, or insecure. And it's great. The best. And instead of the old theory, all this honesty, these kind motions...all they do is make you like and want them more. Makes it more intense, more exciting, more fun.

So right now, I'm feeling pretty lucky. Pretty happy to have been knocked up alongside the head by that metaphorical frying pan. Because if it had come at a different time, I might not appreciate it as much as I do now. And that would be a drag, because while kissing all those frogs was some major freaking fun, I gotta say...this is so much better. And thank god for those guys, right? The ones who get it.

In my country, we call them "men"...

Metaphorical Frying Pan.

2011-11-03T02:50:00.001-04:00

Disclaimer: This post is a two-parter, the first part of which I've been sitting on for a while now. And, in case you're new to the blog, there's a long-running disclaimer that comes with every relationship post: As a general rule and to protect the dignity of all who might be involved, I always wait a few weeks before posting relationship stuff. So what might have been when I wrote this? May not still be. Confused? Got questions? Feel free to just ask.

There comes a time in every person's life when the universe hits you over the head with a metaphorical frying pan. It's the lesson. The one you were supposed to be learning, again and again, over the last ten years. The one where, when you stood in the kitchen tonight, stumbling over the idea that, hey, this seems really similar to that last time, you can almost see the universe throw up its hands in exasperation and hear it scream, "Amber, either do the right thing this time or go fuck yourself. 'CAUSE WE IS DONE WITH THIS!"

It's the dating. The line of men, the revolving door. The thing where you meet someone new but then, after about three weeks, you realize that they're not actually that new. They're super cute, they're a lot of talk, and at the end of the day, they don't really make you feel all that great about yourself. Because, for some reason beyond all comprehension, they think you're kind of stupid and won't catch on to what they're doing.

Here's the bane of my dating existence: I don't really like a lot of people. I date a lot, but it takes a lot for me to want to keep dating someone. So when I do meet someone I like, it's like all of my common sense goes out the window. I could be dating five guys at the same time, but sometimes it seems like it's only the one I like who drives me crazy. Who texts a lot, but never suggests hanging out. Who talks a big game, but then never follows through. Who is kind of shady, but tries to convince you that it's something else - he's just really busy, or really shy, or just really likes you so much that he doesn't know what to do with all of this.

And as I'm writing this, I know exactly what you're thinking. These guys are assholes. Why would I possibly put up with this shit? Because I like them. Because if they were dumb or conceited or arrogant, it wouldn't be a problem. But as it happens, I end up seeing something in them that surprises me, or is more than I expected, or is exactly what I feel like I'm looking for at that time. And that's what keeps me there, in that ridiculous headspace. Also - and hear me out here, because this theory is not based wholly on scientific evidence, but I think I stumbled onto something - the fact that I so rarely like someone and therefore so rarely feel that rush of dopamine (that chemical that rushes into your brain at first flush of infatuation)? I think it seriously and literally fucks with my brain, when it happens. Basically: I lose my fucking cool. All my regular practical wisdom, hard-earned knowledge, and just basic common sense goes out the window at the thought of being able to kiss him again. Yes, tell me everything you think I want to hear, and I'll believe it, because why would I not? Yes, please, let's talk about the future and how we're both going to be in it. Okay, why don't I just skip work today to hang out with you, because what is life, really, but capturing experiences as they come? I can go to work any day!

So it happened again. Even though there hasn't exactly been a drought of suitors this fall (there's something about the difference between northern Wisconsin and Minneapolis that I can't explain. While the Northwoods of WI has the sad news of having a much lower percentage of available men than Minneapolis does, the difference is that these guys actually look you in the eye and talk to you when they find you attractive, instead of acting like they don't see you while mentally planning their Missed Connection for you in their head), I still found myself waiting around for some guy who, even after texting almost every day for three weeks, still wouldn't ask me out. Right?! Joke's on me, guys. I guess when someone tells you that they like you, they really mean, "Hey, when I like someone, it means that I never want to hang out or make out with them again. So let's just keep this to small talk texting, alright? Awesome."

So I was kind of done. I say "kind of" because there could be some explanation. Maybe he does have some stuff to figure out. Maybe he really is just trying to take things slow. Maybe he forgot the twelve hours where all he could talk about was how much he liked me and wanted to show me the best of him and was going to go after me with everything he had. Maybe he's just not very good at this stuff, and I'm the jerk because I have rules and timelines and basic principles for how you treat people. And I also say "kind of" because...I don't know if you guys will believe this, but sometimes I tend to jump the gun a little bit. Be a little impatient. That kind of thing.

So in order to kind of just chill myself out and get back to being level-headed, I threw myself into work on Monday and sorted some stuff out. I had a couple of new Cyber Dating Sidekick clients who had signed on, and so I decided that maybe I should update my profile and get stuff on there up to speed, check out what's been happening. Which I gotta say, kids, has, is, and always will be a great go-to for when you're feeling down about dating stuff. You update one little thing on there, and you've got 50 messages in your inbox from people who want to talk to you, whose first thought when they saw your picture was, "When can I hang out with this kid?" So I was feeling a little better. Calmer. Cooler. More in control of the situation. Fuck that guy, right? I've got a ton of dates to go on, and if he doesn't want to hang out, that's totally fine. Let me just pick from these ten guys and decide who gets to be the lucky recipient of an Amber-Style-Makeout (cause, not to brag or anything, but...they're pretty good. There's not a lot that I could win a Olympic medal in, but making out? Gold. The medal. Riiiight around this neck right here).

And then...

Along comes Cocaine Matt.

When I first met Cocaine Matt, I was crazy about him. It had been years since I had met someone who knocked me back the way he did. He was smart. Funny. In a band. Creative. And so, soooo hot...the term "sexy" did not even begin to do that man justice. And he had this charm...this total confidence about him. When he wanted something, he just went for it. He could walk into a room and make everyone just stop and listen to what he was saying. And he also did that super awesome thing where he kind of picked you up as he was kissing you goodnight, which kind of drives me crazy because only the sexiest, most skillful guys know how to do that. On our first real date, after he kissed me - really, really kissed me - I was so happy I was dizzy, and for the next three hours.

But then he got weird. He would text and make plans and then bail. Then, even if he kept those plans, he would show up late and be so...erratic...that it was kind of overwhelming. One moment he would be really into what we were doing, and then the next moment he would be all, "Okay, I gotta go." One night he showed up at a party of mine wearing the exact same clothes he had been wearing when we hung out the night before. Towards the end of the night, he was so hyped up that I looked over at one of my friends and my friend just did a simple finger-to-the-side-of-the-nose gesture. Suddenly it all made sense. And then, in the next second, as if right on cue, Cocaine Matt suddenly announced he was leaving...I walked him down to the door, he kissed me goodbye, and I never heard from him again.

He didn't totally disappear, though. I saw him again last spring at a party, and I knew from a couple of profile searches for a client that he was still online. Part of me wanted to just write him a message and be all, "So... ever going to tell me why you just took off and I never heard from you again?" Because, let's face it - you just don't really do that to people (or at least you don't if you're not entirely an asshole). And I kind of deserve to know, right? But I also don't want to know. Don't really need to know. All I really needed to know, from that scenario, was that here was a guy who was unpredictable, inconsistent, and inconsiderate. And even though I liked him, that didn't actually make me feel good, at the end of the day. Because that's supposed to be the whole point, right? If I like you, and you say that you like me back, that should be a good thing, right? Hopefully? Yes?

So tonight, while online, I saw that Cocaine Matt had checked out my profile. Read it. And I looked at his profile picture and kind of thought for a minute about how psyched I was about him, when we first met. How attracted to him I was, and how bleak, disappointed, I felt when things didn't work out the way I wanted them to. I thought about Psycho Travis, and how I'm now in the exact same scenario from the last time I was here: In this weird, confusing dance with a pretty, mysterious stranger, and there might not really be anything else (or anyone else) better to do right now, so maybe I can just wait around until he makes up his mind and gets his shit together and starts acting like an actual person.

And then it hit me, and then I felt like an idiot.

And this, my friends... This is what I'm supposed to learn. This guy, this current one...he's not someone new. He's another one put in my path to see if I finally get it, if I've finally learned my lesson. Which is: To stand up for myself. To finally realize that I don't deserve to have my time wasted, especially since I wouldn't be okay with wasting yours. That actions speak louder than words. That when I like someone, it doesn't give them a free pass to dick behavior. That I'm not the kind of girl who's okay with being put on the hook, but sometimes, they're not going to figure that for themselves. It's up to me to prove that to them, and to myself.

So 10-69, Universe. Message received. Noted. And this girl? Taking herself off the hook, and for good.

And btw, Cocaine Matt? Stop looking at my profile.

Nighttime is the right time.

2011-10-28T02:58:00.001-04:00

I've been pulling a lot of overnights for Emergency Dispatch training. At first, I was dreading the thought of doing one of these...working overnights at Holiday during the best time of my life and doing the same type of shifts at that one place I now refer to as, "You're locked up because you're 15 and stupid and now I have to take care of you, so shut up." used to be kind of torture. Or rather, they weren't that bad until about 5:00 am, when the sleep dep hits and you still have about two more hours to go.

But. The overnight shifts for Em. Dispatch? Kind of pretty awesome. I actually get to do stuff and practice my skillz, the deputies who work overnights are hilarious, and it's actually been kind of a breeze, in terms of sleep vs. wake (there's something weird about doing 10-6 vs. 11-7. Even though it's only an hour difference,10-6 is waaay easier). Also, the plus side to it also comes on nights like this, when it's 1:45 am, I'm wide awake, and there is literally nothing else to do but write.

I don't know if you guys know this about me yet or not, but I tend to get easily distracted. Facebook...I can't handle it. My Facebook is now like what the blog used to be like when I lived in Spooner...tons of hilarious comments that keep me entertained for hours. And during the day, there's just so many more demands and distractions, it seems. At 2:00 am? No one is talking (no one, that is, except for me and my old elementary-school pal Tony, who also works a night shift). There's no text messages to check your phone every five minutes for. There's no emails flying into your inbox that you must read immediately and then wait two weeks to respond to (at least, that's how I do that email thing). No one is writing new blog posts, the news is slow, and people don't seem to really love it when you call them at 3 in the morning to just, you know, see what they're up to.

And so you're in this weird limbo - maybe, sometimes, you don't feel like writing. Maybe you're in the middle of this hard fucking chapter where nothing is making sense and you're second-guessing everything and you're tired about writing this, anyway, especially when you know you're just going to go back and change everything in the second draft, but you've been working on this fucking chapter for two months now and you have to finish it or else you're never going to get anything else done and oh is that a new notification on Facebook? Huh, guess it's not. So unless you want to just sit there and stare at the wall, maybe you should just write some stuff.

Liiiike, this blog post. Or, that email that I should have responded to two weeks ago. Oh yeah, and that book that I moved up here to write...

Morning pages.

2011-10-27T05:55:00.000-04:00

Up early to write. Listening to this and biding my time before I turn off the internet and my phone and set about to work.

My friend Erica is off to India. My new friend Manthei made me spit out my coffee with her email about it being book time, book time, all about book time, and my aunt coming over to have a heart-to-heart (my aunt has been gleefully jumping in on the case of me giving up dating and finding a "good hobby or a fulfilling, challenging job where [I] can overwork."). In the mornings I carry hot tea up the loft where I sit and close my eyes and have a hard time picturing Iceland and whales and the symbols of all the things that actually matter to me, no matter where I am. So I've tacked pictures of them up to the bulletin board above my desk so I can look at them all the time. So that I remember. This place is just not me, not yet. And that's okay. I am being patient, am seeking out the things that might make it so. Kate started this thing that I only just caught on to on Twitter, this list of things she wants to do to make it the best winter of her life. Because sometimes you need that...that list, that determination. So when the snow hits, I will snowshoe and cross-country ski and take long walks on the snow-laden trails. Keep my mind on artists and athletes. Books and bicycles. Write and be quiet and wait for the sun to come back around, for you to come back home.

Dance-Date-Rape

2011-10-22T12:21:00.002-04:00

I love dancing. I love dancing so much that I do it almost every damn day. Sometimes, I even do it by myself, when I'm alone, during special private moments. Mostly, though, I feel like dancing should be shared between people: Ideally, people who know and like each other. Or at least people who think that the other person is cool when they spot them across the room, like the way you probably would if you saw Lionel Richie at your cousin's wedding, or like the way you would hope Lionel Richie would feel about you if he saw you across the room at his cousin's wedding. "Hey man, that kid looks cool. Let's dance. Fiesta forever."

But sometimes, you just don't feel like dancing. Maybe you're like, "I hate this song" or, "I haven't had time to work on my moves" or, "I am wearing the wrong outfit for that dancefloor, as everyone else is wearing jeans and t-shirts and I had to come straight from work in a black sequined dress and high-heeled boots." Whatever it is, it's okay. You don't have to dance all the time. Sometimes, despite what MTV tells you, it's better to save the dancing for when you're really in the mood.

But sometimes people don't really get this. Maybe you're out with friends...maybe those friends have other friends who decide they want to get to know you better...maybe those friends of friends decide that the only way to do this is to make you dance with them. And maybe you don't want to dance with them - it's nothing personal, but c'mon, you don't know these people, and you've got this black sequined dress on and you hate this song and you're going to look stupid and you're not in the mood for it anyway and you know that if you give in and go out there with them that those girls are going to start dancing up on each other and you're going to - once again - be that lone girl out there who's trying to valiantly dance by herself and act like she's not the nerd who doesn't know anybody and doesn't just break out into moves from the "Beat It" video when she's feeling nervous and unsure.

So this is how you feel. And you have a right to these feelings. But then the friend that you came with - the one who's SUPPOSED to have your back in times like these - disappears, probably to once again make out with a girl he doesn't even really like. Then the friend that you're talking with gets carried off himself by a date-dance-rape gang. At first you kind of laugh - you can't help it, he never dances, and now they're making him, so this is hilarious - but then all of a sudden, they turn and start to go after you. "You're our Native sister!!!" They yell. "I belong to another triiiiibe!" You try to protest. "I'm not even enough to be legal!" as they pull you off your chair and almost literally carry you off to the dancefloor. You look at your friend: He has the same desperation in his eyes that you now feel. You suddenly feel awful for laughing. This is horrible, a nightmare...how are you guys going to get out of this? You try to fake them off - you do a couple of moves, half-heartedly, hoping that once they see you dance they let you go. "Fuckin' DANCE!" One of the girls yells. Your heart sinks - it didn't work. The girls are now holding hands, dropping it like it's hot, and you're standing there, like an idiot, in a black-sequined dress, wondering how it was that you ever loved dancing. Is this how everyone feels when you make them dance, too? God, all those years of buying Katy shots and then making her dance with you...you never realized how it might have made her feel. You are a horrible person.

Finally the song changes. You look at your friend, he looks at you. This is your one chance to get off this dancefloor alive. You do a dance step towards your table - just a sidestep, not that obvious, if anyone were watching you they would just think you were warming up to the song - and he follows your lead. You hold your breath as the two of you do a couple more - are they watching? if they catch us escaping, what will they do to us? - and then, as the edge of the dancefloor is in sight, you can't help it...the taste of freedom is so heavy on your tongue that you both break out into a walk/run to your table.

You try to tell someone. You feel like, Maybe I'll need to talk about this someday, even though I'm too traumatized to talk it about right now. You're thinking about the future. And your friend...he went through it, too. He might need someone to be there for him when he's ready to heal. So you text someone about it. You try to explain what happened, but it just ends up coming out all wrong. "I don't ever want to talk about this," your friend tells you, when you tell him that maybe you guys should tell someone. "I don't ever want to think about the date-dance-rape ever again." You nod, and turn your head, towards the dancefloor. You used to love dancing, you think to yourself. You used to love dancing so much, sometimes you didn't care who you did it with. But that was when you had a choice. Now, it all just feels different. Now you feel like...maybe, you don't want to dance anymore, ever. At least not until you can shake off this feeling...this thing that coats you now and will never really come off, like that body glitter your friend once jokingly sprayed you with before a date that one time. Powerlessness. That awful feeling of pretending that you're not mad, whatever, no big deal, while inwardly you're seething...how dare you spray me with that stuff when you know that it never comes off, not even after five showers, and now he's going to think that I put it on myself, and probably because I want him to take my shirt off which is even worse because he's kind of a bad kisser and I don't know if I ever want him to take my shirt off but now it's going to look like I do and I THOUGHT YOU WERE MY FRIEND.

Trying to throw off that memory, you play with your earring as you stare out the window, off into the distance. You look at your friend...he, too, is gazing off, lost in thought, memory. Your eyes meet, and then you follow his eyes back to the dancefloor. You watch, stomach dropping, as one of the girls on the dancefloor turns and looks at you. The song has changed. She nudges her friends and points over at you and your friend, and as she does, you know this is never going to end.

#textmaster

2011-10-20T11:40:00.000-04:00

I love those nights when you're feeling juuust confident enough about all those texts you sent earlier to delete them before bed so you won't have to wake up the next morning and second-guess everything you said, thus ruining your entire next day.

I'm really good at this stuff, you guys.

Life Lessons, by Amber L. Carter

2011-10-18T21:26:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I learned that maybe not everyone always has to follow my timeline for stuff.

This lesson felt similar to the times when I learned A. that I was not, in fact, the center of the universe, and B. that people's lives could still be okay and fulfilling even if they did not know who I am.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, it really, really sucks when people just don't automatically know to do everything that you want them to do when you want them to do it, but maybe don't get mad at them for it because sometimes they just don't know or they have other stuff going on besides you, which is kind of impossible when you think about it, but then again sometimes it's better to just accept that explanation and move on with your day.

So yeah. I'm not really happy about these lessons, but I'm learning them...

Repost, rerun, reread.

2011-10-16T20:23:00.000-04:00

So this week I started working on a piece for the blog but about halfway through I started to realize that everything I wanted to say in it I had already said about a year ago when I wrote Fools Work. It feels odd, to re-read a piece I wrote last year and have so much of it still resonate and hold true. Whether that's good or bad...I guess it doesn't matter. But it's also one of the pieces from last year that I'm most happy with writing, so. Instead I guess I'll use the time that I would have spent on an original piece and direct it toward perfecting my dodge ball skills or something.

Read:

Fools Work, Part One

Fools Work, Part Two

Fools Work, Part Three

Also, I feel like I could really pull off that uniform. I look great in a nice pair of slacks.

2011-10-12T10:57:00.004-04:00

So as part of my Emergency Dispatch training, my supervisor and trainer suggested that I try to see all aspects of the Sheriff's Department in order to be able to fully grasp what's truly important in dispatch situations and what is not. One of these aspects included a ride-along with a Deputy.

Let me say this: The department I work for is awesome. From the Chief to the Dispatch Supervisor to the guys on the road (with the slim exception of the guy who thinks that because I'm a girl, I must be an idiot and therefore need the definition of "armed and dangerous" explained to me, as well as the difference between a boat and an ATV), everyone is great. The job is great. Totally overwhelming at first - I had that small week-long window of panic where I felt completely out of my element and totally not smart and felt pretty much like I was going to be the worst dispatcher in the entire world, until my supervisor took me aside and told me that even the Armed & Dangerous guy told her that I was exceeding expectations (I don't know how much of a compliment that is from someone who obviously thinks you're a moron, but I must have impressed him with my effortless skill of being able to walk and talk at the same time). So I was pretty psyched for a shift on the road with one of our deputies. I was prepared for it to be kind of boring - me just sitting there while the guy ran a lot of traffic stops (granted, that's what I was there for, so I could understand why it was imperative to get the information back quickly. Nobody likes getting pulled over and having to wait 15 minutes while the cop sits in his vehicle and writes you a ticket. I mean, I have no idea how that feels, since my driving record is absolutely stellar and I've never been in trouble with the law, ever).

But within five minutes of our shift, we were flying down the road, lights and sirens blaring. Major drama followed. I was pretty excited to be the one to spot the suspect trying to make his way to what was obviously his getaway driver (hint: it looks a little suspicious when you back into a parking spot for no apparent reason, and only halfway so you can keep a full view on the squad cars across the lot). Which now means the A in Amber obviously stands for A-1 Crackerjack Detective.

After that, the night continued on with two arrests, two jail bookings, mediating between two bickering moms who "just can't handle the stupid drama anymore", a couple traffic stops, some life lessons in DNR jurisdiction, and and a illegal fire that turned out to be a giant pumpkin. It was pretty fun. I doubt that a career as a law enforcement official is in my future (I would have a hard time being the guy who was completely ruining your day by pulling you over), but I still fully enjoyed singing this song under my breath during my alone time in the squad car.

It's as if they looked right into a woman's mind and said, "Let us turn your dreams into VIDEO."

2011-10-11T11:54:00.000-04:00

Hot Dudes with Kittens from Sam Trammell

And this is how I feel about it.

2011-10-11T11:35:00.002-04:00

Origin of graphic could not be found - if you know where this image originated from, please let me know so I can give proper credit.

So, I started posting this on Facebook and then realized that I had a lot to say about it. So we're takin' it to the streets/blog.

This is what we're "protecting" - a beautiful, sacred union whose initial purpose was to expand the sexual rights and property value of men, while ultimately stripping women of any rights and autonomy. Wedding rings were essentially cattle branding. Veils were worn so the guy couldn't back out of the contract until the deal was sealed. Fathers walked their daughters down the aisle because they were literally giving away a piece of their property. And even today, studies have shown that men greatly benefit from marriage - married men live longer, lead more socially fulfilling lives, and are mentally and physically healthier - while women still get the short end of the stick by losing momentum in their careers and gaining awesome stuff like a higher stress scale and increased blood pressure. Ironic, right? You would think, by knowing these statistics, that every movie in the entire world would stop having the plot line where a guy hilariously panics and balks when his "ball and chain" tries to "rope him in" with that pesky commitment thing. Instead, you'd think they have the guy go, "Hey! You know, if I get married, I'll be healthier and happier and I'll have someone to cook and clean up and take care of my kids for me every night even though she probably puts in more hours at work than I do. This marriage idea is tops!" And you'd have the girl running down the street in her stilettos, throwing garbage cans in his path and scaling buildings to get away from his scheme to trap her into something that will essentially end her right to free time, personal pursuits, and a good sex life.

I'm not against marriage. I'm mostly against weddings, because A. It's hard to escape the lame quotient and B. a lot of the "traditions" are actually super archaic and I'm not into that noise. But I do believe in marriage. The medical and legal right of Next of Kin is extremely important to me (there is nothing more devastating than not having any rights to be with the person you love when something happens to them, and not all families are as generous during that time as people would like to believe) and it's also the main reason why I fight so hard for marriage equality. The legal and judicial protections that marriage offers is also pretty swell. I grew up with a model of what a great marriage can look like, and watching Chels and Matt and Kris and Becky navigate Marriage Land has also provided me with a certain awe for how that type of relationship, instead of making life stagnant, can make it exponentially more joyful and exciting. But the marriage equality issue has also made me feel like maybe I should put my money where my mouth is: We're not protecting the sanctity of a union. We're protecting a privilege. And for me to take advantage of that privilege while others that I love and care about cannot? That's not really the kind of thing I want my life to be about. So while there are surely many men out there right now who have been dying to offer their hand in marriage to a girl whose hobbies include practicing the video choreography of "Beat It" and defending the awesomeness of mystical wolves, you're just gonna have to take a chill pill, guys. This girl has political ideals, so we're all just gonna have to wait until we get this marriage equality mess all sorted out.

So anyway. Next up on the blog will be a video of hot dudes with kittens.

Coffee's for closers only.

2011-10-05T12:38:00.001-04:00

Men of the universe...

If I could impart one piece of advice, one nugget of wisdom gained through observation, empirical research, and personal experience, it would be this:

Learn how to close.

In a shorter time span than six months, I mean.

As the Cyber Dating Sidekick, I get a lot of questions about what the biggest mistake is that people make when it comes to dating, etc. And it's always about closing. It takes 15 emails to get him to ask me to coffee...I've been flirting with this guy for 3 months and he still hasn't asked me out...we've hung out five times and he still hasn't kissed me...I hear this over and over. And you wanna know what it all adds up to? Missed opportunities.

And before we go any further, let me say this: Snyde, I know you're going to try to come on here and get all up in my grill about "why can't girls close" and "guys love it when girls seal the deal" and all that other bullshit that you try to pull with me when I'm talking about dating. Save it. We're not talking about what's fair in the battle of the sexes today. We've already established on this blog many times that women have to deal with periods and men have to deal with being the one who asks for the date. THAT'S JUST HOW IT IS, SNYDE. It is the lot that we are dealt with - I did not choose this. I did not create it. I am merely here to take your hand and guide you along the path to righteousness.

Alright? Good. Now that that's out of the way...

See, the thing is, guys, we're not always that patient. And you're kind of being dicks for thinking that the girl you like is going to wait around forever for you to make your move. Here's the way the universe works: If you like a girl, chances are there's at least two other guys hanging around, dying for a chance to get her attention, too. Two other guys who might be faster and smoother than you. Two other guys who aren't going to let that night pass without sealing the deal. And then you lose. Because the other thing you don't know is this: 90% of the time, the first one to the plate wins.

In my own personal experience, even if I barely like the guy, if he has the balls to ask me out on a damn date, I'm going to say yes. Because it does take balls, and it does take courage, and I like to reward that (the second date is another story. I am a little bit more selective on that one). On the other hand, if I really like someone and they take forever to do anything about it...they're off the list. Because that shit is freaking exhausting. If you don't want to ask me out, totally fine. Onto the next. But if I can tell that you kind of do...are maaaybeee thinking about it...are dropping hints left and right...and then you don't? Done. Because that's when my Like for you turns into confusion, and then insecurity, and then resentment, and I don't like being that girl. And you won't like me being her, either.

Because that's the whole thing, guys. And that's what makes this kind of thing so sad to see...when you take forever to close the deal, you're actually kind of hurting her feelings. We start to think that maybe...you don't really like us. That you probably actually find us hideous or super annoying or just totally not cool enough for you and all those hints that you've been dropping were totally not hints at all, but you trying to nicely say, "Hey. Loser. Hit the bricks." And then someone hands us a copy of "He's Just Not That Into You" and we read it and then are like, "This is totally THAT guy!", even if it's not (that book can be verrrry persuasive). So we start to stay away, and then you start to think that we don't like you, and then it becomes this whole circular mess where everyone is miserable and no one is getting laid.

Like everything else, men, talk is cheap. And if you don't actually follow up your attraction with action - in a reasonable enough time span - your words are going to start looking like the jewelry at Forever 21 - kind of cute when you first see it, but after a while it just starts to remind you of all the people you can't stand.

That wasn't a super great analogy. I guess what I'm trying to say is: The jewelry at Forever 21 is fucking junk.

So how do you close? There are many, many ways that you can do this, gentleman. Let's set up the scenario:

You like a girl. You think that she might like you (and if you think that she "might" like you, then chances are that she really, really likes you, since you guys aren't the awesomest with subtle hints and so she's probably been laying it on suuuuuper thick this whole time and you only now just caught on). You're in the same room together. You might even be talking to each other. There are a variety of options for this particular moment.*

You can:

1. Ask her if she likes Chinese food. Mention that you like Chinese food. Suffer through a really long pause where she stares at you and nods her head, and then say, really really fast, "MaybesometimeweshouldgogetChinesefoodtogetherIknowareallygreatplaceIcouldtakeyouto." Hold your breath until she says yes, and then exhale slowly.

2. Ask her about herself. Act like you're listening...better yet, actually listen. Then, tell her that you think she's really interesting and you'd like to get to know her better...like, say, over coffee this Saturday afternoon.

3. Slam down your beer, turn to her, and ask, "Can we fucking start holding hands yet or WHAT?!"

4. Ask her for her number. Use it a couple hours later to text/call her that it was nice to see her tonight and that you'd love it if you could see her again soon. (Caution: Asking for her number and then just telling her it was nice to see her tonight is not closing. That's flirting. Super sweet flirting, but you have to follow it up with concrete action for it to be considered closing. You may think this goes without saying. It does not.)

5. Completely ignore her. Don't even look at her. No eye contact, do not even acknowledge anything she says. Then, the moment she gets up from the table, throw her a meaningful look and say, "I had a really great time hanging out with you tonight. We should do it again sometime."

6. Chat her up for a few hours. Get her into a really long, involved conversation, to the point where she's ignoring her friends so she can talk to you. Then, after you've spent almost all night talking to her, sigh, say, "Well, see ya around" and then hit her on the arm as you walk away.

7. Ask her if she'd like to get some air. Take her out on the deck/patio/sidewalk/behind the building and just go in for the kill. Kiss her. Just like that, right there, right then.

8. Ask her if she likes boats. When she nods, tell her you have a boat. Wait for her to ask you if you'll take her out on it. When she doesn't, repeat to her again that you have a boat. (Also see: Motorcycles)

9. Tell her about your favorite hobby. When she smiles and says that she's always wanted to try/learn how/practice that particular hobby, ask her if she wants to tag along with you next time.

GOD. SEE HOW EASY THIS SHIT IS? SHE PROBABLY HAS ABSOLUTELY NO GENUINE INTEREST IN YOUR DUMB FUCKING HOBBY, BUT SHE'S STILL BEING ENTHUSIASTIC AND SWEET ABOUT IT. THAT'S HER ESSENTIALLY SAYING, "I DON'T KNOW HOW MUCH EASIER I COULD POSSIBLY MAKE THIS FOR YOU, SO ASK ME OUT NOW, JACKASS, OR I WILL BE WRITING YOU OFF FOREVER FOR BEING A MORON WHO CAN'T INITIATE ANYTHING WHICH ALSO MEANS THAT YOU PROBABLY WILL NEVER INITIATE SEX, EITHER, WHICH MEANS THAT I'M GOING TO HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING AROUND HERE AND I AM TOO FUCKING OLD TO KEEP DOING THAT ANYMORE!"

The point is, guys, that when you think about it, she could walk out of that room and be hit by a bus or something, and then she'll always be the girl you were going to ask out before she died and stuff. That's a drag, right? Or, more realistically, she'll walk out of that room and get asked out by some other guy, and she'll be so excited that someone is actually asking her out that she'll say yes even if he's a douchebag, and he'll be so happy that she actually gave him a chance that he'll do everything in his power to make sure that she stays completely off the market for the rest of your natural born life. And then all those things that keep running through your head every time you see her? You'll never get a chance to do them.

At least when you make a point to close, you have a chance. So close it. Whether you actually want to date this girl or just want to make out with her, close it. Ask her out on an actual date. Set up the scenario to get her alone so you can finally kiss her. The longer you wait, the less she'll want to. Even if you like the thrill of the chase and the excitement of the flirt-fest, you should still always be taking one step closer to closing, every single time.

And yes, I know most of you movie nerds have probably been bouncing around this entire post, dying for me to mention this scene. Because the ABC's are true, in sales or in life. It's fuck or walk. You close or you hit the bricks.

*See if you can distinguish the good ideas from the bad ones. Bonus points: See if you can select the ones that actually happened to me (hint: All of them).

Fall Flashback.

2011-10-04T00:57:00.002-04:00

Tonight my friend Kevin posted this picture on Facebook, which brought back some memories of my first fall in Minneapolis.

Like this one.

This was taken during my during my second week at the behavioral clinic. Because most of our clients were elementary-school aged and were attending the clinic instead of mainstream school, we usually brought in a photographer every fall to take school photos for the clients. Therapists got their portraits taken for free, which I decided to take full advantage of. Luckily for me and my professional future, my supervisor was present at this photo shoot. She was very impressed with my maturity.

It's also the fall that I fell in love with My Chemical Romance, and this song/video especially. I was especially happy when my new friend Brook posted a picture of Gerard Way with the video director - I think he was one of her new friends...and she posted it because I couldn't stop talking about Gerard...but maybe not...it's hard to remember...ENOUGH! STOP ASKING ME ABOUT IT!... - on her blog, and so it's hard for me to let fall nights pass without playing the song on repeat.

Ah...Robbinsdale American Legion and My Chem-inspired slutty goth girl Halloween costume...I hardly knew ye...

Possibilities.

2011-09-24T14:47:00.002-04:00

It was Deloris who woke us up. I moaned a little and turned over onto my side as I heard Adam banging around downstairs. The incessant meowing...this is why I renamed her Deloris. It is impossible to her that we could want to sleep instead of getting up with the sun to play with her.

"Did we drink last night?" I joked as I sat up in bed and looked down at Adam wandering through the living room. Last night had started out as impossibly boring, and I texted Adam that we were going out later. "Let's go to Trails End tonight! They've got a good band."

"Perhaps," he texted back. "Let me see how the night shapes up here."

"No. We're going."

"Glad you decided I should get a vote."

"I did. And you voted wrong."

Of course, as it tends to happen, the moment I'm done with work, he walks in. "He" is a rugged outdoorsman whom I met through Adam. We know and like the same people, and before I know it, I find myself standing next to him, holding a glass of wine and immersed in conversation with him and said people. He has an unnerving stare, which I told him.
"I'm sorry," he replied.

"It's okay. You don't have to apologize for it. It just makes me a little nervous."

He nods, and continues to stare.

I don't know what to think about him, I decide, after I finally leave and head into Hayward to meet up with Adam. The Rugged Outdoorsman is extremely attractive. I think he might like me. But he makes me nervous, which makes me feel insecure, which can make me defensive, which can make me into the girl who will engage with you on certain levels but not on others. He's also leaving on a cross-country trip at the first sight of the winter freeze...which could either be miserable or perfect, depending on how you look at it. I can have the casual: The enjoying someone's company and companionship without feeling the need to hang my hat on the possibility of a future together. I'm actually really good at the casual...but do I want that anymore. And it is worth it.

And this, if you haven't already caught on to it, is how my mind works: Developing every possible scenario and my response to it inside my head before I even decide if I actually like someone or not.

So I pick up Adam and we head out. The night at Trails End contained a drag queen, old men who still knew how to shake it on the dance floor, the difference between calling people skanks vs. dirties, lots and lots of middle-aged women who were having the time of their life, and the constant psychoanalysis of the girl that I refer to as (her name) Blue Balls, whom Adam previously liked and is now just annoyed with (for good reason. I thought I was a tease back in the day...this girl takes the game to a whooooole new level. Aka, when I asked a guy for a backrub, I meant it. I knew what was going to happen. That's why I asked for a backrub in the first place).

So we drank last night. Not a lot, but just enough to cause me to let out a series of dramatic sighs as I throw the covers back, climb down the loft ladder, and throw on a pair of dark jeans, a tank top and a black thermal, my Hunter Wellingtons, and my down puff vest. "Who's excited for Fall Festival?" I yell to Adam. "No one but you," is his smart-ass reply, right before he shuts the bathroom door to take a shower.

We leave and walk over to his place of work, where he makes me coffee and bids me goodbye as I set out to see what there is to see of Fall Festival. There's two this weekend - one in Cable and one in Hayward, with a bus traveling in between, because apparently we love Fall Festivals up here and the demand for effortless transportation between them is great. Main Street is decorated with hay bales and corn stalks, and my friend Sean is set up on the stage, playing his guitar and singing for the early crowds. Wandering along the rows of craft booths with my coffee in hand, I feel like I'm supposed to be in a kicky new hour-long sitcom about a small town, playing the irrepressible single girl who becomes romantically involved with an animal doctor who also owns a local fly fishing store or something.

Thinking about this as I pass a stack of haybales, I feel a small twinge of disappointment. This weekend could be cursed. I was originally going to have my friend Jess come up, but then had to cancel because of work, but then too late found out I wouldn't have to cancel for work. Delightfully, this comedy of errors then changed into a weekend when I was going to be visited by someone I...like? Barely know but still think is awesome? Someone to whom, on the very first night we met, I apparently drunkenly (I don't remember this part...charmingly enough, it was one of the only two nights in my life in which I don't remember things happening) and without solicitation told him that he wasn't my type (aka, not a tortured emotional soul who likes to manipulate girls before disappearing altogether out of an ill-placed need to appear "mysterious") and yet he still continued to be nice to me?...but plans were canceled due to a football scheduling conflict. I tried to play it off by being all "ha ha I hate football" lighthearted about it, but deep down I was pretty bummed. We had talked all summer about the possibility of him coming up, and finally it was happening, and then it wasn't. So this weekend was kind of like the climatic ending of a Laura Weissberger book that never actually happens: You keep reading, so psyched to get to the part where the main character finally tells off the uber-bitch, only to have it end with main chick being all, "Okay, well, I guess I'll see you later" and then walking off to some lame reconciliation with her dorky boyfriend and kind-of-bitchy best friend.

But it's fine. He's going to have a super fun weekend, which is great, and I am obviously meant to work this weekend for some reason. And I can catch up on my writing, too, I told myself, as I waved goodbye to Sean and headed back to my place. Like working on the book, and writing posts that are more about things that could mean something - or even just the possibility of meaning something - instead of things that are already figured out.

been thinking..., The diamond invention—the creation of the idea...

2011-09-24T13:53:00.000-04:00

been thinking..., The diamond invention—the creation of the idea...:

My arguments against diamonds and the diamond industry probably could be fairly launched against hundreds of other retail markets. But this one is my peeve to pet.

We were in a string of jewelry stores this winter. As I told each sales person that I did not wear diamonds and was in the market for only a modest gem stone, their response was uniformly consistent and always accompanied by a physical move toward the locked aquariums that held these favored bobbles: No worries! Their diamonds were conflict free!

Problem solved! As if that platitude 1.) Was unquestionbly fail-safe and 2.) Addressed the only possible objection a human woman could have to the concept of diamond as reflection of self worth and worth of partner. Of societal rank. Of romantic achievement. Of global superiority. Of security.

Let me humbly admit that I love the sparkle and glimmer, rocking your hand and catching the whole world’s light.

But not as much as I hate the idea of personally buying into one of the biggest, cruelest schemes the world has ever known.

I am not a diamond girl. I am not much of a jewelry girl at all, to tell you the truth. I have a lot of old-fashioned ideas about courtship and engagement (i.e., I don't want to go with you to pick out my ring. I don't even want to know you're doing it. I want it all to come from you, because I'll love it more if I know that that's the ring that you picked out for me...not the ring that I picked out for myself for you to buy for me, which I think is so totally lame) but also some nontraditional ones. I won't be taking your name. I might hyphenate it, but I look at changing my name as akin to losing every single thing that I've done as Amber Carter, both good and bad, and I don't want that. And you shouldn't want that for me, either.

And I've barely cared for rings enough to even know what the difference is between a princess cut and those other cuts (though, thinking about it now, I really couldn't tell you what shape a princess cut is. Pear-shaped...I got that. All the other ones, nope). So once I started learning more about the diamond trade, it was an easy decision for me. There is this weak psychological impulse that still goes with it - but an antique diamond could be romantic! How will people know that he loves and cherishes me if he doesn't get me diamonds for my birthday? - but it's like coming out of a recent brainwashing...your mind still has that automatic impulse, that reflexive drive, even though you know where those thoughts are coming from (i.e., absolutely brilliant marketing and advertising). But this is exactly the sort of thing that makes me so sad about our society: We will willfully ignore human suffering and strife if it directly conflicts with our ideas of entitlement and luxury. With tradition. And worse, we'll actually get angry about it, like how dare these people get captured and killed and maimed and tortured, because now we have to think about it, and now we might have to change our minds about something we want.

And it doesn't make me a better person than them, the fact that I don't want a diamond ring or a diamond anything. I already have one, locked away in my grandma's old hope chest, that I'll probably have for the rest of my life because I just can't think of anything else to do with it. So you win on that one, DeBeers. But I won't be adding to that collection. Give me a nice little braided ring of twine string instead, or maybe an agate smoothed into the shape of a mystical triangle. I really don't care. Rings aren't going to fuck you in the middle of the night.

You didn't think I was going to go there with that, did you? Well. I did.

Dreams.

2011-09-23T12:28:00.001-04:00

Sometimes I wish I were in the food production business. Because if I were, I would make a breakfast food called The Ron Swanson Johnson. And then everyone would eat it, and then everyone would be happy.

Being there.

2011-09-23T11:13:00.005-04:00

It was fall, I thought to myself. The afternoon was sunny, but the breeze - certain-smelling, comforting in its' coolness - floated across my cheeks and through my hair as I walked through the parking lot on the way to my car, one hand resting on my leather crossbody bag, the one that makes me feel like a traveler or the honorary girl warrior in the Lord of The Rings gang. Getting into the car, I pulled my seatbelt on and sat and stared out the window for a moment before pulling out of the space. Maybe I should go back to therapy, I thought to myself as I checked the air behind me. Maybe I should try to cry on the way home. Maybe I shouldn't even really think about it.

I read this thing the other day that warned me that I was keeping my emotions too tight. Locked in. Forced down. I kind of rolled my eyes and stood up and got back to what I was doing. Things have been exhausting, lately. I get up at 5 in the morning to train on dispatch until 2, then go to Mooselips to manage and hostess and bartend and promote and charm until after night falls. I don't get enough sleep, and there are days when I come home and realize I've forgotten to eat. The things I was looking forward to - visits from friends, project completions, festivals and trips...have all fallen by the wayside due to conflicting schedules. I haven't been able to write much of anything since the end of August. I haven't emailed Erica in over a month. And my friend Ang has breast cancer, I thought to myself as I focused my weary eyes on the road, and I don't know how to be there for her.

I used to be really good at this. That. Swooping in, taking care of everything, holding vigil by the bedside. Being there, for that. But after it ended up that none of that even really mattered, it felt like I just couldn't do it anymore. And now I don't even know how to. I don't know what's too much, or not enough, or what's the right thing to say, or what the thing is that everyone is waiting for me to do, the thing that if I don't or do do, it will just make it worse. I can't see you in pain, because then I'll just start crying and make this about me and so maybe it's best if I just stand here in the doorway and watch and pretend like it's not happening, or make a joke and throw up some jazzhands. Which makes me an awful friend. Which is how I've been feeling in all sorts of ways with all of my friends lately, but especially with this one. When the chips were down, where the fuck was I.

And it's the big fear. All the friends I've made, all the people I love...what if I just end up losing them now? By either moving up here or them going away or things happening. Or making mistakes.

My roommate came in the door to find me lying on the floor, eyes closed. Exhausted, I had finally arrived home and thrown on my red '70's "I should wear these to a roller disco" shorts and my "Vote For Pedro" t-shirt, intending to immediately climb up to bed. A single plaintive meow from Deloris Pookerton made me instead decide to lay on the floor in a weak attempt to spend some time with her. Adam put his stuff down on the counter, stepped over my half-slumbering body, and sat down in the chair, both of us quiet for what felt like a long time. Adam's not verbally great with the emotional stuff. He's the kind of guy you try to tell all of your daily problems and issues to, only to wind up with a response somewhere along the lines of a look, a nod, and a single utterance of "Shitty." But he tends to offer comfort in other ways, like not making you talk about it, or just getting it without making you talk at all. So I folded myself off of the floor, padded over to a chair on the other side of the table, and after another long span of companionable silence, suggested we go out for a drink.

We live two blocks from Main Street. Stuffing my hands into the pockets of my down vest, I walked with Adam to the bar and thought about how this was kind of nice...being able to just walk two blocks in the fall night to the bar. Which is something I used to do all the time, I reminded myself. But in Hayward, that kind of convenient foot travel is hard to come by.
"I think I'm depressed, being back here," I told him.
"I know," he replied.

Fall panic.

2011-09-22T06:35:00.001-04:00

So, the universe is conspiring.

I had a loose plan...come up in the beginning of the summer. Write. Meditate. Swim. Hang out with my family, write some more, bike, run, focus. I didn't know, exactly, where I would be going when October rolled around – probably back to the cities, but maybe somewhere new. Life has a way of hitting me with a flat iron when it comes to future plans...so I wasn't worried when it came to figuring it all out.

But then the days got long. The writing was great, the meditation was swell, the swimming and biking and running were welcome diversions. The hanging out with my family stuff...tough. Not as I had expected. Daniel was working all the time, and too much time with my mom and dad usually plays out to tense arguments and the airing-out of years-old grudges. I love my family, but I think we could all agree that we love each other a lot more when we're not forced to be around each other all the time.

So then you already know the story: A barista job opened up at a local coffee joint that I had always wanted to work at. I figured it would be a good way to get me off the compound and earn a few extra dollas to put towards my books and business(es). And then I found that I really liked it. And had a lot of ideas for it. And had a boss who was really enthusiastic about all of those ideas.

And then (we're gonna go through a list of “And Then's” just to take all of us through the process of this:)

An Emergency Dispatch job opened up in Hayward. Emergency Dispatch is something that I've wanted to get into for over a year now, because it greatly supplements my disaster relief aspirations. And as soon as I saw the position in the paper, I remember thinking to myself, “Shit...I'm gonna end up staying here, aren't I?”

Which is one of those thoughts that you have and then immediately push out of your head, because the truth is kind of unbearable and you don't want to believe it and why don't you just go fuck yourself, brain, and stop trying to tell me stuff I don't want to hear.

And then:

I applied for the Em. Dispatch job, and the next night, I had my first “What am I going to do in October?” I could do anything, I told myself...I could move to Washington, I could go back to Minneapolis, I could fly to Australia and be a homeless person living on the beach just like my mom has always expected me to turn out to be. But the thing was, I realized as I stared up at the ceiling, I had all these options, yet no real plan. And with that, the little beads of panic started to rise up.

And then:

The next day, I'm asked to come in and interview for the Em. Dispatch job.

And then:

That same night, my friend Adam tells me that he's moving back into what is only the 2nd most dope place in Hayward (the #1 is beyond - think penthouse, think model home, think Dwell - and is currently being used for eternity by its current inhabitant). This is the apartment that I told myself, years and years ago, that the only way I would only ever even consider moving back to Hayward was if I could live in this apartment. And then Adam asks me to be his roommate. And then tells me what the rent will be. And then mentions that it's fully furnished. The memory of me selling off and giving away most of my possessions this winter and spring rushes through my head.

I give him a loose yes. Yes, if I land the opportunity I'm going for, then yes.

And then:

I do a book reading at a local library, and my boss at the coffeeshop tells me to bring my books in and sell them there. I do. Within the two days, they're flying out the door.

And then:

I do a little research on the local Red Cross chapter and their disaster relief training. I find out that out of all the relief volunteers who deploy out to disasters, their chapter is responsible for 60% of them. I email the lead of the chapter and get this string of totally doable dates upon which I can start training to join the corps.

And then:

I get an Emergency Dispatch job.

And then:

I tell my boss at the coffeeshop that I'm probably staying, and she offers me the opportunity to implement some of the ideas that I had come up with for the place. It's an exciting endeavor that will allow me to flex all the skills that I've been carefully crafting over the past year in terms of social networking and promotion and build other skills that will come in handy for future projects. It's an opportunity that I can't turn down.

So. I guess I'm staying at least through the winter.

The thing is, I don't want to stay here. That's the most ironic thing to me...the fact that this is the one place where I never ever wanted to live again, and for some reason everything is aligning to keep me here. This eerie feeling that everything in the past year was merely a build-up to bring me here and make me stay...it's kind of creepy. Like the apartment thing...I knew I wanted to get rid of most of my stuff after the epiphany last summer. And the thought that kept floating through my mind, through the Craigslist sales and trips to Goodwill and the packing and all that was just this constant, “You won't need this. It will only weigh you down.” And now I've moved into an apartment where I'm grateful and glad that I only have what I ended up with. The apartment is beautiful and comfortable (and I get to sleep in a loft again!) but it's small. Everything that I have? Fits. Anything else that I might have kept? Wouldn't have.

And that's just a small part of it. The connections I've made up here for the book, the businesses, and other ventures have kind of made my head spin. I won't go into it right now, because it will get exhausting, but. 10-69, universe. Noted.

So I gave in about two weeks ago and made the final decision to stay here through the winter and see how this all plays out. It is still a struggle, though. It's not that Hayward is absolutely horrible – there's actually a lot of cool people and things about this town/area – it's that...it's hard to find the center, here. And I keep waiting for that moment of panic, revulsion. That "What am I doing here??!!" moment. Which is coming. It's going to happen. And I already know from the last time I was here that the panic can be palatable. There has to be something to look forward to, there has to be an anchor. You need a list of things to wake up to in the morning to remind you of who you are. And it has to be a good one, otherwise all I'm going to feel is that sense that I'm growing older by the day, I'm going to waste away here, the best years of my life will be spent in this dead end town, I left all my friends and all those possibilities for nothing...

So I'm banking all of my spare time into writing and building out my businesses (because, if you've at all been following my Facebook or Twitter these past few months, I sure as hell will not be spending that time on all the many soulmate possibilities up here). The good thing about my booming social life in Hayward is that I'll probably get so bored that I'll just write every single book in my head within the year. And travel. Adam – my friend and now roommate – and I are making plans to go to Italy in the winter (or rather, he's making plans to rent a flat there for a month and I will be joining him for a week or two during that month). I'm keeping my eye on the international relief goal, which is crucial during the 5 am wake-ups on my dispatch training days. I sometimes, though, feel a little bit like Adam and I are working the logging camps or Alaskan fisheries, putting in long hours and suffering through so we can bank the pay that will get us somewhere closer to where we want to be. Impermanent. A means to an end. Take full advantage of every second of your spare time, because this is the one time and place where you don't want to waste it.

I've got my North Face jacket. Things should be fine.

The End.

2011-09-21T12:27:00.001-04:00

Last Monday was an odd day.

The morning and afternoon were blissfully warm and breezy, and my mom made a comment that this was the last day that would feel like summer. I kind of huffed a little in response. We always say that, in the Northwoods. We are quick to make declarations on the weather - "It's gonna be a long winter"..."Spring isn't too far off, now"..."Fall has begun!"...and it never really ends up being true. There's always some surprise, tucked down deep in nature's pocket. Sometimes it's a good one. Sometimes it makes you wanna tell Mother Nature to go fuck herself. But the lesson is usually just this: Don't think you know what's coming up next, because you never really do.

The skies were still sunny and clear when the thunderstorm warning rudely interrupted the show I was watching. I stared outside and sighed. A thunderstorm had not only ruined almost every meteor showers we were supposed to see this summer, but now it was going to ruin the Harvest Moon...and it didn't even look bad outside! WTF.

It came during dinner - a sprinkling, then a breezy rain, then the wind. Hard wind. We sat at the table and watched, and then, as if on cue, all three of us jumped up and ran to different windows in the house. Hail. Balls of hail were plummeting down to the green ground and grey lake. The power went out, and within a few seconds the deck and ground were covered in white. The wind and pounding hail made the lake look like a rolling sea that was about to rise up and crest over the land.

When it was over, we took pictures of the hail, and I walked outside to see if there had been any huge damage. The first breath stopped me in my tracks: The hail had stripped the trees, leaving an overwhelming scent of pine mingled with the fresh chill of the hail. It was literally all I could do, to just stand there and breathe in and out.

For hours I laid on Daniel's bed, holding up a book and a flashlight, waiting for the power to come on. When it finally did, around 9:30, I walked outside to see that the skies had cleared, leaving a few sparkling stars and the Harvest Moon, hanging in balance over the lake.

I pulled my wellies on, grabbed a plaid flannel, and walked down the little hill to the dock. The Harvest Moon is my favorite. It always feels more like a living, breathing thing than during any other phase. The light reflected off the chilly lake, and I stood on the dock, thinking about this summer. It was finally over, I thought myself.

When I first got here, I wrote this post about it, about making it into this magical thing. And it actually worked. Looking back at the things I wrote, the pictures I took, and the memories I created...I kind of want to cry. I was lucky, this summer. It wasn't always awesome or perfect or exactly how I thought it would be, but it was definitely a one kick-ass season in my life.

Here is a sort of collection of sorts.

When I first got to the cabin in the beginning of May, it was flippin' cold. I'm talking seeing-your-own-breath, hands-and-nose-cold, can't-even-stand-to-be-there-for-longer-than-20-min cold. So I taught myself how to build fires in the fireplace. And I got pretty good, too...although my super sweet ARTCRANK volunteer t-shirt ended up laying victim to an ill-fated match-lighting session.

Every day, I would take my family's dog, Dutch, for a walk with me in the woods. These became so beloved that I often did it twice a day - I'd throw on my plaid flannel, a pair of jeans, strap on boots, cue up the Nerdist podcast, and set out with Dutch down the snowmobile trails. Most of the time I would zone out on the podcast and start formulating plots to YA novels I wanted to write...seriously, where better to think up a kick-ass YA Fantasy than in the middle of the woods, right? And what better inspiration for one than an evil demonic tree:

The deck, dock, and lake were also a huge part of the summer. The deck, of course, was where I learned that my dream of being like Snow White had finally come true, and the forest animals had finally seen into my good, kind soul and decided to be friends with me. ("Forest animals" meaning "hummingbirds.")

And, as often as I could, I took down to the dock to read, meditate, swim, flip off wave runners, stare at clouds, drink beer, watch the sunset/sunrise...

There was also a lot of stellar time on the pontoon with my family. And beer. But mostly, my family.

My friend Erica and my friends Katy and Melissa all made a trip up to the cabin, and we had an AMAZING time. Erica and I got up super early to watch the sunrise on the lake...

Photo Credit: Erica Ulstrom

And Melissa and Katy and I learned how useful our Groucho Sports Supply water bottles could be for keeping bugs and other things of nature out of our wine when having a campfire.

If that's not a stellar endorsement to buy one, I don't know what else is.

In an effort to maintain my sparkling social skills and ensure that I did not become a crazy lady who wanders the woods at night, I participated in a writing group...

Made a few trips down to Minneapolis to see my friends...

Took on a barista job...

Met friends for stuff in the surrounding area...


With Jon Vick at Tom's Burnt Down Cafe on Madeline Island

With Dave at the 4ontheFloor/Willie Nelson concert at Bayfront in Duluth

And ended August with an amazing four days with the Bauschy crew up at their cabin in Longville, MN, where I proceeded to do nothing but take pictures of my niece-by-proxy Maelyn during her every waking hour.

As for the things that I did not do this summer, the list is as follows:
Finish my book
Get laid
Morph into Heidi Klum's body double
Make a million dollars by sitting around on the internet
Befriend a mystical wolf
Write a box-office-busting teen movie
Get eaten by a demon from the Evil Tree

So goodbye, summer adventure in the woods.

It was pretty magical, wasn't it?

Remembering.

2011-09-11T10:20:00.003-04:00

A lot of people are going to be talking about Sept. 11 today. And while that would usually mean that I would steer clear of the subject...

I, like most of my peers, remember exactly where I was when the planes hit the Twin Towers. I arrived at my client's house (I was working as a behavior therapist for WEAP, leading a team of therapists in Hayward, WI) and was greeted at the door by my client's grandmother, Oma. "Oh my god, a plane just hit the World Trade Center," she told me, as she pulled back the sliding glass door. And I remember walking into the living room with her while my client played quietly in the corner, and we both stood, stock still in the middle of the room, watching in silence as the news and footage of a second plane hitting the towers came roaring over CNN.

At the time, though, it felt like how Columbine felt...this expectation that you should be horrified and glued to the news and will want to hear and talk about it all the time. Which tends to make me want to stay far away from it. And I remember being slightly annoyed...this stuff happened all the time in India, in the Middle East, even in Ireland, for god's sake. Buildings were bombed every day, mass numbers of people were killed in suicide bombings and street wars...and yeah, it happened to us, so I got it, but could we please just stop acting like this was the most cataclysmic event in the universe just because it did happen to us? And it was so much that I felt almost blinded to it. Desensitized. So I pulled away. I didn't watch the news, I ignored reports about it in the paper, and I switched the radio station every time that goddamn Alan Jackson (or worse, the one by Toby Keith) song came on the radio.

And I stayed comfortably ensconced in that attitude for years. And then, last year, two things happened in- literally - a week. I read Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close and watched the movie "Remember Me." I had initially picked those two diversions after coming home from a trip to New York - a trip that made New York feel familiar to me. A kinship. So, wanting to explore that feeling, I chose a book and a movie that had New York as the location, not really realizing that both centered around 9/11.

And I got it. I mean, I had gotten it before, but after those two things, I got it. "Remember Me" made it human for me, not in the least because it was story centered around a boy who was my age when it happened (and you don't even see it coming, so you get to know him and then there's just this, and you're shocked and dumbstruck and sobered by all of it). Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close, besides just being an all-out brilliant book, told the story - and some pieces of that day that I hadn't fully heard about before, such as the pictures that exist of the people who had jumped off the roof of the towers - in this way that was so matter-of-fact and quietly heartbreaking. And after these two things, it was like I could finally feel it. It felt like I had had enough distance from the sensationalism and the groupthink and it had been a long enough time that now I could pour over the footage of it and feel it and get it. Part of that, I think, is the fact that things had quieted down enough where I felt like I could actually have my own reaction - just mine, and not what everyone else in the country expected me to have.

And I'm glad I finally got it. Not because I now understand what a complete tragedy this was for our country or how important it is for us to be united or any of that other bullshit, but because I felt like I was able to finally see through all the "This happened to US, OUR country" self-absorbed crap and finally let it sink down that this happened to people. It's hard, sometimes, (at least for me) to realize the personal when the fatality is a mass number. That this didn't just "happen" to 1,000 "people." It happened to people with stories, whole lives, families, friends, lovers, plans and goals and dreams. And they were our kinsmen, but mostly, they were all people that we knew, even if we didn't *really* know them.

So today I'll be watching the footage and listening to the stories and paying my respects like the rest of America. Not because this happened to me or my country...but because this happened to them, and I feel like the best thing I can do is to try remember them as individual faces, as breathing, pulsing, swelling lives that were cut short by something that is still hard to fully comprehend.

I will still be switching the radio station if I hear the Alan Jackson or Toby Keith songs, though. That still hasn't changed.

Political Debate.

2011-09-01T15:56:00.002-04:00

You'll come in with her in the morning, when you know I'll be working. Sitting side-by-side, arms touching, you'll lean into her just as I'm walking by. Her hair, sparse and short and brown, is just a slight more messy in the back. Sleepy neglect, maybe. More likely a sign of what (who) you did last night.

I don't notice you. I do, but I won't let you see it, because I know how it will make you feel. A bit emptier, that nagging feeling of losing that slides in after an unsuccessful scheme. Why didn't that work. Your consolation will be her, of course. You might even like her, but there's only one real reason why you brought her here, this morning, this day. I wonder if she knows. She probably thinks she's won. Won what, I wish I could ask. What did you really win, except a guy who's using you, in part or in whole, as a way to show off to another. A man who can never really stand to lose gracefully.

You'll try harder next time. This is how it works. You'll pretend to hate me, or try to do what I just did to you, which is ignore me, act as if I don't matter. And I don't...not really, not to you, not in the way you might think. You probably should have listened to your friends, you'll decide, sooner than later....I can be cold, vicious. Calculating. You shouldn't underestimate the things that I can do. And do you really want the girl your other friends have tried for? And why should you have to try, when practically any other girl around here would kill for a chance at you? Those are the ones who will wait for you to kiss them in a parking lot after bar close. Who will laugh at all your jokes, look at you with bright admiring eyes, give in to anything you say. The kind of girls who will be convinced they've won something, when you take them out for breakfast the morning after. Maybe it's not worth it, giving all that up for someone who only might kiss you, who only might laugh at the things you say, who maybe wants more than what you're used to giving.

But you'll never know, will you.

It's the end, you guys. The end of Summer...of Hummers.

2011-08-31T17:48:00.000-04:00

We will never forget the Hummers that we've shared together.

A solitary tear runs down Randy's face as he thinks about it. But don't cry for what you've lost, Randy. Smile for the Hummers you've had.

You know how some people have Hate Sex?

2011-08-29T15:16:00.003-04:00

I have Hate Running.

It's like this: You know how some girls scream and cry or throw stuff or stuff their faces when they get dumped or get bad news or get into a fight with their friends? I don't really do that. Instead, I run.

So, yesterday (when I originally wrote this post, which was apparently not good enough according to certain ball-busting readers, so I'm writing more today) I got some crap news. This week has been, to quote my friend Dave, an emotional shit bomb for some of my friends. On top of that, two great, game-changing things that were supposed to happen this weekend? Didn't.

So instead of diving down into a pit of defeat and despair, I took to the trails in a heated, pulsing, "I HATE you so much right now, I'm gonna run three miles as fast as I can just because I hate you THAT MUCH" type of running. It's Hate Running. When I hate a person, I don't fuck them - I run. As hard and as fast and as long as I can.

And honestly, it's the best running imaginable, which also ends up turning the frustration and anger into this kind of calm strength and focus.

Like a warrior.

A Wolf Warrior, even.

*whispers* Amber the Wolf Warrior...

Hashtag Truth.

2011-08-22T14:43:00.001-04:00

Chels, last night at the cabin on Long Lake: "Amber, look! A bald eagle!"

Me: "Big deal. I see those things every damn day."

Chels: "Ha, you're right. Instead it should be, "Amber, look! City people!"

Summer of Hummers, 8.17.11

2011-08-17T15:30:00.000-04:00

As Randy says - "Hurrah for Hummers!"

I feel differently, but whatev.

been thinking..., I am probably not the person to be writing about...

2011-08-14T12:36:00.000-04:00

been thinking..., I am probably not the person to be writing about...: "Spoiler alert! The women are the steel magnolias. That’s the name of the movie because it’s about a group of women who are delicate yet strong. Basically a bunch of southern women who all hang out at the hair salon together."

The best review of "Steel Magnolias" that you will ever read. (Follow the link to read the whole thing)

Summer of Hummers, 8.11.11

2011-08-11T14:53:00.000-04:00

But...Randy doesn't want to wait a whole two weeks for Hummers!

NOBODY wants to.

"Espresso" which you should pronounce as, "EX-PRESS-OOOO."

2011-08-11T14:27:00.002-04:00

Becoming a barista is something I've been wanting to do for a long time. As with anything, I feel like getting in on the ground floor is the most valuable thing you can do when you're trying to learn about something new. In learning about coffee farming and production and Fair Trade, it makes sense to learn more about all of those things by being hands-on when it comes to turning those coffee beans into a viable product.

Also, it's kind of nice to shatter that glass wall between customer and barista. Because let's face it: Some of them are total dicks, and act like what they do is the most complicated and precious thing in the world.

So a few weeks ago, I noticed that one of my favorite spaces, Mooselips Java Joint, was hiring. I kind of winged about when it came to getting a job this summer - I didn't really need to, and I was afraid that it was going to take time away from writing. But I was also starting to feel like a fundamentalist Mormon who never left the compound...there have seriously been two week spans this summer when I did not leave the home grounds (granted, there's a lake and a forest on those said grounds, but still) or interact with anyone face-to-face except for my family. So I told myself to give it a shot - if I hated it and was losing all of my writing time, I could always quit, right? And at the very least, it would teach me something new and give me a wider knowledge base.

Here's the State of The Union on it so far:

1) I couldn't get the foam on cappucinos right on my first day. So that night I had my mom dig out her old espresso machine and I practiced night and day. Now my foam is amazing. It's light and fluffy and frothy and not too hot. Do people actually go to school for this stuff? Those people are stupid.

2) At the coffeeshop we have an XM/Sirius station that we tune to the "Coffee Shop" station. The station is, on the whole, pretty decent - mostly acoustic, some really great songs, a lot of fantastic rare covers. The only problem with the station is the same problem that shows up on every XM station - they seem to have 2 to 3 artists that they rotate constantly...like the artists are your dosage of Prozac and if you don't hear them once ever three hours, you're gonna turn the station and join up with a traveling jam band.

These artists are: The Indigo Girls, Tracey Chapman, and Natalie Merchant. Tracey Chapman I can totally handle...I truly believe she has one of the greatest voices of our generation.

The Indigo Girls, however...

I was part of St. Paul T.E.C. in high school. One year I was on Kitchen Team, where we listened to The Indigo Girls constantly while setting up and taking down the kitchen area. At one point I asked, "Can we maybe listen to something else?"
"What?" The female T.E.C Pastor asked. "Don't you like The Indigo Girls?"
"I do, but...I'm getting a little tired of them."
"How could you possibly EVER get tired of The Indigo Girls?"
"Oh, it's possible. Trust me."

And it still is.

But Natalie Merchant....first of all, I can't really stand her. Natalie Merchant was to the generation of girls before me what Regina Spektor is to the girls coming up behind me. You want to like them as artists, but you're also put off by the type of fans they attract. I've done some research on this, and it seems like the majority of Natalie Merchant and Regina Spektor fans are typically big-busted, art-majoring, naturally curly-haired, annoyingly-judge-y-about-environmental-stuff college chicks. Like, girls who still color in coloring books in college because it gives them back their childlike wonder and joy.

The only really good thing about this phenomenon is that it gave me this FB status update and subsequent comments. Randy quoting Indigo Girls in context is still one of the highlights of the summer.

3) Pooks, having just gotten over being moved to a cabin up north where she's even MORE bored and put upon, is none too delighted by my change in time and attention investment. Every night when I get home, she's all, “I don't GIVE a shit if you're tired. I've been waiting all day for you to play with me. So now it's MY time. MY TIME.”

Or, "Oh, you think you're gonna get on this laptop and start writing, huh? Yeah, try that."

In other related news, I have decided to rename her Deloris Pookerton Carter The Cat. And she actually answers to Deloris. Which is a perfect name for her, since she's a crabby old lady who loves the sound of her own voice and can't seem to mind her business.

The End.

Summer of Hummers, 8.3.11

2011-08-03T14:15:00.000-04:00

After a brief hiatus, we're back!

Randy says:

Oh. My. God. Entire gardens with hummers everywhere!

Revisitation.

2011-08-01T14:35:00.000-04:00

I try to go down to the dock every night. It's the stars. I missed them so much when I was in the city, that I sometimes feel like I need to drink them in as much as I can, now, and here, or I will end up regretting it for the rest of my life.

Tonight, though, it was the fog. Carrying Pooks in from a long day at my parents, I lower her to the floor, then float through the cabin, pulling on my rolled-up jeans, hooded sweatshirt, and flip-flops. I threw my hair up into a ponytail, grabbed a towel and my iPod, and drifted down the wooded slope and onto the platform.

Sitting on the bench, I cued up Bon Iver's new album and stared out at the mist, the thick, comforting gray of the lake. On my bulletin board in the cabin, I have a collection of pictures, sayings, and clippings that I like to stare at in the early morning and night. There's a scrap of a Chinese fortune that says, “Discontent is the necessity of progress.”

I took a job as a barista at a local coffeeshop about three weeks ago, after finding myself wandering around the cabin at night, bored and restless and with little to look forward to. Long stretches of open days, in the early summer, were heaven. In the past few weeks, they've become time to waste. I resisted the idea for a while, telling myself that I didn't really need one, that it would take time away from my writing, etc. But then the little coffeeshop I had been watching for months, with the thought in the back of my head that it might be fun to work there, posted an ad in the paper, and without a second thought I called and interviewed and was hired all in the same day.

I've been thriving. I delight in my hours there, ideas are tumbling out, and the structure of only having so many hours to write has actually churned out more writing than the last few months of open-ended days. It's caused me to think of all the other things that I've been arguing against that might also end up being really good for me.

Like people. Filling in for a server the other night, I looked up to see a tall, tanned, bald-shaven man walk in. I threw out a smile and a hello, then watched as he smiled back and walked into the kitchen. A new coworker, a cook. He already knew my name, and though he looked familiar, I couldn't quite place him. I didn't find out his first name until the very end of the night, though I did manage to collect a few other facts about him as I overheard his conversations with others: Baseball player. BMX biker. Fishing guide.

The next night I was having drinks with my old friend Adam, and somehow the cook came up. Adam instantly knew who I was talking about, and told me that he used to go to the same parties and hung out with the same crowd as we did when I first lived up here, which is why he probably looked familiar. “That's probably not a good thing,” I stated to Adam, thinking back on that turbulent time and all that could be interpreted from it. “I'm wary of getting involved with anyone from around here. I know that sounds snobby and narrow-minded, but it's the same thing – I already did that. I already dated you. I'd prefer to shop from a different store.” It's the guys who fish, who make jokes about Mexicans, who stand around in the bait store or gas station, bitching about their jobs and their wives. The loud-mouths in the bars, the ones who make me cringe with their loud engine-revving as they blast out of the parking lot. I know it's not true, and there are always exceptions to the rule, but sometimes it feels as if Hayward and Cable is a garden, and this is the only crop of men it grows.

“If he asks you on a date, I would tell you that you have to say yes,” Adam insisted.
“Really?!” I sat up and stared at him. “I've never heard you endorse anyone, especially not someone from around here.”
“He is one of the greatest people I know. He can fall into the trap of being an asshole when he's with his friends, but one on one, the guy is like Killian.”
Killian is, hands down, one of the coolest and nicest people we've ever met, anywhere, ever.
“Hmm.” I sat back in my chair again, thinking.
“Seriously. If he asks you out, I would definitely go out with him if I were you.”

Later that night, while sitting in bed and reading, my mind wandered. It only happens once in a blue moon, but the feeling had become palatable...I wanted someone else. Something else. All the feelings and longings and buzz and pull that usually lay dormant during my solitary life starts to awaken, and suddenly if feels as if my nerves are on fire, that I'm ready to jump out of my skin. Usually, going on dates and kissing and the dance of flirting seems so boring...but during this small span of time, a flip is switched, and now everything is so boring without it. And I want it now. I know it will usually pass...I'll sigh a lot and stare off into daydreams and wander around in the discontent for a few days, but then it will slowly melt away and I'll be back to my happy life of just myself and Pooks to take care of.

But this had me wondering. I know that I may only be attracted to him because he reminds me of another bald-shaven man down in Minneapolis with a similar build and a quiet confidence, someone I also find myself wondering about on a semi-regular basis. I know that it would be hard for me to resist all of my preconceived notions and ideas of what he is probably like, even though I would fiercely declare that that's not fair if the tables were turned. And I know that the story is still much the same that it was the first time I lived in this place: That I don't really want to date anyone from up here, because I don't want to have a reason for why I have to stay. And what if he's actually really ugly and stupid and dumb and I'm only thinking about him because he's the best of what's immediately around? But the book has already been opened, I thought to myself, as I turned out the light and flipped the covers over my chest. And once it's opened, I never can quite let it go until I find out what finally happens in the end.

There was a chance that we would work together on Friday. On Friday nights, the coffeeshop morphs into an upscale eatery, and I fill the role as hostess, a role I relish if only because it gives me a rare reason to put on a dress and get glossed up. This evening was in particularly top form: It was one of those moments when everything just seems to come together and you know that you look as swell as you had hoped to. But he wasn't there, and even though I told myself to not be stupid, you knew there was a chance he wouldn't be, I couldn't help but feel a little bit disappointed. The thought of this dress and these boots only being worth a Friday evening that held a few hours of work, a long ride home, and an empty cabin with nothing to do but write and go to bed...it just seemed...sad.

Bored and needing something to do, I picked up a couple of empty glasses from the table to take into the main bar. Walking through the middle room, I envisioned magnets reaching out from my black-dress-clad body and pulling the cook in. “If this is worth anything, then he has to come in, I have to get to see him tonight.” And literally right on cue, I rounded the corner as he was walking in the door.

Even if this post only affects one person, it will still all be worth it.

2011-07-18T20:56:00.000-04:00

I know this is going to sound like another one of those crazy conspiracy theories, but...I need to speak it out loud. I need to voice my concerns. I've put a lot of thought into this, and I feel very strongly that I could be right.

I think Jennifer Garner is paying off People Magazine.

And also US Weekly.

To those of you who subscribe and buy those particular magazines...think about it.

She's in those magazines almost every week.

She doesn't do ANYTHING.

She maybe looks good once a year, and yet both mags gush about her every time they post a picture of her. (Running sneakers with jeans and a sweater, Garner? Really? You couldn't pull it together enough to put on cute shoes - or even cute running shoes, if you must - when you just "happened" to take your kids to the park where there just "happened" to be photographers?)

You can't even say that it's a coincidence she's in those magazines all the time because of her husband Ben, because nobody really cares about Ben.

The only other people who are in there as often as her are Katie Holmes and Tori Spelling.

Think about THAT for a minute.

I'm gonna tell everyone, Jennifer. Everyone. They're all gonna know what you've been doing. There is no good reason why you are in my People magazine every week. I'm going to work night and day to bring your dirty little secret to light.

And if all it does is ensure that I never have to see you wear running shoes with jeans ever again, SO BE IT.

It's been a week of pretty stellar stuff. But, this might beat them all. [VIDEO]

2011-07-16T16:12:00.000-04:00

Gorgeous, awe-inspiring, amazeball-worthy, and visually (and musically) stunning, this is the kind of video you want to wake up to* - and since it's 12 minutes long (so worth it, though - trust me. I hate long videos, and even I was mesmerized), it's the perfect cup-of-coffee-and-internets-to-start-your-day mix.

Chris Bryan Films Phantom Reel from Chris Bryan on Vimeo.

*Word to the wise, though - not so safe for work or for your kids. It's good up until about the 10 minute mark, and then there's a touch of nudity. I don't know why she's standing topless on the beach, either. Apparently her boobs got really hot and she had to cool them down or something. We can talk about it later, if you're really confused and upset about it.

10 Life Lessons from Esquire's "What I've Learned" Interviews | Brain Pickings

2011-07-16T12:42:00.000-04:00

10 Life Lessons from Esquire's "What I've Learned" Interviews | Brain Pickings:

"The measure of achievement is not winning awards. It’s doing something that you appreciate, something you believe is worthwhile. I think of my strawberry souffle. I did that at least twenty-eight times before I finally conquered it.” ~ Julia Child"

Rules For How Not To Be a Social Media Douchebag: #2

2011-07-15T11:04:00.002-04:00

Rule #2: Stop assuming that all of your followers are hanging on to your every word.

Because unless you have a swingy haircut, wear high-tops, and sing ultra-catchy pop tunes about people wasting your time and not being able to make up their minds, then they're not.

Examples of breaking this rule:

"Sorry guys, but I'm going to be offline for a few hours!"

"Sorry I haven't blogged in a while...I've been sooo busy ____ (waxing/walking on the treadmill/listening to my iPod/insert totally boring reason here)"

Is anyone really that upset about the fact that you haven't blogged or tweeted in a while? I mean, so upset that you think they deserve some type of public explanation or apology for why you've stolen their daily online sustenance and joy by using your precious time for something else?

If your answer is yes, then the answer is actually no.

Summer of Hummers, 7.13.11

2011-07-13T17:21:00.000-04:00

Randy says:

The best hummers are wet like a deep moat.

When The Needle Hits The Wax

2011-07-11T01:12:00.000-04:00

Because I missed you. All the time, no matter what. And I didn't do anything wrong, but that was almost harder to accept, when I lost you anyway.

I said my piece about it a long time ago. And I learned a lot, mainly this: Even when you're right, even when you tell the truth and do the right thing, it doesn't always matter. People will believe what and who they want to believe. And it's okay now, because I know it happened because it was supposed to happen. And I very rarely regret that it did - that was the strangest thing about it. There were things about it that hurt...absolutely. But those have faded and floated away...until I found myself walking through the gate you held open, until I felt you circle around me, until I caught your eye across the kitchen as I tipped my cup back.

It was heartbreaking. To love and adore you so much, and then to know that I lost you. That what I meant didn't really matter, after all. To see you again and have you be nice to me. To know too many people were there for me to say to you what it was that kept me choking back tears. I miss you. I wish you were still in my life. I wish that things had been different. I hope that you are well and happy and have the best life. I wish you knew me well enough to know that I mean everything I say.

I'm sorry that you didn't believe me. I'm sorry that it didn't matter. I'm sorry that I lost you. I'm only sorry about losing you. Only you, am I sorry about losing.

To My Friend Erica, On The Morn of Her Departure:

2011-07-09T08:00:00.003-04:00

And I don't want you to go. Because what am I going to do without one of my best friends. And I know that I left first and you spread out your arms and sent me off with whoops of encouragement and seeds of comfort, but where you're going is so far and you're probably going to make new friends - probably fantastic lesbian friends who have great parties and live in awesome houses with lots of super art and who date attractive DJ's and hang out at awesome coffee-houses-by-day-clubs-by-night, like on The L Word - and then who am I going to talk to about boys and writing and damages and sunrises over lakes? And there's always email but I'm horrible with email and it's not the same when I can't see your face or your sparkling figure next to mine when we walk down the sidewalk together. And I know I left first. But you didn't ask me if you could go and so I'm kind of upset that you didn't get my permission first and I thought I announced like a year ago that the new rule was that no one could get married or have babies or move before I said they could?

Sometimes I still feel like that five year old girl, the one who's standing on the side of the street, wiping tears away from her eyes with the back of her grimy little hand as she watches her only real friend's car pull away from the curb. Why are you leaving me. Why can't your dad just stay here or you come live with us? Let's rearrange the whole universe to fit my sense of who I want in my life all the time and whom I don't.

I'm so excited for you. But I'm also sitting here and writing this with my bottom lip actually sticking out as I cry big fat selfish tears at the thought of you leaving. And I don't want you to go, but I want for you all the things you'll find when you do: Adventure. Happiness. Experience. Love. Home.

And also, don't forget to bring with you this to-do list:

1) Pull-out couch for Amber to sleep on in the fall

2) Tickets to all live tapings of the Nerdist podcasts. Also include: Video camera to bring with to live tapings for when Amber can't be here to go with us.

3) Jason Segal's daily routine - habits, local hangouts, map of typical street routes, etc.

4) Closet space for Amber to put her stuff in when she finally decides to move in with us after visiting

5) A collection of cool lesbian friends that will make Amber feel like she's living in an episode of The L Word when she visits/moves here. Watch: The entire series of The L Word for references on what makes a cool lesbian friend (Shane) and what does not (Jenny).

6) Daily hilarious stories and anecdotes to tell C about Amber so that when he finally meets her face-to-face, they become fast, worshipful friends and he won't put up a fight when you want to name your first baby after her.

7) A daily schedule with an hour built in that is blocked off specifically for you to email (or call) Amber to regail her with your daily exploits and emotions.

8) Big poster made out of Amber's shining, sparkling face to hang on the ceiling over your bed so she's the first thing you see when you wake up and the last thing you see when you go to sleep. Except when maybe C's around. (But he will most likely love it, too, so no need to worry on that end)

9) A business-card-sized card that says, "Amber thinks I'm awesome, so fuck YOU guys!" to carry around in your wallet so you can pull it out and read it when/if things ever get hard/frustrating/stressful/lonely/hurtful.

Because I do. And I'll kick anyone in the face who makes you feel less than that.

Miss you, lady. Love you more.

I'm back in the TC until Monday.

2011-07-08T18:48:00.001-04:00

Rode in on a wave of anticipation on a hot Wednesday afternoon. Kept it Top Secret so I could walk into Cafe Maude during Happy Hour and surprise Karah and Jeff (Chels was in on my plan). But before I initiated my plan of friendship attack, I got to have beers with Erica one more time before she left for California on Saturday.

I'm going to miss her so much.

Let's talk about something else.

I get to wake up to (um, amazing...have you guys ever had it made by Kerurig?) coffee with Matt in the morning and come home to Chels and this face in the afternoon (who, by the way, calls me by my name now and just pulled out her toy laptop so she could sit and work with me. My head is going to explode from sweetness overload) and hang out in the evening with Chels and Matt and Karah and Jeff.

So yeah. It's pretty great to be home for a few days.

Happy Independence Day, everyone!

2011-07-04T08:00:00.001-04:00

This beautiful portrait is from last year's 4th of July Parade in Cable, WI. And yes, that is a flag in my beer. Beer tastes better when you add some patriotism to it.

Holiday weekends.

2011-07-03T22:38:00.001-04:00

Early morning and sunshine. Coffee and peanut butter rolls. Small libraries and farmers markets. Docks and books. Kayaks and lakes. Flipflops and sweatshirts. Boats and beers. Fires and sparklers.

Coffee. Yeah.

2011-07-03T11:43:00.002-04:00

Learning more about coffee has long been an underground interest of mine. I love the science of it, and the fact that a common drink can have so much versatility and power. You know how some people say that bicycles will be one of the answers to the energy and environmental issues we face today? I strongly and seriously believe coffee will be one of the answers to the economic disparity and sustainability issues we face.

Just as an aside: If you hop on here one day and see that I've suddenly popped down to South America to learn more about Fair Trade and coffee farms, that means that my life has become exponentially more awesome.

And this infocomic from The Oatmeal is the shiz:


Via theoatmeal.com

Go read/see the whole thing here.

6 Things Teenagers Say To Sound Smart But Really Just Makes Them Sound Stupid

2011-07-01T14:56:00.003-04:00

1) I forgive, but I don't forget.

Then you don't actually forgive.

2) Respect goes both ways. I don't just give you my respect. You have to earn it.

Yeah, that's actually not how respect works. And also, very few adults are going to purposefully go out of their way to "earn" a teenager's respect or trust. And those who do are usually ones you need to be suspicious of. See: Pedophiles, Narcs, Army recruiters.

3) I don't trust people easily. I've been hurt before.

That's called life. Getting dumped by your 17 yr old girlfriend and saying that it made you "more jaded" does not make you special. It makes you a cliche.

4) I question everything/ all authority.

No, you don't. You question the guy who's making your life a real drag by assigning you actual homework. Here's what it really means to question authority: When MTV tells you that something's cool...think about it. Is it really cool? Did Twilight really deserve to win an award over Inception? Should I just accept these things that someone on TV is telling me to believe? Or should I think about them, do my own research, formulate my own opinions? Maybe the iPhone is not the coolest smartphone. Maybe it's not so awesome because you just did a little internet reading that made you realize that they make technology that's incompatible with other devices and then shut out pioneering apps that didn't cave to their shitty-ass pricing models and that it kind of fucking sucks that Apple asks you to pay hundreds of dollars every other year just to get in on the next brand new game. See - that's what it means to question everything. It means to think critically about the sources of information that you're tempted to just automatically believe. If you were a person who questioned all authority, you would participate more in your local government. You would actually know how voting works. You would organize and lead a group of your peers to protect natural resources, or rally them together to help build parks, or join forces to investigate illegal dumping of waste or use of laboratory animals. You would read stuff, like books, that tell you things that will make you more smart, instead of more dumb. You being a smartass to your parents or teachers makes you an asshole, not someone who "questions all authority."

5) Yo, just because someone's an "adult" that doesn't mean they know everything.

No, it just means that they know more than you do.

Listen, I get it. You're constantly taking in all of these things and new experiences and it feels like you have all of these feelings that no one else has and you pick up on stuff so much faster than your parents and the adults around you... But you know why that's happening? It's happening so that one day you can be 30 years old and standing in front of a teenager and remember exactly what it's like to be him and then realize that now your life is so much better than when you were him because now you actually know some stuff. See, that's the tradeoff - you get the teenage body and the cockiness that goes along with it (otherwise none of us would ever lose our virginity until we were 40) and adults get the smarts that comes after we no longer have that to fall back on. You're probably really super smart. You probably know a lot of stuff that the adults around you don't. But the thing is...it doesn't matter, unless you actually do something with it. And you, standing in the middle of a convenience store spouting off this platitude to your easily-impressed friends does not qualify.

6) It's better to burn out than fade away.

Yeah, you have to actually do something with your life first before either of those can become actual options for you. And first rule of life? Using quotes from rock stars as your own personal mantras doesn't make people think you have a lot in common with rock stars. It makes them think you're a douche who can't come up with something original to say.

Nothing else good happens in July. It's a FACT. So you might as well spend it inside, reading a book.

2011-07-01T12:45:00.000-04:00

What up, readers!

For the month of July, Smashwords is having a mega sale on some of their ebooks. And they asked me to be a part of it.

And I said, "Fuuuuuuuck THAT."

And then I changed my mind, so here you go -

From now until July 31st, HOLIDAY CHICK is on sale for $1.50*.

Yeah, that is 50% off the regular price. We seem to be doing a lot of 50% sales around here...

Let's talk about all the other things that you could get for $1.50...

You could get a new app for your smart phone.

You could get a new song by way of MP3.

And...that's about it.

Or you could get A WHOLE BOOK, 500+ PAGES WORTH, which includes stuff about love and sex and fights and stalkings and skateboarding and some more sex and fights and love and stuff. But me telling you how great I think it is is kind of like me telling you how smart I think my 6 month old is, so like this guy says, don't just take my word for it. Check out what some other readers said about it here.

*enter in coupon code SSW50 at checkout

They could only make it easier for you by barging into your house, jamming a Q-Tip inside your mouth, and then running out again.

2011-06-30T19:37:00.000-04:00

I don't really care much about my body parts. I mean, I do...but I mean "don't care" more in the way that I would happily give a kidney or some bone marrow or half of my liver to someone else who needed it. I mean...kids with cancer, yeah? Bone marrow transplants can save their lives. I know why some people might balk at the thought of giving their kidney to someone - especially someone they don't know - and I get it. But I just kind of feel like...we have these bodies for such a short amount of time, and if we're really honest with ourselves, we really don't appreciate them as much as we could. So why not give something of our bodies to someone who might?

Then I read this article about an organization called Be The Match. Not only is the story of how the org was founded illuminating and motivating, but they make it so easy to join the registry.

And in all seriousness, it is the easiest thing in the world to get on the donor's list - they send you the kit through the mail, which takes five minutes to complete (maybe 10, if you're super careful like me), then you drop it in the mail again (postage paid!) and you're done. If you match someone who's on the list as needing a donor, they'll tell you and you can go from there. If you don't, you still get to have the heart-warming feeling of doing something good and giving for your greater community.

So do it. Yeah, do it. C'mon. Do it. You know you wanna do it. Just do it.

I can't decide which I love more - the columns or Randy's comments about them.

2011-06-29T17:42:00.000-04:00

Randy says: Everyone knows young hummers are the most active.

This Generation.

2011-06-29T11:44:00.001-04:00

I can hear the voices of my parents and their parents: We are so self-indulgent, this generation. Get a job, go to work, be responsible, quit whining. But I think that we have that luxury, of trying our best to be happy – really happy, in a way that doesn't feel like we're suffocating ourselves – and so we should take it. Because we can.

It's a Double-Hummer Week. You must've done something reeaaaal nice.

2011-06-28T12:25:00.001-04:00

From Randy -

It's still the Summer of Hummers!

In this issue, Dolores discusses how hummers can help you avoid STDs.

"Who You Are No Matter What"

2011-06-27T17:02:00.000-04:00

Annie had spent most of the summer lying awake in her bed at night, waiting for her father to die. And now that he was dead, she still found herself laying awake for most of the night, this time wishing he would come back.

Annie's dog Davey shifted from her spot at the end of the bed as Annie rolled onto her side. The dim nightlight cast shadows on the wall, and Annie stared blankly as the shapes enlarged and then receded, Davey having finally settled down again.

Hardly anyone had come to the funeral – they had very few relatives, her father had lost touch with most of his friends, and she hadn't even told hers – and she didn't cry. Couldn't. There was no point in it. Her father hadn't even wanted her here this summer, not really, not until the end. Go back to your life, he told her. I didn't push you out just so you could come back, he joked.

They put him in the same room as Bobby. That was the one good thing she had done. Dr. Noble hadn't wanted to, told her it was very unorthodox, but in the way she had learned to cultivate with men her entire life, she simply stared him down until he agreed. The nurses thought it was the most wonderful idea. Like a small town parade, they triumphantly rolled her father down the hallway, into the elevator, and then into Bobby's room, gliding her father's bed in as if it were a routine for Stars For Ice. And so, for the last three weeks in August, there Annie stayed – sitting in a chair between the two beds, silent and watchful for which one of them might die first. Because wouldn't it just be the thing, if Bobby did, before Dad. That would just be really great, Annie thought to herself. That would just make all of this just perfect, then.

Annie had started out having a safe, normal life, with a safe, normal family. A mom and a dad who loved each other, and a brother who loved his little sister, which made her love him right back. An unfortunate accident in a canoe, a small tumor nestled somewhere within the left frontal lobe, and a mom who couldn't deal left just Annie. Just Annie, really.

Well, Annie and Bobby. But that was the worst of it. She hadn't had to worry, when her father was still here. He could take care of it, he told her, and so she hadn't had to worry. And what was the answer, she wondered. Should he die now. Could she keep him alive. And which of those did she want the most.

- New story entitled, "Who You Are No Matter What"

Well, well, well...

2011-06-27T13:38:00.000-04:00

Look who's a big famous media personality now...

It's our favorite commenter, KEVIN!

Kevin was chosen by MetroMix as one of the Top Tweeps of the Twin Cities. His particular title is "Twolitico."

Which I will now be using constantly as a way to refer to him, as well as unabashedly soaking up any and all side-fame that comes my way thanks to his new trend-setting status.

#MetalFriday and a thing called, "reading."

2011-06-24T13:48:00.004-04:00

So this morning on Twitter, I joined in with one of the coolest people I know - Charles K. Youel of Artcrank (@ARTCRANK) for #metalfriday. Or rather, I RT'ed something he tweeted about #metalfriday, and then he called me out to tweet something for #metalfriday, and once @ARTCRANK throws the #metalfriday gauntlet down, YOU DON'T BACK DOWN FROM THAT SHIT.

Anyway.

So since we were talking about Tool earlier on Twitter, I decided to post "Schism" by Tool as my #metalfriday pick. Also because it's A. It's fuckin' Tool and B., it's also the song that I basically wrote the entire Holiday Chick book around.

Yeah, you heard right. Can't be too much of a chicklit book if I basically wrote almost the entire premise around a Tool song, now can it? People who haven't read the book don't seem to really believe me that it's not just a book for angsty teen girls (or angsty grown women). That's why I struggled so much with the book description - if I were a guy, I don't think I'd read that and be all, "Hey, a girl has a lot of feelings and starts getting to know all these different guys...sounds like something I'd be down to read!" But, since the story is mainly about Aden, it was the most apt description that I could come up with for the book, and since you guys voted on it, it's sticking.

But, when I listen to songs like this and I remember exactly how the book evolved, it makes me want to share it with everyone. Because if I tried to do anything with the book, it was explore how different characters felt about the place they were in - from the angsty, slightly mysterious new girl to the guy you know from high school who's still skateboarding in the gas station parking lot - during a specific time in young adulthood...and I wanted to explore what it takes to turn the people around us - the ones we see every day, the ones we grew up with, the ones we think we know everything about - into unpredictable, sometimes cruel, and maybe even dangerous spectors in our lives.

Also, this song is freaking hot (even though the scene I wrote for it? Not so hot. Maybe a little haunting, maybe a little dark - okay, a lot - but. Not hot), and it definitely played the biggest part in informing the intensity that's sewn into the entire story.

So I guess what I'm trying to say is, if you like metal, you like Holiday Chick. And even if you don't, you like Holiday Chick.

The compass.

2011-06-23T20:57:00.000-04:00

It didn't feel right.

But it was money.

But it wasn't what I wanted to do. Be. Talk about.

But it might get you more opportunities.

But it feels cheap. And kind of gross.

But if you close this door...

This was the conversation I kept having with myself, earlier this week. Sitting at the table in the cabin late one night, I kept going over it. The pros and cons.

Or more to the point, I kept trying to rationalize while the cons should be pros.

I'm pretty good at listening to my gut. Following my instincts. I have a lot of feelings, and those feelings are strong...sometimes to the point of freak-out-where-is-this-coming-from-strong. Most of the time, I love this about myself...I love having such a strong inner compass that I can just look at something and instantly see the impact it's going to have on my life. The only time when I don't like it?

When I'm not actively listening to it.

I've been going around and around with trying to say this in the most eloquent way, but I'll just say it: I shouldn't have become a brand ambassador for Chevy. I told myself that I should do it because doing so would bring in more money (money, I told myself, that would allow me to do the things I really loved, like writing) and it could possibly open the doors for other opportunities that I did want.

But the offer was ironic for these reasons: I had just sat down a few days before and wrote out my vision of the kind of companies I wanted to work with in terms of branding, social media, and copywriting (companies that were progressive in their efforts to promote active living, environmental stewardship, sustainable development, and community involvement) and told myself that I would only give my time and energy to the kind of companies that fit these initiatives. I had also started working out a serious strategy for getting to the point where it was possible for me to live a more active and environmentally-friendly lifestyle by giving up my car and doing more things by bike.

And then along comes Chevy.

It just didn't fit. And it wasn't about being a brand ambassdor or selling a brand...I'm not against that. I kind of feel like my whole life right now is selling a brand: Whether it's selling my book, selling Groucho, selling Cyber Dating Sidekick, even my volunteer gig, The Green Institute/ReUse Center, I'm actively involved in selling something - an experience, a product, a service, a message, a lifestyle. And when it comes down to it, all of them work right into my life purpose: To use my creativity, humor, and sense of empathy to inspire others to courageously live out their lives in deeply meaningful and beautiful ways.

When Chevy came along, I knew instantly that this wasn't something that aligned with that purpose. But I ignored that red flag and made a commitment to them anyway, mostly because, initially, it seemed like a fun challenge to find new, creative ways to talk about a brand (and also, if I want a car company to be more fuel-efficient and use less resources, I feel strongly like that change is better affected from inside influence vs outside dissension). And also, money. I like money. It's hard for me to turn down money when I know there's a long list of good things that money can do - secure further freedom, buy gifts for those I love, provide payback to people who've helped me, be used for contributions to causes I care about. So yeah. When Chevy offered me money, I was like, "Well alright. I guess I like Chevy now."

But it felt gross. Not because it's not a good brand, but because it wasn't a good brand for me. And tweeting about it, blogging about it...it made me cringe. I found myself writing an email about it to someone, and thinking, "I'm trying to overly explain to you that this isn't really me... When normally I'd write you and just feel like everything I'm saying perfectly reflects everything I'm about." And then I talked to my friend Carol from New York for four hours about aligning yourself with things you believe in, and then today, I found this in my inbox. It kind of felt like the universe kept hitting me in the face with stuff, like, "You get it now? Huh? You get it yet? DO YA?!"

This whole year has been about doing good work, and doing it for the things I love and believe in. And if I'm giving my time and energy to the things I don't believe in, I have less of it to give to the things I do.

So. I'm no longer a Chevy Girl.

But I will say that, in the end, I'm glad I at least tried it out, and not just because of the valuable lessons I learned from it.

Mostly, it's because of this.

Book Goal For Free Gift

2011-06-23T13:12:00.002-04:00

The Anniversary Book Sale is now in full effect! And it's been super exciting, you guys.

Checking the tallies from yesterday, we only need to sell 20 more books (EDIT: As of 3:00 pm, 15 more books) to reach our goal for today!!

So if you've already bought a book and liked it (if you didn't like it, just sit there and be quiet), please spread the word to your friends today and tomorrow. People who do this kind of thing automatically get moved up to the top of my friendship list, and you get a permanent "This Person is FREAKING AWESOME" stamp on your face (in my mind), even if you do something another day that pisses me off.

And if you're one of the awesome that has bought a book yesterday and today, let's make this thing spread like wildfire so you can be one of those cool people who ends up having something that none of your friends have, thereby validating your little 14 year old heart.

I'm serious, though. The free gift has a lot of street cred. A lot a lot.

Cheaters never win.

2011-06-22T22:07:00.001-04:00

"You left me untethered, ungrounded, unsure, unanswered. Undone. Actually, you made me leave. And rather than blame you, I left you all the comforts of our nest and took just myself. So that I might pick up where you left off in the unraveling.

I wish I’d been kinder to me.

I wish you had too, but that notion seems superfluous from here.

Somewhere along the way, I realized you didn’t actually leave me because of me. You left me for her. Which might have been worse.

For a long time, it hurt to even read Holly’s name. For a while I thought I would like her, under different circumstances (say, ones in which you didn’t start wooing and loving her while we still shared the same bed). But then, as I finally started walking out of that gulf and finding my footing on overdue anger, it consumed her too.

If you asked me late at night in a hard winter, I would tell you I hated her for a long time. For replacing me. For being what you wanted more than you wanted me. For being what I wasn’t - maybe what would have kept you, I told myself. Casual and easy, athletic and slim as a reed and blond as a child.

I’d watch her and think, she must feel forgiving as hard fought freedom to you. Carefree and jubilant after me and my deep sad heart that feels everything too much. Me who can never not say what I am feeling, can never be satisfied, can never stop wondering and wandering and analyzing and pushing you and me and the whole great world to be More. Why couldn’t I be so easy, I would wonder. WHY CAN’T I EVER JUST BE EASY? I would scream out to the red blur of traffic at night or to my therapist at 5 pm appointments for which I was always late and unexcited.

The other night, we got a beer, Holly and me. This woman who had been such a torturous reflection of how I fell short. And it felt better than ok, it felt like relief. Like finding land.

The day you delivered her verdict, I stopped hating her and started aching for her instead. When one of my twin nieces is hurt, the other cries. Doubles over and holds the same wrenched gut, the same malevolent tooth. That makes perfect sense to me and my wounds, burst open by empathy. I read about this good woman heaving on the office rooftop, secreted away to find five minutes to be broken under the heavy canopy of cloud cover, in this city that didn’t slow down for either of our demises. And across town, I feel it.

Over Surlys on a busy sidewalk on a humid night, we trade notes. All the things we never understood. Why didn’t you ever take any of the outs we offered? If we weren’t good enough, why did you spindle us back in? We unwrapped the facts we should have seen as secrets and not assuaged as baseless suspicions back then. The women you courted, the lies you told, the computers you locked down and the phone that vibrated with texts while we lay in dark beds, trying to decide if we were up for the punishment that came for asking. For not being cool enough to ignore it all. The first day you took her out, you sent me third anniversary flowers to work. I never knew that. You told her we broke up the night before, the night you were busy writing me a love note. She never knew the truth. (I close my eyes and repeat this like the answer I’ve been waiting for.) We discover how many of your lines are trademarked. Designed for maximum impact. There is no chance. No authenticity. It’s enlightening We laugh raucously in disbelief, which I should be able to from this distance because I have Come Through. But Holly, she’s tougher than I was already. I admire her and tell her I wish I’d taken my own side like she is keeping hers.

It’s freeing, you know? It takes a lot of energy to be so hurt by someone. To feel so inferior and be so angered by the sole fact that they must share an existence in your orbit. I am grateful to lay down my tired torch."

Go read the rest here.

My friend Erica is one of the best people I know. She's loving and giving (and forgiving) and welcoming and she opens her deep, beautiful heart to those who need it, regardless of what may have occurred before. I love her so much.

I won't call people out on this blog. I could, and I really don't care what they or anyone might think about it. But I'm done doing that, I think. And if I call out one, then I have to call out the others, and then really, it becomes about me taking responsibility for shedding light on the things you're doing. But you know who you are. The thing is, when you treat women badly, it always comes out. Whether it's pathologically cheating on your wife or the narcissistic habit of texting the same "Last night I cried in the grocery store. This is so hard" msg to the last two girls you cheated on...I mean. It's out there. And you might think that you can keep it quiet with lies, intimidation, charm, threats, or even social outcasting...but it's coming for you. And you know it.

How the Bruins (and the world) got such a cool infographic that explained how they got a $156,679.74 bar tab.

2011-06-22T18:44:00.000-04:00

Mayhaps you've seen this infographic before -

And mayhaps you already know what a huge geek I am for infograpics of any kind. Why? Because they can make even the most boring information and data easily digestible and visually rad.

So imagine my uber delight when I was scrolling through Facebook and realized that I know the guy who did the above infographic. And not only that, but I actually like him.

Personal background: Dan is married to Angela, one of the coolest girls I ever went to high school with. I first met Dan at the 10-year reunion. Not only was Dan super rad to talk to, but he earned huge lifetime cool points with the entire class when he and Angela went to the Woodshed to pick up some more kegs after we ran out halfway through the night (this is the class who seriously fought to have "'97 Kegger Kegger" as our graduating slogan).

Professional background: LOOK at this stuff. He also does THIS. And he's local, you guys. And not only that, but he's super freaking cool. And he'll make a CUSTOM INFOGRAPHIC FOR YOU.

Did I also mention that he's pretty cool?

It's words.

2011-06-22T18:13:00.001-04:00

Postertext takes words from your favorite book and makes a poster out of them. Though, here's hoping that most people are buying the Moby Dick poster because of the actual poster, and not because it's their favorite book.

Cause that book is BORRRING.

(Thanks to David Erickson for the good word on this cool deal)

It's on. It's happening.

2011-06-22T01:05:00.001-04:00

For the next 72 hours, you can get an AUTOGRAPHED, PRINT COPY of HOLIDAY CHICK for only $9.99.

Not only is that 50% off the list price, but it's cheaper than you would ever find it in a bookstore. Or on Amazon.

AND, if 100 or more copies are sold during those 72 hours, EVERYONE who buys a copy gets a FREE GIFT.

And the free gift is super awesome, you guys.

It's the kind of gift that keeps on giving. And it would be near impossible to find it anywhere else.

So let's count it down: An autographed book. An autographed print book. An autographed print book for 10 bucks. An autographed print book for 10 bucks plus a free gift.

And let's just say this: If everyone who reads this post shares it, even if they're not planning on buying a copy, the 100 copies will be a s-n-a-p. It's 3 days, friends. And with your friends and my friends and that guy's friends...easy.

So go get yourself an awesome book - it's got angst and sex and accents and some violence and hot boys and wild parties and even some sports stuff in it (but cool sport stuff, like skateboarding) - and tell yer friends. And then you'll be my friend, and your friends will be my friends, and then THE WHOLE UNIVERSE WILL ALL BE FRIENDS.

Starting Tomorrow, in honor of the One Year Anniversary of the Publication of HOLIDAY CHICK...

2011-06-21T12:00:00.006-04:00

You can get an AUTOGRAPHED, PRINT COPY of HOLIDAY CHICK for only $9.99.

And yeah, that is 50% off the list price! Math is easy, here at An Amber-Colored Life.

AND, if 100 or more copies are sold during those 72 hours, EVERYONE who buys a copy gets a FREE GIFT.

For legal reasons, I can't tell you what the free gift is.

But, it's pretty awesome.

And it's something that's almost impossible to get anywhere else.

An autographed print copy for 10 bucks, plus a free gift...and the gift is so awesome, you guys. I really want to give it to you. A really lot.

And, if everyone who reads this post shares it, (on their blog, Tumblr, Twitter, Facebook...maybe not MySpace, though, because who are you? If you still have a MySpace, you better be in a band... And if you are in a band, might you be a drummer? Because if you are, let's get married and then never speak of this MySpace topic again), getting the free gift will be a s-n-a-p. Plus you will earn my undying devotion and general goodwill, two things that are worth more than gold.

If you've EVER wanted to buy a copy of the book...if you've told yourself that you wanted a print copy over an ebook because you're old-school like that but hated that the print copy price was so much more than the ebook price... if you've read the ebook and thought, hey, that's a cool cover, having a print copy would be cool and make it look like I have very stylish taste when my friends browse my bookshelf...if you've ever wanted to earn bonus points with your friends (or even a jerky book-loving non-friend) by buying them something awesome... if you already have a print copy but couldn't get it autographed and always wished you had one with my sweet name emblazoned all over the first page... this is your chance.

But it's only going to be here for 72 hours.

So get ready, because the sale starts at MIDNIGHT TONIGHT.

I do really like this picture, though. Someone make me some of these cupcakes, kay?

2011-06-20T09:44:00.001-04:00

Since we've kind of been talking a lot lately about other people on this blog instead of just focusing on me like we usually do, I thought it'd be cool if we continued that trend:

Monsterbeard, who has promised to befriend Jason Segal (so I can meet him and then we can fall in love) in exchange for the heart and geographic relocation of one of my best friends, has also quickly become one of my favorite bloggers. The other day, he reposted a repost (if you're on Tumblr, you get it. If you don't...just don't worry about it and keep reading) of an excerpt of this post from Julie Klausner's blog -

Don’t Fear The Dowager: A Valentine to Maturity

An adolescent boy’s bed sheet semen’s worth of ink has been spilled lately about men acting too much like boys. But the trend of reverse-striving has crossed over: adult women are acting more and more like little girls, and it’s really starting to get on my nerves.

There’s so much ukulele playing now, it’s deafening. So much cotton candy, so many bunny rabbits and whoopie pies and craft fairs and kitten ephemera, and grown women wearing converse sneakers with mini skirts. So many fucking birds.

Go read the rest.

And then this guy said this about that -

It’d be super if, instead of stereotyping women who ride fixed-gear bikes and like cupcakes as unintelligent children, we stopped making assumptions of people based on the most superficial elements of their personality. Bros don’t need to demean women when there are so many women trying to demean them already.

Which I looove.

And then Monsterbeard said this -

The people who think they hate feminism hate it when it tries to tell us what a woman should be instead of telling us women get to be what they damn well please.

Which I also LOVE.

Here's my thing: Can we please just stop telling each other what we have to be? Yes, there are things such as pandering to the opposite sex or participating in sexism or playing small to please patriarchal stereotypes or being so blinded by social and gender stereotypes that we can't even say the word "vagina" without blushing or feeling embarrassed for saying it, out loud, in a normal tone, in public (and yes, I personally wish it was a prettier word but it's just not and that's okay) or buy tampons and carry them out to our car without wanting to cover them up from public view.

But that's okay, because we're women and we have a lot of shit going on.

Right? All of us. Every single one.

So let's get on with our business and stop looking for things to knock each other down over. We're the ones who are supposed to stand together and fight for our gender, right?

And just as a singular point -

It’s all to the same ends—- women are trying to broadcast to men that we won’t bite their dicks off. It’s just that now, instead of lipstick, we’re wearing glittery lip gloss, or that shit you get in the drug store that tastes like Dr. Pepper.

I don't know any guys who would prefer to have a blow job from a girl who loves cupcakes over one from a girl who loves death metal. I think they'd be pretty cool having one from either. That's really your finest point? That we like unicorns and rainbows and flowery dresses because we think guys will want more blow jobs from us?! I'd like those things more if it meant I could get out of more blow jobs... but not because I think it would make more requests for them come my way.

Start your week off right with some more hummers.

2011-06-19T21:07:00.002-04:00

Even though Kevin sent this to me 8 days ago, I'm just getting to it now because I currently have 536 emails in my inbox and have spent most of the weekend slugging through the messages.

HEAR THAT, EVERYONE? I GOT YOUR EMAIL. AND I WILL RESPOND BACK TO YOU AS SOON AS I CAN.

Anyway.

From Kevin:

Please tell me you'd already seen this headline in Wednesday's Star Tribune before you wrote that other blog post. Because if you didn't, I'm going to explode from laughter. EXPLODE.

I did not already see it. AND IT IS AMAZING.

Hummers, you guys. People love them. Who knew?

I did.

Chevy is short for Chev-ro-let. Which I like to pronounce as, "Chev-roe-let".

2011-06-18T23:26:00.000-04:00

Did you guys know that Chevy is in a lot of country songs?

Like, a lot.

Chevy has asked me to be a brand ambassador for them, namely for a fun crew on Facebook and Twitter called Chevy Girls. And while most people would assume that means that I have to prance around in a tight tank top and lean against trucks all day long...maybe, you know, slowly lifting a hose over my head while a country tune plays in the background, and the camera goes into slow-mo as I drench myself with water, and then I shake my long hair out and smile teasingly at the horizon, thinking about how great it's going to be, getting into that Chevy truck at the end of the day and driving it out to the local Honkey-Tonk so I can two-step it with some hottie cowboys in tight Wranglers who wear a bunch of Stetson and know how to teach me how to ride horses, ifyaknowwhattamean....but you'd be wrong.

That's not what it means.

What it means is that I get to know some cool peeps on Twitter and Facebook, I maybe win some cool stuff, and I learn more about the Chevy brand.

AND, the best part is that you guys get a voice in this, too. Because if you know anything about this blog yet, it's that I'm not really the type to write a generic post. About anything. Even when I'm getting paid for it.

Because then I'd probably have to shoot myself.

Plus, it's just so much more fun to play with fun, creative, unexpected ways to talk about brands. So let's TALK about them, yeah?

We're in this together.

But you don't get any of my money or awesome prizes.

AND THEN THERE'S THIS ONE!

2011-06-18T14:05:00.004-04:00

It's a Trashicorn! Ding.

You're Welcome.

2011-06-18T13:49:00.001-04:00

\

You will now probably spend the rest of your entire weekend watching more like these here.

It's true. It would be.

2011-06-18T09:00:00.000-04:00

But isn’t the greatest hurdle just getting people motivated in the first place?

I would actually say that motivation is not the question. The real question is: What are the incentives? Let’s say I created a gym where you pay $400 the first of the month, and for every visit I refund $25. And before you sign up, we take unflattering photos of you in your underwear, and if you don’t make a certain number of visits, we post those photos to a public website. I guarantee you that would be one fucking fit gym.

[via]

It's true. It would be. And behavioral psychologists have been saying for years that selling health is not effective when trying to get people to change (much like how sprouting off statistics about cancer and death is not effective in getting people to stop smoking)

I can't really decide if I like Tim or not. I've read a combination of endearing posts and arrogant interviews, and he does get about a billion street cred points for being funny on the Nerdist podcast, but...he's just not very likeable. But I guess when you're a genius, likability doesn't really matter all that much, does it?

Love.

2011-06-17T14:50:00.002-04:00

Buy one here. And buy one for all of your creative friends, too, while you're at it.

I only like stuff that's awesome.

2011-06-17T14:36:00.000-04:00

In case you didn't know already, this is one of my ALL-TIME FAVORITE blogs of late. And she just did a kickass web redesign, so you should go check it out. And then read everything, every post, because it's THAT GOOD.

My Thoughts On Eat, Pray, Love, About 3 Years Later Than When Everyone Else Was Talking About It.

2011-06-17T14:14:00.003-04:00

Okay.

I just need to get this off my chest.

It mostly started with a conversation I had with Erica last weekend about Eat Pray Love. Full disclosure? I loved that book (it was so funny, and endearing, and honest, and funny!), and Erica did, too, and we kind of ranted a bit at the backlash it received after the movie was made (mostly, it must be said, by people who didn't even read the book, which, if you've known me at all through the Harry Potter and Twilight phenomenons, makes me want to kick some faces in - you don't actually get to be a critic of something until you've actually read or watched that which you are attempting to critique. Otherwise, you're not a critic. You're a moron.)

But then I found myself flipping through channels yesterday and watching the movie again, and then I tweeted about it, and then some people agreed with me and some people didn't. But the discussion on Twitter brought up a couple of things that I've been turning over in my head for a while now, namely after I had a conversation with Soulless Ginger about it (who, incidentally, tossed all these criticisms and more at the book, despite not even having read it. He didn't have to, though. He just knew what it was about.) And also, I'm sure we're all also aware that my sparkling brilliance cannot be contained within 140 characters, so we might as well hash it out right here.

Much like the thing with Twilight, I get it. It's super cool to hate on something that's suddenly become popular. If everyone loves it, it must mean they're dumb and you're smart, and besides, being cynical about something is funny. Dudes. I'm right there with you. And yeah, it's annoying when the media can't shut up about something. And maybe you didn't like the book. Totally understandable. No one can argue with what you like and what you don't.

But here's what I don't get: Almost every single time I hear someone criticize the book/movie, the same words come up: Self-indulgent, upper-class woman. Why is it that whenever a woman writes about her feelings and experiences, she's considered "self-indulgent" (and yet when Augusten Burroughs writes a totally boring book, it's considered literary)? And let's cut the shit: ALL memoirs are self-indulgent. In fact, I would go so far as to say that most personal writing is self-indulgent. I'll never forget the time when, late one night on Twitter, a follower asked me if I didn't think my last post was just a little bit self-indulgent. "Have you read my blog at all? It's ALL self-indulgent. That's the whole point." Most of us write about our personal experiences, our feelings, our actions, memories, or about the feelings, actions, and memories of the people around us. As they say in psychology, nothing we do is ever truly altruistic. We do things to gain some type of personal satisfaction or acknowledgement, on whatever level that might be. It's often the same with writing. But whatever. People who hate memoirs tend to hate them no matter what they're about (let's not even get into the "if you're under thirty, you haven't lived enough to write a memoir." currently popular snark. It's funny that you think you can tell someone else the worth or breadth of their life experience before even knowing what that is).

And why is it that just because someone is "upper class", that automatically makes their feelings less valid than those who aren't? Being poor doesn't automatically make you enlightened. I know we would like to think this, when we're struggling to make rent and stuffing Ramen down our throats for the billionth time, but to do so is to participate in ill logic. Also, see: Classicism. Narrow-mindedness. Stereotyping. Snobbery.

Basically, everything that lower-class folks typically like to attribute to those who are upper-class.

Also - and you know I'm going to flip this coin - I don't see anyone complaining about all these bored upper-class men who are traipsing out to climb mountains and kayak rapids and sail around the world. It's the same fucking thing. But to our ingrained social sense, those men are daring, adventurous, courageous. Yet something about a woman spending her own money (which she made by...weird, I know...writing her own books) to travel for a year, explore her psyche, learn how to meditate, and do the very thing that she's been doing for the past 10 years (aka, write a book about her experiences) seems to make some people extremely uncomfortable. What a self-absorbed jerk, right? I mean, happiness...everyone is entitled to the pursuit of it, but not you, affluent white women. You're outta the game.


This is the view when you walk in the door. The fireplace is on the right, my desk in that little alcove to the left.