Is This the Month of June?

It must be. I mean, it can't be December right? It can't be the week of Christmas. Nope. No way. No how. Right?

Oh, am I the only one that has noticed this? There haven't been ANY decent Christmas movies on TV. NONE. Sure, I have a few Christmas movies on DVD, but that's not the point. I think right after Thanksgiving I saw that Elf was on, so I DVR'd it. A week or two ago there were a few Christmas specials on the local channels (Charlie Brown, Shrek, etc.)

But now? IT'S THE WEEK OF CHRISTMAS! This blatant disregard for the holiday had me in a rage...poor Joe was the recipient of said rage.

Me: Let's find a Christmas movie to watch!

Joe: Okay. Sure.

Me: (flipping through all 1,654 channels....flip, flip, flip, flip.)

Me: (now checking the On Demand channels...flip, flip, flip, flip.) What the hell is this?

Joe: What?

Me: There are NO Christmas movies on!!

Joe: What about "random movie name here"? That's a good movie.


4 hours later...

Joe: (flipping through channels...flip, flip, flip) He stops on Big...then puts on Doc Hollywood.


Joe: This is a good movie...


I don't have the time or space to continue with my entire diatribe...but it went on for a while. So long in fact, that Joe removed himself from within my flailing arm range, went to pee, came back out and I was still going on.


I am proud to say that I have calmed down considerably since then...though I am still in a funk about the whole thing.

Oh, Clark. I miss your face.


Battle of the Bands

Not really. I just wanted to use that as a post title. I love it. It reminds me of Jem and the Holograms. Speaking of Jem and the Holograms, how about the Don’t Ask Don’t Tell Repeal?

Did you like my smooth, fluid like transition into serious territory? It’s a gift, it can’t be taught.

If you are familiar with my blog you know that I abhor politics and I rarely talk about serious issues. But, I do like to talk about things that are current. No, not missing children, not the rise in crime, not terrorists, not poverty, and not the global financial crisis, but about being openly gay and in the military. That is what’s important, right? That’s what is keeping us as American’s up at night, worried sick? Right?

Well, not me. I mostly stay up at night worried about why there are so many children being killed by their own parent’s and why kid's are bullying other kid's to the point of suicide. Also, playing quarters with my 7 year old. We like tequila.

I love my country and I love, care for and respect all of the men and women that serve in our military and serve our country. It is something that I wish I had the courage and strength to do and I am incredibly amazed at the amount of people that are able to do it. They leave their families, miss important family events, holidays, and the birth of their own children. It takes great dedication and spirit to do this over and over again and I include them in my prayers every day. All of them. Not just some of them.

So, the DADT has been in place for the past 17 years. Before that, if you answered “yes” to the homosexuality question then you weren’t allowed to serve. Since then, views have changed and humans in general have become more accepting. In general...not all of us, of course. Which is fine. I don’t expect everyone to view things the same way or believe the same things or agree on anything, this is America and that’s what makes it awesome. Okay, so the DADT was put in place so that all people could serve, right? Yes. I’m sure that’s it. They basically just aren’t supposed to voice that they are gay. Right? Yes. Which I’m sure has been just fine and dandy by most since it doesn't sound like all that much fun to voice your sexuality while standing next to a guy name Duke that's holding a large gun...and grenades...and his socks don't match.

Now that it seems time to repeal this policy it has caused uproar among some. Does it really matter? I'm guessing that if you are serving with someone, and you're with them for large chunks of time, then you probably can guess which side they are batting for. Am I right? I'm also guessing that the majority of people that serve aren't gay. I'm also guessing that a gay man serving in the military is not attracted to every straight man that he sees, so, no need to keep your junk hidden in the shower, you're safe. I promise.

Now I'm not sure if this next guess is true, but I hope to God that it is. I'm guessing, hoping, praying, that no matter who you are, no matter who you're attracted to, no matter what color your socks are, that if you are injured and in need of assistance, that your brother's and sister's in arms will help you. That, at that moment those things don't matter. What matter's is that you are all fighting for our country, you are all fighting to keep eachother safe, that out there in the field and inside in the showers you are all the same.

Have no fear comrads. Repealing this policy will not magically turn every gay man in the military into Armand and Albert.



Someone Call The Police

I, along with most American's...nay, humans, live life in ignorance about some things. One of these things being what happens inside of a chick hatchery.

That's right. A chick hatchery.

While visiting momma and Jack one evening we saw that How It's Made was on and Momma and I exclaimed "OOH!" then we saw on the info screen that they were exploring a chick hatchery. "OOHH! CHICKS!!"

Now. If you don't love a baby chick, then you just must not be human. They are little, and fluffy and soft and they make little baby chick noises. Fucking adorable.

We turn the show on just in time to see a million baby chicks falling through these metal rack things, wings flapping, legs trying to grasp at anything that will hold them. After that they are shot down a treadmill, trying to run the whole way, chirping and flapping away. Our mouth's were agape.




Then! Then! Then, the little treadmill transports shoots these chicks by the waiting hands of workers that pick them up to check their sex by the length of their feathers or something, then they are tossed into a tube and shot down to some other thing. I don't know what else happens. I was in shock.

In shock because they were little baby chicks, and they were hungry and they had little baby chicken head smell and not one of those workers picked up one of those chicks and loved it up, smelled it's head, nuzzled it under their chin.

Momma: Someone needs to call the police! Something is wrong here. What's going on?! What do we do!?

Me: I'll get the phone.

Mmmm. Chicken head smell.


In All Seriousness

Dear Taco Bell:

I love your taco's, chalupa's, enchirito's and nacho's. I love your crunchy, crispy, cheesy goodness. I love your whole "think outside the bun" motto. So catchy. I love your third meal. I just love you in general.


But. I need you to do me a favor. You know those cinnamon twists? The wonderful, airy, crispy, yummy, sweet twisty confection that you include in the kids' meals. Or can be purchased separately for a low price. Though I would pay more for that little piece of heaven. Yeah, those. Could you make those just a tad bit smaller? Say one size smaller than the average child's mouth. See, I need for my child to be able to put the whole thing in her mouth without having to bite down first. That whole bite into the twist thing is just not working for me.

It rattles my brain. It makes my hair fall out...sometimes voluntarily, sometimes by the strong grip of my fist. It makes my eyes roll around wildly. It makes me say through gritted teeth to my seven-year-old, "COULD YOU PLEASE NOT BITE INTO THE TWIST?". Then she tries to put an entire twist in her mouth only to gag and choke and then look at me with the sad eyes. Then she crunches her little teeth down into half of the twist while giving me the sorry eyes.

I beg you Taco Bell. Please help me, please help my sanity, please help my child.

Thank you. Thank you very much.

Also. I will no longer be purchasing said cinnamon twists form your establishment until this is resolved. Please expect to see a vast dip in your profit's.

Yours Truly...if you meet my demands.


Unrealistic Reactions

I have a Momma story, it's too long for the "Momma" page so I'll just put it here. Okay, a little back story. As the political season winds down, still too fresh in our memories are all of the ad campaigns and the signs and the bumper stickers and teeth gnashing. Still too fresh in our memories are the faces of those running for office, those that won the primary but then lost to a write-in candidate. The same candidate that they defeated in the beginning of the grand race.

Please wait while I go have a shot of whiskey.

I'm back.

I dislike politics so very very very much. But, the back story is needed for those of you who do not live in Alaska or that do not pay attention to politics.

Joe Miller ran for Senate this year. Which meant we saw his face about a bajillion and half times per hour. I'm not exaggerating. For serious ya'll. Plus, I'm a registered voter, so trust me.

By the time it was all said and done I think we were all just about tired of seeing his face. Now, flash forward to this week.

Momma calls, and instead of telling the story I will just break out our conversation.
*For those of you that I personally know, I think I told you she was at a restaurant, she corrected me, it was the airport.
Momma: I'm so mad at Joe Miller!

Me: What?

Momma: Ugh. He has just really pissed me off.

Me: Wha? (See, I'm confused here because she doesn't know Joe Miller personally...right?)

Momma: So, I'm at the airport and I had to use the bathroom. I'm walking out with all my business and I see a man standing there on his cell phone. I recognize him and think that maybe it's one of my clients so I say, "HEY!"

sidebar: Now, if you don't know Momma, her "HEY's!" are like honey. Like velvety chocolate or a cup of sugar. It's like a hug in word form.

Momma: So I say, "HEY!" and then the guy says, "HEY!" and THEN I realize....Ugh, it's Joe Miller. UGH! Joe Miller. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh!

Me: Uproarious laughter

Momma: Who stands right outside a ladies bathroom anyway?! Ugh. Pissin' me off.

Me: Can't. Breathe. Must. Get. Breath.

Momma: Y'know, he is kind of handsome.

Me: I thought you hated him!

Standing outside a bathroom near you.


A Gift Guide of Sorts

Well, it's almost Christmas and shame on me for not already giving you ideas for things that you can buy for me people that you love. I mean, there you are sitting patiently waiting for me to fill your mind with wonderful gifts that perhaps myself your family and friends will love. I have put together the categories (gamer, cook, teen, etc.) and have consulted people that I know experts for items that  your loved ones may love. Some of these things may not seem like the "perfect" gift but they may be things that are deemed necessary for the particular recipient's arsenal. Perhaps, package them with other things...wait, I'll just point these out as I get to them, sheesh. You're just making things complicated.


These recommendations come from Erin. She and her husband Jake do things like build their own house, raise a super cute dog, work out together and walk around being adorable. When she tells me stories I always picture them in Allie Brosh comic fashion. It's appropriate.

Gamer Mouse
No, this isn't a little mouse that you can get from the pet store and bring home and it will play games with you...I checked.

You can do things like add weights, it gives you more control over movement. It has an on-board memory to save your profiles. The laser is amazing. No, not like a laser...like 'pew pew', more like a move the cursor here and here laser....I checked. AND hyper fast scrolling!

You don't necessarily have to get this brand, shop around, see what you would like to give. This one is $69.99 on one site that I looked at, but be sure and shop around.
(What? You thought I would just do ALL the work. Come on.)

These recommendations come from me. HA! You didn't think I read books did you? Well, I do. So, there.

Yep. Sorry. I have been against these for a long time but then Morgan received one for his birthday and...it.is.awesome.
 The screen looks like a page out of a book, so easy on the eyes. You can highlight a word and get the definition. It's really great for someone who like to read at night in the bed, no struggling with hard back books or folding back the covers of paper back ones, or flipping back and forth to give each arm a rest. (You haven't noticed that I complain about menial things? You must not be paying attention.)

OH MY GOSH! Do you see this huge space here...I cannot get rid of it. Sorry folks. It's making me crazy and there is not reason why this huge gap is here between this category and the next. So dumb.

Do you know anyone with hair? I'll wait while you check your list...

Okay. So, I love having good hair...it doesn't happen everyday, but when it does (and I hope you agree) it is glorious. Ah, a good hair day. This recommendation comes from Angelo, he's a stylist in Anchorage, he loves Morgan, he enjoys Harry Potter and being awesome. The product he recommends is something that everyone should have. Now, I'm not sure if everyone would appreciate shine spray in their stocking (I would) but you could always package it with something else that your recipient may be pining for, a fancy flat iron? A gift card to a local salon? You do the thinking, I'm tired.

Glossing Mist
It's a spray that makes hair shiny. You should buy a case of it. 

What else do you want me to say? Spray. Shine. Have a great day.

Do you know me a music lover? I hope so. I love music and I love my friends that also love music. Stephanie for instance. Not only does she love music, have great hair, have an impeccable ear for fabulous music,  and wear fantastic sweaters,  but she also makes music. Uh yeah. Friend jackpot. Her band is pretty fantastic, so are her band mates, one of which is her own husband. I pride myself on my awesome friends...also my children...um, yep.

Bose Headphones
Good headphones are necessary. According to Stephanie, Bose headphones are great for listening to rock, blues, jazz, acoustic or country music.

There is nothing like listening to music and having it delivered perfectly into your earholes like there is a tiny band sitting inside your ear canal...but not playing too loudly as to damage your hearing. Listen responsibly.

Oh, you know would sound great in your earholes? This CD...get it, love it.

Cooks and home lovers? I know this is a weird group...but these are things that this particular expert deems necessary for those who love to cook and love to decorate their home.

This recommendation comes from Momma. She is probably the best cook ever...except for that one time when she was using some shortcut for Chicken and Dumplings that she found on the packaging that the bathroom trash can came in. It involved flour tortillas. Our lives where changed forever, and not that good kind of change where our hearts grew two sizes or anything. Her home is beautiful and I'm always stealing things when she's not looking...ideas, yeah, stealing ideas. She's one of the funniest people that I know and I (plus Morgan) are pretty much the luckiest kids ever.

I asked for one thing and since Momma doesn't like rules or directions, she gave about fifty things. For the home she recommends having a bag to keep all necessary items that you need around the house: decorator's bag (visit thirtyone.com/15607 for this...shameless plug), small hammer, measuring tape, pad/pencil, a box with nails and screws, crafting wire, glue gun, glue sticks, double back tape, and cup hooks. These are fairly inexpensive items and a great collection of gifts, especially if you know a new homeowner, or me.

For the kitchen she recommends these necessities (all of which make excellent stocking stuffer's as well): garlic press, herb scissors, small sifter, zester grater, basting brush, finger peeler, and flour sack towels. Momma LOVES her flour sack towels and after Thanksgiving at her house, I love them too. So absorbent!

Oh, you have more people on your list that aren't gamers, book lovers, music lovers, cook's or people without hair? Sheesh. This is way more work than I thought it would be.

I love ModCloth. I can easily find something for everyone that I know on this site, and about 7500 things for myself. 

Don't forget the Etsy shops! I find some of the cutest things there. Christmas is coming so if you're doing any shopping online be sure to confirm that it will arrive in time, you wouldn't want me you're family to not have any presents under the tree!

Good luck and happy shopping!


Crouching Amber. Hidden Monster.

So. (Yes, I notice that begin a lot of paragraph's and stories this way.)

So. I was super exhausted yesterday. Like, so exhausted that while I was playing a math game with Madison (A math game? MY spawn? Wow. I was in pre-Algebra as a senior.) I actually fell asleep sitting up. I opened my eyes to find her face about an inch from mine. "Are you sleeping?"

Yes. There is no shame.

After I get everyone tucked in and read to and talked to I am ready for bed myself. I have a process of going to bed. Well. Kind of. I leave the closet light on so that in the middle of night if I have to get up I won't have to turn on the lamp or big light (don't you love my terminology? "big light", where the hell do I get this stuff?). The bathroom light is turned off and the door shut. Bocephus sleeps outside my bedroom door to ward off any crazies and I keep a sawed off on the pillow next to me....maybe.

So, I do all my stuff and I'm all snuggled in. Right now I'm reading Rant, by Chuck Palahniuk. I'm a big fan of his books. Invisible Monsters is probably my favorite. Oh, sorry, I'm getting off topic. Okay, I'm reading, and this book is a little graphic on the creepy/nasty level. I'm reading and then I hear it.

"Crinkle crinkly crinkle."

Hmm. Strange. I think, maybe it was just Cooper moving around in his crib and that I misheard the typical rustling of a blanket and confused it with the sound of an insane person dressed as a clown hiding at the end of my bed crinkling a cello bag.

"Crinkly crinky crink."

I bolt straight up in the bed. I promise that it sounds scary in person. I grab the phone.

"MORGAN. ARE YOU AWAKE." This is said in a quiet loud whisper scream. By this time I am perched like a bird at the end of my bed. I'm up on my toes, crouched, ready to pounce...okay, who am I kidding...I'm ready to will myself to die at the sight of any random psycho that happens through my bedroom.

"Yes. What's up?"

Me: "There's a noise in my room...like a crinkly crinkle. Like...a noise."

Morgan's voice get's very serious. This is the reason I called him, he understands the seriousness of the situation. (Momma was asleep.)

Morgan: "Where is it coming from? Is your light on? Turn your light on!"

Me: "My lamp is on. My closet light is on. My big light isn't on though...I would have to walk on the floor to get to it...sooo."

Morgan: "Can't you lunge at it or something?"

I tell him that I can see just fine between the lamp and my closet light. The crinkling noise is sporadic and coming from next to my dresser. He says maybe something is at the end of my bed, I say, no, I'm at the end of my bed, it's only laundry.

Morgan: "Well, Amber. I'm doubtful that a bad guy would break into your house, hide in your bedroom and crinkle paper."

Me: "Hmm."

Me: "Ohhhhhhhh. I see. It's the diaper pail. It's almost full and it's pulling more plastic bag down on its own."

Morgan: "Goodnight."

Yes. 10 minutes of my life were stolen by a diaper pail.

No shame.


Noone. Anyone?

It has been brought to my attention that I often write "noone" and that "noone" is not correct. That it is "no one".

I am totally aware of this. My hands on the other...umm, hand...are not aware and flat out refuse to put a space between those words. I can apologize all day long for this glaring spelling error, and believe me if anyone hates a spelling error it's me. The reason I read everything I see? To catch errors. It's a hobby. Like I was saying, I can apologize all day but that won't change anything. My stubborn thumbs will just not cooperate.

So. That is all.

This is not really a surprise...



I ventured out into the day after Thanksgiving shopping mayhem with Morgan. I didn't arrive as early as he did, but still.

One of our very, wait, no, our VERY FIRST STOP was Forever 21. We walk in the doors and they had these huge 4 foot speakers blasting terrible songs. We are immediately berated into signing up for some giveaway and are told, "We have a drawing every hour...the next drawing is in..about an hour." Fantastic! Thanks Candy!

Just as we pass by one of the sets of speakers California Gurls comes on. This is where I pause to hang my head because little did I know exactly how much the rest of my day would be affected by this moment. So, it comes on and we groan in unison because, a. it's a terrible song, and 2. it's a terrible song, and c. it's an irritating song. Do you know it? Oh, you don't? Here, click on this handy link...no, it's not a link to the song...um, it's a link to a picture of cute little puppy blowing kisses to a baby chick. Yep. That's it.

We do some shopping, hop around the mall for a bit and then head out to other places. Finally I notice that I am singing that damn song. I typically only get as far as singing California Gurls and then I say, "Shut up!" and strangers take a step back because here's this crazy person talking to her self and yelling at herself to shut up. Morgan is doing the same thing. All day. We're singing this song and then yelling at ourselves. Finally we succumb. We just sing it along with dance moves. I was corrected on the boob juggle, but hey, I'm not perfect. "No, juggle them, not just bounce them. God. Get it together."

After awhile of giving in, I started to get irritated again, but I was too tired to care. I was literally beaten down by this song. Beaten into submission by a song. It may not be the first time and I'm sure it's not the last.

That night I was sitting at home, relaxing from the long day of shopping and abuse and finally, finally the tune was out of my head.

I see I have a text message. Know what it said? Do ya? Do you wanna know?

"Cal-i-fornia Gurls are undeniable."

Thanks Morgan.

In true spirit I responded, "Daisy dukes, bikini's on top." Then I passed out.

Happy Thanksgiving

Wow. I totally lied to you and really took my time putting a new post up. My apologies friends. But, hey, it's the Holiday's so you have to forgive me. Also, presents.

I hope that your Thanksgiving was fantastic. Mine was. It was delicious and fabulous and I'm typing this with my laptop resting on my enormous belly while I eat a piece of pie with my bare hands.

I am not exaggerating. This pie is delicious and must be eaten straight out of the pie plate with your bare hands. It's better that way.

Thanksgiving this year was amazing. It snowed. Everyone was together. Mostly. Joe was at work, so sad. My step-sister and her family just moved down South so they weren't here either. Other than that, awesome.

I gave Madison her plate of food and on that plate was a dinner roll. I sat down across from her. She picked up the roll, tore it open and said to me, "A roll? Without butter? This is not a roll." It brought a tear to my eye.

We ate. Played games. Ate some more. Played games. I even had a personal friend and her kids over for dinner. Hi Shannon! She brought green bean casserole. Yeah, I know what you're thinking. "Green bean casserole, same old same old." Well, shut your face. This was not "same old, same old green bean casserole". This casserole had pizzazz, it had grace, it had flair, it also had chicken and cheese. Know what else it has? My heart, my love, my respect.

That was that. Nothing too crazy. Noone went nuts and got drunk and ran out naked in the snow...

Or did they? Hmmm?

I guess you'll never know.

So, happy belated Thanksgiving to you and yours.

Those two pies at the bottom of the picture. Yep. Those are mine.


Here I Am!

You can stop looking for me now. I'm right here. You silly.

I know you've missed me but don't you worry. I haven't forgotten about you. I've only forgotten everything else. Like...for example...I don't know, but I have.

I will have a more thorough post for you later...maybe today...maybe tomorrow...I can't promise things I'm too busy writing letters of complaint and letters to Santa. Note: the letters of complaint are not going to Santa, these are two separate letter writing ventures.

Until then, here's this.

Right after this Madison told me a butt joke and Cooper rubbed his food into his hair.


Happy Halloween

Well, now it's November, so Happy November! How was your Halloween? Was it everything you dreamed and hoped for?

Did your Leg Avenue costume come in the mail on time? Sorry. That was harsh.

When I see those costumes I actually cringe. Is there no imagination left in the world? I wouldn't mind if it was a sexy moon fairy costume if at least it had been put together piece by piece and didn't come out of a bag. A whore bag. Oops. Sorry again.

I was Flo. The Progressive Insurance Lady. I had to clarify because someone mistook me for Flo from that show Alice.

Guy: Oh, I thought you were Flo from that show…what was it, from the 70s?

Me: Alice?

Guy: That show with the waitress, Alice and the diner…


Guy: Yeah, Alice. I thought you were Flo, from that show.


Momma: Ooh. Indignant.



This coming from a man in no costume. Thanks for showing up and bringing your 'A' game, dude.


Free Dinner

We are going out for a family dinner to celebrate Morgan's impending graduation...I think this is his third graduation. He's just trying to show me up.

Momma: We should make reservactions for 6:30, you think?

Me: Yes. You're paying for this right?

Momma: No....Yes.

Me: Do you know that I've never eaten lobster?

Momma: Well don't start now.


Headache Inducing

I have been in a room with 13 kindergarten and first grade students while they played Simon Says. I neglected to apply the stipulation of: no yelling and no making Ms. Amber's ears bleed. Every little Simon at one point...or another... would say: "Simon Says Yell...or Be Loud...or Go Crazy...or Hey look Ms. Amber's eye's are bleeding...

When they finally were all picked up by their keepers I struggled to get out to my car, Mad and Coop in tow. "Momma?" Madison falling down all the way because she was carrying one of my bags and she's as dramatic as me. "Momma?" We get to the car. "Momma?" I have to set my bags on the wet ground, oh yeah, it snowed and rained today. "Momma?" I couldn't find my keys because someone dumped my bag out when they fell down for the fifth time so they weren't where I put them. "Momma?" I finally get Cooper buckled in, bags in the car, self in the car. Then...

Madison: Momma?

Me: Sigh. Yes Madison?

Madison: Um, Momma? Do you want to see me cross all of my fingers at one time?

Me: More than anything.


Oh My God What Time Is It?

What kind of bra do you wear? Well, if you're a girl...well...maybe if you're a guy. I don't care. I'm not here to judge. I wear a normal bra. By normal I mean, it has no tassles, spikes, bells, whistles or time constraints.

18 Hour Bra? 18 hours? Why? Was there a request made?

"Yes, Playtex? This is Beverly, I would like you to create a bra that lasts for 18 hours. Thanks."

Why did she do that? Probably because her name is Beverly.

Maybe it was invented by a man (most likely) and he couldn't get any girl to take off her bra. So, he said, "I know, I will invent a bra that has to be removed. Yes! Boobs. Boooobs. Booooooobs. Ma! What's for dinner?!"

What my main concern is, what happens after 18 hours? This has been the topic of many discussions with Morgan. I know, we're awesome. We both thought that the bras only lasted for 18 hours, that they were perhaps disposable. Maybe they explode. What if you have to work late? Or are out for some after hours drinks with colleagues. (I'm assuming that business women wear 18 hour bras, seems like one of those responsible things that people do.) What if you put the bra on really early, perhaps in the middle of the night...and then you're out the following night and you realize that you're bordering on the 18 hour mark. You shriek, "Oh my God! What time is it!?" sloshing your drink around, grabbing your boss by the shirt collar, screaming in his face. Sadly, it is too late. The bra bursts into flames.

"She seemed so responsible, she was always on time...why didn't she realize that the 18 hours was almost up? So sad. Poor Beverly."

Or, maybe the bra just disintegrates. There you are walking through town and "fizzle", your bra is dust and there you are just hanging loose on Main Street. Mother's are shielding their children's eyes, "Don't look! Put on a bra ma'am, what is wrong with you?! Don't you know what time it is?"

Maybe you turn into a pumpkin. Or, you sprout two pumpkins on your chest. Okay, that's just ridiculous.

According to Momma, the bra is made to be comfortable for 18 hours. This still boggles my brain. How does it know? What if you just take it off and then put it back on, is it then good for 18 more hours? How does it know?! Does it recharge itself? Is there some sort of apparatus that you have to rest it on so that it can conform back to its original shape therefore making it good for 18 more hours?

Have you seen one of these things? It's like a quilt for your chest. Oh! And it comes in toffee! Gasp. And BEIGE!



Someone got a fancy Password Journal for her birthday. No, not me. It was Madison of course...though I'm not known for turning down gifts, so if you're in a giving mood...

She received this gift yesterday...today I'm on the verge plunging that little book into a pot of boiling water and then stringing it up in town square and throwing stones at it. The basics.

With this Password Journal, initially you hold down the main button and it prompts you in this English accent, "Recohd passwohd" then you say you're super secret password. After that, it prompts, "Repeat passwohd", then you repeat it and it says, "Passwohd Recohded". From that moment on whenever you want to open the journal, to, as Madison says, "Write down all your secrets" (she's seven, how many secrets does this kid have?), you press the button and it tells you to say your "passwohd" and then *magical music here* it opens and you are free to write all of your secrets. Ooh, and I love this part! Whenever you successfully open the journal it tells you how many possible intruders there have been since your last journal writing session! "37 new intruhdahs."

Now, all of this is probably what happens in everyone else's home. Not here. Nope.

This is how it goes:

Journal: Recohd passwohd.

Madison: Rat (I'm not kidding)

Journal: Repeat passwohd.

Madison: Rat (Seriously)

Journal: ERRAH! Recohd passowhd.

Now, repeat that 34 times. I think every two times, the journal says, "See you latah!" and my eyes start to bleed.

Every few times Madison will change the password choice. Every 86th time the journal will actually open and we both look at each other with despair in our eyes...then she shuts it again and I pass out.

You can even change the sensitivity to the microphone, so that you can say the password quietly and not as clearly. That doesn't matter, this thing it like Fort fucking Knox. You're not getting in with anything less than an encrypted ID, eyeball scan, fingerprinting, DNA check and your first born.

Here's what it looks like when it's open. I guess. I don't know from personal experience.


Nintendo Sixty-Fooooooouuuuuuur. Yes.

I'm sure that you've all seen the N64 kid. I was only just introduced to the video 4 days ago, like, a million years after everyone else. Believe me, I've made up for lost time by watching it over and over and over and over.

I have yet to tire of it, I hope I never do.

In case you haven't seen it.

Okay, so it's a brother/sister team on Christmas morning. They've gotten to the big gift, the one they've been waiting for. Sister is dressed in a purple tutu and is holding a purple headdress in her hand. Brother is busy fuh-reaking out while unwrapping the N64. (By the way, this is EXACTLY how I reacted when I got my Super Nintendo...so, yeah.) At one point Brother accidentally grabs Sister's headdress while ripping paper off of the box and you hear her utter a "Hey." As in, "Watch what the fuck you're doing you asshole."

Then the real fun begins, Brother begins screaming AT the box. AT THE BOX. Then, a slow motion screaming segment. I am a sucker for these. Next, more screaming right in the boxes face, take that you, you, box. Then he starts doing some sort of interpretive hand dance on the box, Sister tries to join in but her hands are simply not enough compared to Brother's. Plus, she's still holding that damn headdress. It's clear to see where her allegiance lies.

That's when Brother begins a yelling and fist throwing segment I refer to as "N64 Jersey Shore", again, Sister's attempts at appearing as excited as her elder brother are futile and frankly a little embarrassing. She gives up towards the end and starts admiring her headdress again.

Brother says, breathlessly, "Now we can go get games from Blockbuster!" Awesome, kid. Mom jumps up, perhaps to go cry, and tells him that now he can open that other present. This cast away present was probably grabbed 5 times during the morning only to be met with, "No, don't open that one yet." Meaning that it has something to do with the amazing N64, right? I know that in his mind, he's thinking "GAMES, GAMES, GAMES, GAMES."

He opens it, while Sister, AGAIN, tries to act like this means something to her by hugging the box, "My dreams have come..."  then Brother says, "It's a N64...remote...controlled...car..." Yep. It sure is. Have fun with that while you're inside playing your video games.

We are left with one more magnificent slow-mo scream. I cannot get enough of it. I wish that when I screamed it would come out like that....I think I'll start making that happen.


Twix = Amnesty

Have you been watching, nay, enjoying these Twix commercials as of late? "Oh no" you say, "she's watching commercials again..." Again? I haven't stopped, I've just been sparing you the gory details. MATTRESS RANCH! BIG BOB'S FLOORING! GIANT DON'S FLOORING! VOTE FOR 'insert liar here'! "COZY CARPETS!"

Why do the show's I watch have so many flooring commercials? Those three flooring places have one thing in common, theme songs to strangle someone by.

So, back to Twix. Not as annoying as Kit Kat, with it's incessant crunching. Still, equally bothersome.

According to the commercials, if approached with a question or comment that may elude to your infidelity/ stupidity/tendency to lie/boorish behavior then you can simply cram one whole Twix bar in your facehole, thus buying a few millennium to come up with some ridiculous excuse or alibi while you chew away. The person that brought up your indiscretion will then be pleased with your obviously stupid answer and then go about their day, because, hey, there's nothing weird about someone cramming an entire Twix in their face. Right?

Sure. I don't get anxiety just by thinking about it. Hold on while I go and get rid of this excess saliva and take a Xanax. What if you get that whole mouth full then have to cough or, oh no, sneeze? Or, I know you've experienced this, a little bit of chocolate slips down your throat and sends you into a coughing and choking frenzy. I'm sure your wife will appreciate you spewing half chewed Twix into her face just as your lying about your obvious affair. You're so rude.

Oh, we know all about it, don't try to lie about it. Who is she!?

So, thanks Twix for making it okay to lie. And eat an excess amount of chocolate.

Need a moment? To lie!?

At the moment that he crammed that Twix in his mouth I would have been all up in there digging it out, 
like when Cooper tries to eat Kleenex.


Tip + Dump = Tump. It Is A Word.

Laying in bed the other night Joe and I were discussing his inability to sleep through someone even thinking. I on the other hand could sleep through a weekend. As a general rule, on Friday night I put on my pajamas and don't take them off until Monday morning. Maybe.

Back to Joe. So, he's a light sleeper. Sometimes. He can sleep through the dog barking outside because he was accidentally left outside by someone, I'm not mentioning any names but it rhymes with Joe...oops. He can't sleep through me silently tiptoeing across the carpeted bedroom floor.

Well, Cooper has been sick with the snot, coughing and then croup. I knew he would be fine through the night and just make some noise. Joe was prepared to not get any sleep, what with being up with the worry and the noise. I jokingly told him that he could sleep through us being burgled but not through me thinking about what's for breakfast. To which he replied, "What the fuck is burgled?"


"Burgled. It's a word." I say. "No it's not Amber, you're making up words again." says the man that one time said 'dethaw' and I have yet to let him live that one down. I told him, "Burgled, it's a word, for sure. Plus, it's super fun to say!"

"Goodnight crazy."

Not five minutes later, he's snoring away and I'm reading a book when lo and behold was this sentence, "if I didn't know any better it would appear that I have been burgled." Okay, that's not exactly what the sentence said, I can't remember what it said precisely, I was too excited about 'burgled'!

Joe's back was to me, so I stared at the back of his head until finally he looked over his shoulder at me (I wasn't joking about that whole, can't sleep while I'm thinking thing.) I said, "GUESS WHAT?!"

I've never seen this man move so fast. He was turned over, eyes wild in one move. "WHAT?!" he halfway yelled while staring at the crib. That's when I realized he must think I was going to tell him something about Cooper....but what would I have been saying? "GUESS WHAT?! Cooper can't breathe!" The exclamation 'guess what' is a fun thing, you don't say "Guess what?! You have smallpox!"

I feebly held out the book and pointed at the word and mumbled, "burgled..."

"Goodnight crazy."

Umm, here is a book where 'burgled' is in the title. Yeah, it's a word.



I've been watching some movies lately, not all of them have been brand new but I thought I would just give a rundown into what I've been subjecting my brain to as of late.

The Expendables: Sylevester Stallone called his friends and said, "Hey. Let's, uh, make a movie. We're gonna jump out of things and shoot stuff. Just us guys, one rule though, Mickey and I are the only ones that get to take our shirts off. Jason, keep yours on. Right now, put it back on. Do you own a shirt?" And that was the end of civilization as we knew it. The only, and I mean the ONLY reason I went to see that movie was to see Jason Statham and the inevitable shirtless moment...that never happened.
This is not from The Expendables. Sadly.

Abandoned: This is one of Brittany Murphy's last movie's. I watched it in tribute. It was pretty bad. I've noticed with some films that the last thing that they pay any attention to is hair and makeup, let me tell you, this is a mistake. Unless, they did focus on hair and make up here, in that case...mistake. Another thing they didn't pay attention to was detail. I don't know about you but talking on a phone while holding it right side up is a pretty important detail. But, that's just me.
You may not be able to tell from here, but that phone is upside down.

A Perfect Getaway: Timothy Olyphant. Do I need to say more? Didn't think so.
He's in this movie. Watch it. Then watch it again.

Human Centipede: Are you crazy? I'm not going to watch that!
I realize that this is not a centipede, but I am not about to put a picture of a centipede here. Plus, his voice is the voice that I give Bocephus sometimes.

Various Lifetime Movies: Women/Husbands/Girlfriends/Boyfriends/Daughters/Sons/Men/Wives/ Mothers/Fathers/Aunts/Uncles/Brothers/Sisters/Cousins/ were beaten/kidnapped/murdered/lied to/cheated on/cheated with/maimed/robbed/deceived/ victimized/arrested/sold/bought/stalked.

I Love You, Man: I could pretty much put this DVD in my player, press repeat and then live a long happy life.
"I will see you there or I will see you on another time."
That was very confusing. I don't know if you're gonna come or not?
No, I'll be there. I'll be there.

A Team: Liam Neeson, Bradley Cooper. Yes please.
I wish there was a way to take Liam's personality and put it in Bradley Cooper's body...or, wait, no.

Avatar: Actually, I haven't seen this, but I've seen Fern Gully...soooo.
Same thing, right?


I'm On Empty.

I have got a case of blogger's block...I think. Well, last night I had something and was all "lightbulb"! But now, I'm all...."where's the lightswitch?".

So, I added some things to the "About" page. Check it out. If you want to. If not, then either you don't care about me or you feel like you already know everything about me and in that case I am sorry to inform you but you are wrong. Or, you're Morgan, but you're probably not because he's too busy to read my blog and I tell him everything anyway so he doesn't have to read it but if you are Morgan, then "Hey Morgie! Call your sister.".

This is us and this is what every picture we take together looks like.
Our poor mother.


La Grande Casita

About a month...maybe two, ago, momma and Jack had the fantastic idea of building a playhouse for the grandkids. I was instantly excited, they have a beautiful yard, very rainforest-ey...yep, that's a word. They got started on it quicker than I anticipated, then it rained for 40 days so that delayed things a bit, what with the huge Ark that landed in the front yard.

Then, just like that, it was done. Jack did some amazing work on the construction. What started out as a one room playhouse ended up being a tiny cabin complete with bunk beds, a reading chair, windows, a heater and a heap of personality. Momma decorated and it's like something straight out of a storybook. We can't get enough of it. I would love to take you on a photographic tour, I tried to capture everything but looking back at the pictures I just feel like they don't do it justice.

This little home is magic. From the second you walk in you feel like you've escaped something and can finally breathe. The beds are outfitted in fine linens and the comfiest quilts. Every nook has a little piece of personality. The windows only reveal the wilderness so you feel even further from reality. A storage ottoman houses crayons, markers, and paper dolls. There is electricity and the light that shines down comes from an antique fixture that seems like it was made just for this spot. The ceiling is tall giving the small house a grand feel. When you leave the magic of "the cabin", as Madison calls it, you are already trying to scheme and plan the next rendezvous.

Thank you to Momma and Jack for blessing our family and all the grandkids with a little place that they can call their own and truly be children.


Won't you come in?

 We're warm.

 Modern bird nest.

 Shed a little light.
 View from inside towards the door.

A whole lot of enjoyment is contained in this storage ottoman.

 There's not much better than a brand new box of crayons.

 Magnificent chair.

 It's all in the detail.

 Something in every corner.

 Magic lies within this door.

 I love the bottom bunk.

 Madison calls dibs on the top.

 It's just calling for me to sit and read an entire book.

 Homemade curtains by momma.

 We've each started to make beaded garlands to decorate with.

 This is momma's, there is no end to her creativity.

I would live right here if I could.


Stages Of Seeing A Scary Movie

I use the term "scary movie" loosely. Just because I think it's scary doesn't mean that it is in fact scary. Just wanted to point that out. Since, during a conversation with me you could randomly yell out "boo" and I would hit the floor in defense mode, I understand that not everyone is as easily frightened as I am.

Not very long ago I was a big horror movie fan. Weekends were spent at momma's house watching whatever one of us found in the deepest darkest pits of the video rental joint. I'm not sure when it happened or why but all of a sudden my nerves just couldn't handle it anymore. There are still a few things I can watch but my tolerance is limited. I'm talking to you Human Centipede.

I specifically rememember a weekend that Morgan and I were supposed to go see a movie. I will break it down for you based on my stages of seeing a scary movie.

Denial: "Morgan. I'm not going to see that movie." (driving to theatre) "I don't want to see that one, let's see something else."

Anger (with some denial mixed in): "I'm NOT seeing this Morgan! It's going to be TOO SCARY!" (this is standing in line and purchasing tickets to scary movie that I am vocally refusing to see)

Depression (plus denial): "I don't wanna...hmph." (pouting, standing in line for nachos and hot dogs)

Bargaining (no longer in denial): "Morgan, please, let's leave now. I'll buy you something! Anything...if it costs less than $5. Do you want to go for ice cream?" "PLEASE!" (in theater, in the middle of the movie that I haven't seen more than 3 minutes of because my head is behind my coat, people are throwing things at me)

And that's about it. Apparently ice cream isn't good enough for him even though at one point I wasn't the only one behind my coat...so, I win. Kind of.

This isn't me, you know, because you can see her face. I'll be the one hiding behind a jacket or someones head.