So You Think You're Tougher than a Kindergartener?

20

I think I could actually take on 43. But that's only if I was wearing my heels and had gotten my teeth sharpened.

Also Known As Hype

The Shot Train is loading up on West Virginia coal and is scheduled to depart on Friday, just as planned. Here's some respect, doubling as hype.

Growing Optimism

I'm excited for this. Little baby Samuel. Due in March. To one of my very best friends, Dear Elijah. Samuel has made me happy today. As has thinking about the comment his mom made about chicken yesterday.

It's Just How I Feel

Dear MLK Day 2008,

Fuck you.

Love,
Amber

Tail Tales

One year ago, on an icy deck outside of a mountain cabin, feeling warm and wobbly from one too many, I turned on a dime, lost a sense of equilibrium and butt planted in Gatlinburg. My one witness, a fellow I call Jon Connor, isn't equipped to deal with my whining, so I bottled it up and relished in the satisfaction of knowing "that'll hurt tomorrow."

Well, tomorrow has been going on for a year now. Some women, like my older, sturdier, braver sister, break their tailbones doing things like giving birth, but some of us, well, we lose our balance. I've had bad days every now and then for the last year, but I'm usually able to get through it by sitting on the couch and ordering Chinese takeout. Today, though, nothing was working. Not even the sweet pot of tulips or the Black History Month card Mack got me. 

I got home from work, where I sat down all day, and I couldn't sit down. I tried to sit on Mack's new motorcycle and realized that the extent of this injury and my neglecting it hoping it magically heals itself is ridiculous. 

I get not being able to walk, not being able to stand, not being able to leap small buildings in a single bound... but not being able to sit, that is just humiliating. I think the busted tail bone is flaring up because I've been riding my bike to work, and since I *heart* my new bike, I have to deal with this butt bone issue asap. I'm, against my self-conscious judgment, going to invest in one of those hemorrhoid cushions until this crap gets better. I just hope they have one with skulls or swords on it so I don't feel like such a wimp.  

Wanderlust (Part 1 in a Series)

Ever since Jamaica, regular life has just sucked. Knowing time isn't all it's cracked up to be. "Brisk" is just a word used to make cold sound snappier. And I hate cars more than ever.

If I could just give up my job and wander the world for the rest of my life, I would be the happiest person on earth. But since I only get 10 days of vacation a year and since my dog is barely hanging on even with my care, escaping doesn't happen as often as it should. As often as I neeeeeeeed it to. So instead of actually going anywhere, I'm going to spend the next few minutes virtually visiting one of the places I hope to visit someday in the near future -- like before 2010.

IceHotel

This is in Jukkasjärvi, Sweden, 200km inside the arctic circle.
You can only go to it in the winter because in the summer it's actually a whitewater river called the Torne River. But in December and January, artists and architects meet to create an igloo mansion under the Northern Lights, complete with ice beds, ice chairs, ice bars and ice art.





It's the coolest thing in the world during winter, and in the spring, it goes back to being a river, which is also cool. Now if I could just scrounge up the $800 a night to stay in this chiseled piece of modern art...

Letters to the Cupboard (Part 1 in a Series)

Dear Poppin' Jalapeño Doritos,

I knew when I saw you in the grocery store that I should have just walked right past you, should have left you in that mound with your friends Taco/Ranch and Blue Cheese/Buffalo Wings, but my willpower self caved when my deal monger self caught sight of the 3 for $5 sign gracing Mount Doritos. Damn deal monger self.

I put you in my cart hoping that would shut you up and went through the store buying sensible things I don't eat in a puddle of shame. Morningstar sausage patties were $1 off, eggs were $1 cheaper than they were last week. As I stood in the checkout line unloading my cart I managed to resist the salty whisper of the PayDay bars and opted to use my purchase power to put a smile on Mack's face with a Crunch bar. It would have been a wholly successful trip to the grocery, complete with all the fixins for chili and bean salad, if not for you tarnishing my cart. What is it about you that I cannot resist?

As if the public disgrace at the grocery store wasn't bad enough, when I got home you put me into a trance so deep that I couldn't put the groceries away until you were devoured, until all evidence of my weakness was consumed, until all traces of a bag of corn chips having power over me were cleaned up. About 75% of the way through the bag, feeling like a junkie who's already injected too much, torn between a world of sobriety and one of thrilling impulse, I regained control and stuffed you into the cupboard where you should have been 8 servings earlier.

Yesterday I managed to ignore you all day, mostly because I was out of earshot. But today, the minute I walked in the door from work, you started up again. Crunchy, salty, ready. Your convenience and powdered flavor is just impossible to resist. You want to be good, I know you do. That's why you put the 0g Trans Fats on your packaging. But you aren't good. You are a very, very bad food. And you please need to shut up now.

Love,
Amber

Do What?

To better understand what I am presently doing with my life from 9-6, M-F, take a look.




Because now that our own private site is what you would call "live," I, and any of my friends I've made do an interview with me, can embed videos into our blogs.

Capessa is joy. And technology. And I expect everyone I know to join.

You Think You Know Dasher...

Where has Ms. Thomas been the last 23 days, you are probably wondering. Well...

I dashed home the weekend of Dec. 15 to see this:

Then I dashed back to L.A. that Monday to launch this:

With all the dashing I was doing, I was really putting Santa to shame, so he (in the form of Mack) brought me this:

Then a couple days later I dashed to Jamaica for this:

And this:

And this:

And this:

And this:

And this:

And this: 

And some more of this:

I seriously doubt the next 23 days will be quite as dashing, but I do have a legendary ski trip to attend in 27 days, so that should kick things up a notch. In the meantime, I am doing this:
Happy New Year!

The Most Fun a Married Couple Can Have

Mack is obsessed with bugs. When we were dating there was a bush outside of his apartment that was full of praying mantids and these little red beetle bugs. Mack would study them during his smoke breaks and do experiments to see how they would respond to hot cigarettes. I brushed past this bush dozens of times and never gave the insect world a second look until he pointed out how weird and dynamic it all was. Then every time we went outside we'd stand, huddled over a 2-inch section of bush, staring at seemingly nothing, waiting for the praying mantis to nab her a little booty bug snack (the red bugs became known as booty bugs because they would shake their butts really fast in response to the hot cigarettes... we may just be scientists). 

I've never been really hateful of or too keen on bugs. Whatever. Mosquitos devour me, flies irritate me, worms make me feel so guilty when they're all laid out on the formerly wet sidewalk drying to death, and spiders I think are amazing from a healthy distance. Anything that can pull a house out of its ass is amazing. I didn't actively go looking for spiders ever, but if I found one in the corner I'd usually let it hang out for as long as it wanted to. Some may think that's dirty, but I rationalize that a spider in the corner is keeping the other bugs under control, thus making my house cleaner.

When we previously lived on an alley, the only bugs we saw were dust bugs. Massive mounds of dirt scooting into the corners and accumulating no matter how much sweeping or mopping or door sealing you did. Now that we live in a place with half a yard, Mack has been able to reconnect with the bug world, at least a little bit.

The other day as I left to take the dog on her morning walk, Mack was outside with his new best friend. I present, the Jerusalem Cricket of Mass Proportions.

This steroidal bug was an interesting break from our normal routine of eggs and soysage followed by a stroll that always ends in handling poop. He captured it, wikipediaed it, packaged it, I photographed it in disbelief, and he took it to his dad's to release it in the wild of the Park La Brea condo complex courtyard. 

A few days later, at our neighborhood 99 cent store, which is amazing because it has 4-packs of thick glass glasses for 99 cents and terrifying because it also has holiday candy dishes with warnings that the paint on them contains lead for 99 cents, I walked into a display of venus fly traps. I thought it might be a pretty rare find since I'd never actually seen a venus fly trap in real life... not counting Venus when she tries to catch flies by biting them. Then I thought, hey, it's only 99 cents, why not buy two? I am a very deep, complex thinker, especially when posed with the question of how much to buy at the 99 cent store.

I knew Mack would love the fly trap, so of course as soon as he opened it we had to go on a bug hunt. The trouble is, California doesn't have bugs really, aside from mutant Jerusalem crickets. We had to really look in some nooks and crannies, but eventually we came up with a spider and dropped it onto the fly trap. And, in true fly trap fashion, it closed its mouth on the spider. 

The most amazing thing in nature that I've ever seen. A predatory plant. A carnivorous plant. Basically the universe as I know it changed in that moment. And I wanted to feed it again.

Well, it takes a while for the fly trap to excrete all its plant stomach juices to digest the bug, so you can't feed it every day. But you can feed it the day after every day. Which is what we did, but not before being caught snooping around cracks in the carport, flashlight in hand and no obvious reason for our behavior, by our neighbor while we looked for the plant snack. This time I videotaped the whole meal to blow your mind too.

This is where we're getting ready to feed the plant.

This is where the plant shows the bug who's boss.

This fly trap has been the most fun that's come into our house since the addition of the big, flat, shiny, new TV. And it was 199,900 cents cheaper. 

Ambora's Box

My mom, in her doting role of Gigi, sends out monthly photo emails which make all of us wayward wanderers miss home and all the fun those dopes are having. Well, today she selflessly sent out the latest from Thanksgiving and her 3 days babysitting Ben. Of course when I saw this, I got a craving for cheeks and UK sports.

Then upon closer inspection, I realized that was the TV in the background. And since I have a chronic craving for TV, I peered deep into my computer screen to read the fine print. And because TV has a tendency to reveal more vivid truths than I can resist, I discovered some very subliminal messaging that made my conscience breathe a sigh of relief. 

Proud Sister

Not sure if any of you will believe this since she's been MIA in blogland a lot this year, but Leiah has posted a very special announcement over on Ahh Life.

Congratulations Leiah. I'm very proud of you and happy for you. And my teeth, they're glad to know you.

News from LA

A high def TV has revolutionized the way we see our local news anchors since we can now see their armpit wrinkles. But the other day, during the 11 o'clock news, I actually thought our weather girl was a character from the SIMS video game. And it freaked me out.
And speaking of other news oddities, this little interweb irony is courtesy of our KABC anchor.

Dulywed: Year 1

Dear Mack,

You finally left to help your Mom & Dad with their Craigslist posts so I finally have a chance to ponder our first legal year of marriage in the peace and quiet of a dog chewing itself and a cat crunching dry morsels of food.

I didn't know it at the time, but our plan to get married over Thanksgiving weekend was sheer genius. Most of my genius moves happen accidentally, but having this whole weekend to realize our relationship is one of the smartest things I've done. We've been able to spend the last three days together, like 100% together, and, much to my surprise, I haven't wanted to scream, "Shut up and die!!" even once. We are healthier than I thought.

It's been a challenging year for us. I've been jealous of you going to school while I work a lot of times, and because I am only human and new to this whole selfless wife partnership supportive thing, I've probably been ruthless about it more than once. I just want you to know that more than I feel jealous, I feel so grateful to you for working so hard to make our lives better. I know that I won't remember this frustration once we get the life we're working toward, and I hope you don't remember it either. I'm sorry for all the times I've yelled at you about money (and all the times I will), and I'm sorry for all the times I've made you feel like you aren't doing enough. I know that this is about give and take, and the only reason I'm having trouble with the giving is because for a long time I was the taker... because you were so generous and supportive of me in my dreams. You are better than me at insecurity, especially financial insecurity, but I'm trying to learn how to stop insecurity from getting in the way of doing what you want. I've only been challenged to learn this in my first year of marriage to you, so thanks for your patience as I, a notorious control freak, learn to embrace uncertainty. I'm proud to be helping you be the man you want to be, and I hope that in Year 2 we win the lottery.

I can't believe that this whole entire year we've only uttered the words "divorce" and "leave" 5 times. I thought it would be a lot more than that, to be honest. I know I've said both, probably because they seem nicer than "die" and "rot," especially in the heat of the moment, but in all honesty, I never want you to leave. Never, ever, ever. Being with you the last three days has proven that to me. Without work, without school, without worries about money, when it's just me and you and being alive, we are impossibly happy. You are the funniest person I've ever met. You are a thrill to talk to. You are adorable to look at. You are smart and sharp and hopeless. You are the man of my dreams, and even though I want to stab the parts of your brain that have the parts that make me scream at you, overall you are perfect. If you were any nicer, you'd be miserable. If you were any meaner, I'd be miserable. We are dangerously and miraculously balanced.

The thing I've really discovered in this first year with you is that for the first time in my entire life I can be 100% who I am around you. If I feel sad or angry or ecstatic or curious or contrary, I can share it with you and trust you with it. I have a lot of relationships with a lot of people, but no one gets the extent of me that you do (which is probably why I am able to maintain those relationships with them). I can't imagine being in a relationship where you have to maintain facades or ideals, and with you, I can just be myself -- in all its beauty and shame and glory and fear and nervousness. You have no idea how precious a gift this is for you to give me, and I hope that I offer something similar to you. Considering I know the smells you are capable of, I think I do.

The walks on the beach, not saying anything; the time spent laying on the couch so close that I can't tell where my skin ends and yours begins; the constant hum of noise that is you living; the laughs that are so deep they make me drool on myself; the kitchen dances; the spicy fruit cups; the unexpected Internet news bits; the wait-it-out tactic to see who heats up the bed first. I try to imagine what my life would be like if you weren't in it and the thought is so terrible and so foreign, I want to die.

It may seem cryptic, but I think that's a good indicator of a successful first year. I love you more than me. Happy anniversary.

Something to Be Thankful for

... that I didn't catch what this guy did.

There's always something to be grateful for, eh?

Dealing with Monsters

Another Wild & Crazy Friday Night

I don't know if it's because I'm older or because I'm broke, but for whatever reason, a pie-making marathon seemed like the funnest Friday idea ever, especially when it could double as a "birthday gift" for Mack. So exciting an idea, mind you, that I actually planned for it since Wednesday and spent my lunch break today walking to multiple grocery stores to get all the necessary supplies -- including organic shortening that is hydrogenated oil free! Thrilling barely begins to describe it.

I've just plopped pie number 3 in the oven -- a delicacy I'm calling "Midnight Blueberry" -- and when I came out of my "pastry zone," which can be no doubt equated with the zone that athletes speak of, I looked up and realized my glasses were filthy. Smudgy. Pitiful.

Naturally I took them off, wiped them on my shirt -- which is proper glasses maintenance, FYI -- and realized that the problem wasn't my glasses... it was the smokey pie haze that had accumulated in the air courtesy of that one Saturday when the pizza decided to dump its toppings in the bottom of the oven. Isn't DiGiorno the sweetest?

So, now my Friday has really amped up... from pie making to floor mopping to... wait for it... sitting on the stoop writing a blog post about pie making!!! I'm thinking I may just pull out the Annie Dilliard Reader and really get this party started with a book my mom recommends and a bottle of red wine. Because I can.

Somebody's Grandma's Apple Pie
Pumpkin Marble Cheesecakeish
Midnight Blueberry
(yes, I cut all of those moons and stars by hand)

I am a woman. leader. seriously.

I spent last weekend in Boston at Babson College's Women's Leadership Conference being an expert. For those of you who know me, no, I wasn't an expert in smart ass comebacks. I was an expert in social networking. Don't be jealous.

What's crazy about the whole thing is that my dad actually had a FaceBook account long before I did. Like looooonnnnnggg before me.

It was an awesome conference for all the knowledge that was available, but what I really took from it was positive female energy. It's so different to be around women. I work in an office with 8 men and 1 woman, not including me. In my office we do a lot of work and a lot of projects, and we keep on trucking and get more work done. We don't really take stock of what we've done or how far we've come because we're too busy to. But after being around some other women for a day, I realized just how high you can get off of being around people who celebrate. Everything from a new job to a spoken sentence. Women love to applaud. We love to laugh. We love to smile. We love to feel good. And we devour anything that gives us a reason to do those things. While I love, love, love the men in my life (including those I work with), I get spiritually energized from the women in and around it. The men make me stronger, but the women make me sweeter. I've been getting enough strength, so it was good to get a hearty does of sugar and spice this fall.

If you'd like to relish in my brilliance, I've compiled my luscious Power Point -- yes, I am an expert in Power Point too -- into a beautiful film I like to call "Beyond YouTube."

Hello Ladies...

Because Mack is so cool, he introduces me to some of the coolest people in the world. And when I say cool, I mean freaks of nature oddities.

He's frequently sent me bits of hilarity courtesy of the www in our time together, but lucky for him, I forget a lot and he can use the same jokes over and over. A few yeas ago he brought the Asian Prince into my life, and I had completely removed him from my memory until a couple days ago. When Mack sent me a paper to do on Chicana lesbians for his philosophy class. And offered a photo of the Asian Prince as a thank you gift.
I forgot how much I love reading about the Asian Prince. Perhaps no one will get as much glee from looking at his website as Leigh, but he is hilarious. I'm just sad to report that he now has found a sexy princess, and I, like Mayim Bialik (formerly known as Blossom on "Blossom"), am out of the running. In honor of his celebration, I wanted to do a post in his style. I present an abbreviated, personalized edition of an Asian Prince post...

[Note: I started this post about three weeks ago, but then I ran into bloggerrefusaltoacceptphotos problem, which completely zapped me of momentum.]

A Wife in Search of a Second Wife/Highly Respected and Appreciated Slave

Hi ladies, my name is Amber. Welcome to my blog. I am searching for a wife. The picture on the left is me. Aren't I very nice? I am a wife and I've been married many times to the same guy. If you're looking for someone who needs help doing the dishes and tending to the animals, I'm the one you're looking for!

I love to write. It's where I get the money to purchase my groceries.

Like my writing? You can send me money through paypal! Try amberscott@insightbb.com!

Since I am considered by many, a genius, I know how to write in different languages. Living so close to Mexico, I've self taught myself Spanish. I've been called a writing genius by my mom for both my writing style and talent. I am also called a marketing genius because I organized a pub crawl once.

I am a woman who is smart, funny, romantic, charming, compassionate, talented, sexy, and has an excellent sense of style. Am I not hot?

I'd like to introduce you to my wild side. Welcome to my crazy wife life section.

This section tells about moments when my inner crazy wife kicked in. Sometimes, I like to live life dangerously. I once added the entire packet of cayenne pepper to the chili mix. And if that doesn't show you how out of control I can be, I also run out to the car sometimes in my bare feet. I am not afraid of germs or dirt since they are so afraid of me.

Some second wives are attracted to crazy first wives. I can be one at times. They will find me irresistable after viewing this section.

I think I look like a delicious nag in this picture. This is a picture of me early in my relationship.

As you can see, I have been sexy all my life. I think I should have a reality show, don't you? Do you want to be my second wife/maid/cook/stylist on my famous show?

My Achy Breaky Fun-o-meter

It's official. I can't fall for that forced fun anymore. I'm just not so good at pretending now that I've been paired with a man who has no reservations when it comes to saying, "This sucks and is stupid," even as I'm trying to push rays of sunshine out of my eyes with all the focusing on the positive I'm doing.

Labor Day weekend is when my fun-o-meter had its first significant calibration. After packing a crafty lunch and a cooler of beer, loaded down with good intentions for spending one of my four paid holidays a year with friends, Mack and I spent two hours crawling 30 miles through traffic to go to a beach that was halfway covered with a tarp. Anytime Mack and I spend two hours cramped in 10 square feet of space, our love erupts into molten hot lava and we leave each other blistered and dark. Anytime we spend two hours cramped in 10 square feet of space and arrive at a tarp covered beach when we could have walked seven blocks and arrived at an enormous expanse of open beach, well, he wants to kill me and I can't pretend it's fun anymore.

Last night, my fun-o-meter was squashed to smithereens. Halloween is my favorite holiday of the year, and last Halloween, me, Mack and Ruble went to Halloween Horror Nights at Universal Studios. It took two hours to get there (did I mention it's about 20 miles away?), but we were able to park quickly and get in in a reasonable amount of time. My fun-o-meter was sort of in limbo as to whether it would be fun, but when I turned to look at Ruble and saw the face of Norman Bates' mother between us and went screaming down the studio street, my fun-o-meter soared to new heights. Halloween Horror Nights had redeemed itself.

Since last year ended up being more fun than work, I thought this year we'd try the Knott's Scary Farm (at Knott's Berry Farm) Halloween event. With my smile strapped to my face and a ukulele strapped to Mack to keep him from realizing how long it was taking us to get there, we headed out on yet another two hour journey to go 30 miles.

When we finally arrived, the fun-o-meter was teetering. We pulled into the parking lot and pulled through the parking lot and pulled out of the parking lot and pulled onto the street in front of Knott's Berry Farm and pulled onto a street five blocks from Knott's Berry Farm and pulled back into the traffic to get into Knott's Berry Farm and pulled into the parking lot and pulled through the parking lot and pulled out of the parking lot and pulled to the other street bordering Knott's Berry Farm and pulled around the block and pulled past ten full parking lots and pulled our hair out and pulled back onto the interstate for a 45 minute trip back home.

No more will I go to an event that requires 2 hours to go 30 miles. No more will I bother with anything that is going to attract more than 5,000 people (unless it's a sporting event, an outdoor event, or something that has public transportation that will drop me off in front). No more am I going to kid myself that I don't mind crowds and that spending 80% of my time in lines is worth riding a roller coaster in the dark. The fun-o-meter will no longer fall for fake fun.