Kitty At My Foot And I Want To Touch It

It's been a hectic week, and here is the reason:




The animal you don't see is a tortoiseshell kitten named Angela, who recently moved into the Chateau de Chubs (colloquially known as Amber's apartment). The reason you can't see her is that she is 12 weeks old and therefore not inclined to sit still for photography purposes at any time. I assure you she is cute in the my-eyeballs-are-melting-and-i'm going-to-vomit-pink-flowers-while-having-a-heart-attack sense of the word "cute".

Angie enjoys chasing anything that moves or looks like it could move, any basin meant to contain water (until she gets wet), attempting to suckle from my neck, standing on my face when I'm trying to sleep, trying to jump on the stove, walking on my laptop keyboard and combing my hair with her tiny paws.

The agent and the bartender are completely smitten with her. I have to be vigilant or one of them will certainly catnap her. And as for the rest of you, I'm not telling you where I live.

'Cause Amberance Is Your Lady

H-town: ok, my ipod is calling me super homo gay
it played that lady in red song, and now it's playing air supply

me: I tried to play some Air Supply for [the agent], I think he had to concentrate really hard not to punch me in the face

Smobke Smobke Smobke!

I have startlingly different thresholds for pain depending on where I am and who happens to be standing next to me. I realized this yesterday when I went to the dentist to have a few cavities taken care of.

My dentist, Dr. Joe, deemed me "an exemplary patient". This is because I did not complain, squirm, flinch, attempt to talk, require a break, get my tongue in the way, make horrible pained faces, kick my legs, pee my pants or ask for laughing gas during the entire two hours he was drilling, sucking, chipping at, filling, filing and sealing my teeth. I was a model of stoicism, virtually a practice mannequin (if dentists had any such thing) and I smiled and cheerfully waved goodbye as I left.

In contrast, I was the most high maintenance and annoying roommate in the history of the world once I got home 10 minutes later. I kept up a constant stream of whining from 6 pm until I went to bed at 11: "Wah, I can't feel my face, my lips don't work, I can't drink this milk, I spilled pop all over myself, I can't chew spaghetti, just give me a bowl of sauce, the sauce is spilling out of my face, ow! the numbness is wearing off, my face is throbbing, I want ice cream, I need aspirin, how will I ever get to sleep like this? boo hoo hoo, bitchmoanwhinecomplain......" I was every girl in Lincoln Park at once and a strong reminder to the bartender that having children is not all it's cracked up to be.

The moral of the story is it's better to be my dentist than my friend because you don't have to hear me whine and I'll give you all my money.

Please enjoy this far more amusing account of a trip to the dentist from Bill Cosby.

You Killed My Republic. Prepare To Die.

The bartender and I are pretending to visit our neighbors (we are actually visiting their awesome cats).

Me: I was just watching The Princess Bride. It's on Bravo. [The bartender] has never seen it before. He hates it.

Neighbor girl: Seriously?

The bartender: How is that movie supposed to be funny? It's so stupid.

The ex-marine: WHAT? ARE YOU A COMMUNIST?!?!?!?

Amberance: Always Trying to Help Others

Me: I still think we should have Mystery Girl on the show.

MrSteve: Why are you trying to make my life more difficult?

Me: I'm not! I'm trying to make your life more hilarious.

May The Cake Be With You

My birthday, of course, was fabulous because by default my birthday is simply a fabulous day. But it was also good because I made everyone pay attention to me and wear stupid party hats. Also because I could finally unveil the great cake. Behold, the Death Star Birthday Cake:


That's no moon.

I had originally planned to have a more exacting replica by icing it with fondant, until I realized that fondant sucks, as was perfectly summed up in this conversation with Mrs. Sizemore:

Mrs. Sizemore: hallo miss lady
how was your bday?

me: It was great. Except here's what I learned:
Fondant? I hate fondant.

Mrs. Sizemore: ooo
yeah
fondant is a bitch
and it does not taste good
it's like an ugly chick that doesn't put out

Of course, since I am me, I could not simply settle for one awesome Death Star cake with delicious delicious buttercream frosting. I had to flank it with images of an intergalactic war:


For the non-nerds: TIE fighters, Death Star, x-wing fighter.

Hokey religions and ancient weapons are no match for a good piping bag at your side, kid. The epic battle between good and evil is deliciously sugary and goes great with milk.

KHAAAAAANN! KHAAAAAAAN!!!

Which do you think is the greater tragedy: That we have lost the great Ricardo Montalban, or that this article does not even mention his greatest role ever?

My Birthday

I would be remiss if I didn't remind all my readers that Monday is my birthday. Particularly since I have been reminding all of my friends. Multiple times a day. Sometimes repeatedly in one conversation. My birthday. Monday. I'm still unclear as to why this major event is not a national holiday. My birthday, that is. Which is on Monday.

I have already begun the awesomeness (which will culminate on Monday in the form of my birthday) by:

• Buying myself the most freaking fantastic computer game ever created in the history of mankind (Shiv and Lemon does not qualify as it has never actually been created), which is called Crayon Physics Deluxe. I have been waiting and waiting and waiting for this game to finally come out and suddenly this week there it was. They must have known that my birthday is this coming Monday. Check it out. It is more addictive than Tetris and Sudoku combined, for serious.
• Planning out the most bitchin' birthday cake in the history of mankind. I don't want to ruin the surprise though, so check back some time after my birthday (Monday) for the sure to be stunning photographs of the most awesome cake of all time.

So, to recap: My birthday is Monday, and it will be glorious.

Amberance: Insufferable Know-It-All

Watching the Blackhawks game, in which someone has just been punched in the face

The agent: Oh my god! Look how much he's bleeding!
me: I'm sure it looks worse than it is. The face has a lot of capillaries, so it tends to bl-
The agent: Shut up, nerd.

I Don't Like His Scotch Either

MrSteve: Here, try my Absolut Citron martini with a lemon twist.
me: No way.
MrSteve: Just try it, it's lemony!
me: (sip, pause) This tastes like a Wet Nap.

The Perils of Dating

The agent: What's that Prince song? Little Pink Cadillac?
Me: (silent, horrified stare)
The agent: Wait, no. It's Little Red Corvette, right?
Me: Oh my god.

As You Wish

BrownsFan: Please change your password.

Me: I swear it has been done.

BrownsFan: You are a person of action. Lies do not become you.

Amberance: Bossy

There is a right way and a wrong way to string lights on a Christmas tree, which is why I don't ever let anyone else touch the lights for the trees except for my father, who taught me in the first place*. So, I was very confused on Sunday when putting up the agent's tree. I had four strings of neatly wrapped lights, and one string of inexplicably tangled completely disorganized lights. "I can't figure out how this happened," I told the agent. "Why would I have done this? And with just one string of lights?"

"Maybe I was trying to help you or something," he said, "and you made me stop because you thought I was doing it wrong."

I considered this. "Maybe, but I think even then I would have taken it away from you and bossily redid it the way I wanted it in the first place."

*This came about in high school when I decided that a 10 foot tree in the family room and an 8 foot tree in the living room was not nearly enough trees, and that we clearly needed another 8 foot tree in my bedroom, to which my father responded "Do it yourself. There's no way I'm putting lights on another damn tree."

It's Beginning to Look A Little Like Christmas

"Amber's been decorating," the bartender told our friend the fat mexican over the phone. "It looks like the North Pole in here."


It's my mother's fault, really, that I'm like this. She loved Christmas and she loved decorating, so decorating for Christmas was a big deal at my house when I was growing up. My mother worked from home, so she would decorate in small batches during the day. When Cap and I would get home from school she would tell us how many decorations she had put up and then the two of us would tear off through the house trying to find the things that were new. We had our own assignments as well. We had a huge ceramic Christmas tree that was always on top of the tv (back when televisions were more of a piece of furniture than an appliance) that had little red lights all over it. Cap and I were responsible for sticking all the little plastic lights in and every year we fought over who would get to put the star on top. My mother also collected Santas, several of which I have inherited. She loved her Santa collection so much that they stayed out in a cabinet in the corner all year round. No lie.


At night I would sneak out of my bed and either hide in the living room staring at the tree for hours, or sit on the stairs and watch the snow fall in the little round light up winter scene in the hallway. In retrospect, it may be that Christmas seemed magical to me simply because it was filled with tiny flashing lights. and small shiny objects.


This is why the living room has so many decorations and lights that we don't even need to turn on any lamps (and the tree is not even up yet) and why I have a 4 1/2 foot stocking hanging on my bedroom door.

It's why I have a Santa hat on at work right now.

31 Days and Counting

It is one month until my birthday, the most joyous day of the year. Just ask these happy couples.

Breaking News!

Illinois Governor Rod Blagojevich was arrested this morning on charges that he is a complete and utter douchebag. Disturbingly, this is not at all surprising. Hilariously, he was originally elected on a platform of reforming the corruptions of the previous Governor, George Ryan, who is currently serving 6 years after being convicted of being a total douchebag himself. I try very hard to keep politics out of this blog, but really this was too good to pass up. If I didn't laugh, I'd be crying.

This proves what I've been saying all along: Cabbage Patch Kids are evil.

Bedtime Stories from the Lazy and Irritated

The bartender: You're going to bed already?

Me: I'm tired. Tell me a story.

The bartender: (sigh) Once there was a crackhead.

long pause as I wait for him to continue

Me: And then what?

The bartender: He died.

Me: That is the worst bedtime story in all of history.

The bartender: Fine. Once there was a spider.

Me: Ok, ok, I take it back!

NaBloPoMo Wrap Up

Wow, thank heaven that's over. What I learned from NaBloPoMo is that writing something every single day is hard. Or that it's incredibly easy and I simply have very few interesting things going on in my life, I'm not sure. Either way, it ends up being a mixed bag of genuinely good posts, drivel and crappy one sentence fillers. Oh, also crappy NaBloPoMo wrap-up posts. But I also learned that I miss blogging on a frequent basis and so from now on I will try to remember what a fun hobby this is when I'm laying around bored with no books to read. Which is pretty rare actually.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled once a week* blog post.

*approximately

Kitty Report

There were no cats I just HAD to have this morning, which is good because it's not time yet to have a cat (which I discovered by trying to picture the tortie kitten walking through my kitchen and promptly bursting into tears because it's Kristen's kitchen). There was another tortoise shell kitten who had convinced herself that my neck and head were her personal jungle gym, but the cat of the day was a black ca in the adult room. As soon as he saw me sit down, he came running over and aggressively claimed my lap. Which is to say, he slapped the crap out of any other cat who tried to get near me. I tried to pet his head, but as soon as I touched him he turned around and bit me. After that he growled at me every time my hand got near him. Apparently he's not affectionate - he just wants the lap.

Food Hangover

I can't move. Seriously. I blame the stuffing, for being AWESOME.