My Trip To England

It took several days and a hospital visit, but I am now fully recovered from my trip to England.


I was graciously hosted by the comic who has a lovely flat and is a fucking ridiculous cook. RIDICULOUS I tell you. Also he has an absolutely enormous stereo, handy since music is why I know him in the first place. Also he watches Voyager, which is just flat out fucking awesome.

Speaking of Star Trek, I have a new best friend and her name is, for real, Sulu. I would have given her a blog name, but come on, the woman's name is Sulu! I met Sulu and her husband G on the first Wednesday I was there, at The Globe in Letchworth. Together we enjoyed an evening of acoustic music, and by enjoyed I mostly mean tolerated, with one notable exception. A slightly unhinged, attractive blond Iclandic woman took the stage with her band. She was quickly dubbed "Bjork Stefani". We were in awe of her. Not because she was any good, although Sulu did buy her CD, but because she was just so completely insane. She went off talking on these weird tangents about pictures of people holding up a fish in the newspaper vs. the murder rate in England, or her preference of vanilla over honey. She also yelled at one woman in the audience for talking because she couldn't hear her backup singers which was awesome.

The following day, Sulu and I attended a corset party together, thus cementing our bond as best friends as we have now seen each other topless. Trying on corsets is fun. Trying on waspies is funner (as explained by the corseter, a waspy holds in the bits you don't want to see and lets out the bits you do want to see. Or less britishly, it cinches your waist while your boobs hang out). I briefly had the waist of Scarlett O'Hara. This entire exercise led nicely into our Monday evening trip to the sex toy shop together. Sulu couldn't wait to get me there as there were huge walls filled with toys. The collection was indeed extensive, but I was more impressed with two other things: 1. The fact that Sulu is on a first name basis and received a hug from the proprietor of the establishment, and 2. That we were served cappuccino while we shopped. Clearly the best sex shop the entire world over. I bought things. Oh yes.

Apart from my time with Sulu I mostly drank a lot. Now, "a lot" by my usual standards is actually not all that much due to the fact that I am a wuss and apparently that I am an American, or as the comic calls us, "sipping losers" (to be fair, he has never been to Tai's on a Saturday night so he doesn't have all the information). But even by his standards it was excessive. This started with the discovery that Strongbow in England is twice as strong as it is here, but equally as delicious. It continued the next night with the fact that I never do shots being thrown straight out the window for four rounds of sambuca in 15 minutes. (As the fourth round was being poured I stubbornly refused to drink any more. This was shot down by the hairdresser: "You HAVE to drink it. You're in England now.") The next night, away went my habit of going to one bar and planting myself there, as my "official" night out in Hitchin (we'd been there the night before) took us to four or five pubs, including one in which we walked in, ordered a shot of sambuca, drank it, and immediately fucked off. The next night it was back at The Globe because one of my favorite bands from Punky! Radio, the New Town Centres was playing there. The New Town Centres make you dance. Dancing makes you need a drink. It was a vicious cycle that ended in me trying to walk home barefoot. The next night out in Luton where we stayed overnight in a bar was the final nail in the coffin. Operations in my liver came to a screeching halt and a moratorium on alcohol was called for the following day. (This did not work. We found a really cool pub when we were being touristy in London that was across the street from itself. It was obvious we needed a glass of wine.) The last night was the comic's new cabaret show in London so I took it easy with one cider and an amaretto graciously supplied by Nat the Evil Lesbian, who struck me as not evil at all, but then again I haven't known her very long.

The day in London was excellent. Aside from the pub that is across the street from itself, we also saw a man with a bright yellow ass and an assortment of odd street performers near the London Eye. I had started off intending to actually get on the Eye until I saw the line, which was clearly hours long. "Absolutely fuck off no way," I said. This being the first time the comic had heard me over-emphasize something for dramatic effect, he found it hilarious and retold the story a number of times. I also had a Flake 99. A Flake 99 is an ice cream cone with a Flake bar stuck in it. Some of you may be aware of my total obsession with this candy bar. It was like a dream come true.

The absolute top, number one highlight of the entire trip happened on the night out in Luton at The Black Horse and I have yet to shut up about it. The comic had played a few songs on the jukebox and we were sitting and listening to them before heading over to the California Inn (it has shiny, sparkly things, thumpy music and there was someone walking around in a giant bunny head - it is exactly like California). A song started that sounded oddly familiar but that I couldn't place. The comic said, "I played this for you," having no idea that I'd ever heard it before. The second I heard the first line "I've been going out with a gir-rl, her name is Julie" I freaked out. Jilted John is the cornerstone of the soundtrack to my childhood. Kelly and Simmy's dad had brought the single over with him when they moved here from England. The four of us were absolutely OBSESSED with this song. We listened to it constantly. We sang it ourselves when we didn't have the record handy. We included it on our fake radio station Power 8000. I was immediately overwhelmed with an urge to call Kelly, but couldn't because my phone doesn't work in England. I settled for leaving it as a Facebook status the next day and insisting that the three of them leave comments. It was fucking phenomenal.

I spent the flight home wishing I wasn't on it, both because I didn't want to go home and because of this weird back pain I'd started having the day before. As it turned out I came back from England with more than just a new corset, a new glass dildo and a bottle of Abbot Ale. But that's an entirely different story.

Picking on Sick People Makes You An Oily Cat Wank

Friday night, pre-hospital. I am running an approximately 100.1 degree fever.

Fish: Who is winning game 7? I could change over but I never change away from baseball to hockey. Personal rule.

Me: Pittsburgh, 1-nil.

Fish: Just because you went to England doesn't mean you say nil now. Welcome to America....it's called zero.

Me: I also say mental. And knackered. And what's all this then?

Fish: The last is Eddie Izzard. The other two aren't words. It's ok...you're feverish.

Sex Kittens

I just renewed my subscription to Playboy by sending them a check with a picture of kittens on it. It may be the Vicodin, but this strikes me as hilarious.

I'll explain the Vicodin shortly. I'm not typing so well right now.

P.S. Also used a Yoda postage stamp. They may not send me the magazine anymore on principle.

Amberance: Automated Out Of Office Response

I have many funny thing to say. Many. Unfortunately I'm not going to write any of them at this time because I am too busy coming up with more of them while I'm in England. Oh by the way, I'm in England.

Details next week.

In the meantime, please amuse yourself by popping over to Fuck You, Penguin or your favorite (or favourite depending on your location) berating of cute things website.

Vague Descriptions From Amtrak

Mrs. Sizemore: i shall make cake when you visit
you are coming on which day? the 18th?

me: i think so, did i send you the train reservation e-mail?

Mrs. Sizemore: nopes

me: you can has now!

Mrs. Sizemore: yaaaays
INCORRECT
Passenger 1: Amber [redacted] (Adult)

me: hahahahaha awesome

Mrs. Sizemore: amtrak tells lies

me: clearly

Mrs. Sizemore: unless they mean adult like, adult adult
x-rated and whatnot

me: right, i'll have to ask ;)

Mrs. Sizemore: Dear Train People,
Please clarify. Are you miscategorizing me, or do you know me all too well?
Thank you,
Amberance

me: perfect

And Then A Velociraptorbyte.

Me: What's the next biggest unit after a terabyte?
The agent: A pterodactylbyte.

Amber and The Intern: Bad Wedding Guests

The intern: i had to give a speech at a wedding this weekend - terrifying stuff

Me: no doubt. did you mess up like my friend did? she said "Simone's birthday" instead of "Simone's wedding". We started singing "Happy Birthday" because we are assholes

The intern: haha; that's hysterical; luckily i didn't munson it; i figured if I started to freeze i would just start balling - but it went well so i was relieved

Me: balling like crying or balling like having sex with the nearest female? because that would have been hilarious
unless it was the bride, then not so much

The intern: haha, that might have been a bit awkward
in an awesome way

In Which Amberance Briefly Grows A Pair

You know it's going to be just a stellar night when you have to use the phrase "DO NOT FUCKING TOUCH ME" before 9 p.m.

The whole thing seemed routine enough. It was Thursday night and therefore I was at Tai's having dinner with my roommate watching the Cubs lose and the Penguins win. When a guy came in by himself, shook the bartender's hand and sat down a couple stools away from me I thought nothing of it, because why would I? Apart from the fact that he was wearing his blue tooth earpiece like a fashion accessory he appeared fairly normal. Since this is being posted on Bizzybiz, you already know otherwise.

It became clear pretty quickly that he was completely inebretarded. In the space of twenty minutes he tried to shake the bartender's hand at least a dozen times. He also started in on me, wanting to know if I would play pool with him (no) and if I thought he was attractive (no), and then announcing "Giiiirrrrlll, you are fine!" (I was.) My terse answers, refusal to look at him directly and outright ignoring him did not serve as much of a deterrent.

And then he came over and put his hand on my arm.

Here's the thing with that, and actually there are two: 1) If you don't cut off that behavior immediately in drunks it will escalate until you find yourself being mauled, but more importantly 2) I have a thing about strangers touching me. It is that strangers should not be touching me. At all. Ever. So when this asshat touched my arm I screamed at him. "DO NOT FUCKING TOUCH ME! I am not kidding you." which was followed somewhat anti-climatically by the bartender repeating more calmly "Don't touch her."* This was effective. Temporarily.

Moments later, in came Gene Honda and his dinner. And so the douchebaggery continued. "Dude!" bellowed the shithead. "Shake my hand bro!" By this time Gene had started eating rib tips. Gene explains that he can't shake his hand right then, and also that he is trying to enjoy his dinner. Cockwad ignored this, and continued to try and shake a hand, get a hug, lean on, breathe on and generally irritate the crap out of Gene. The bartender said, "Leave the man alone, he's trying to eat his dinner." I said, "Get the fuck away from him, he's having his dinner." Gene said, "Listen, I don't know who you are. I am not going to shake your hand. I would like to eat my dinner and if you don't leave me alone I'm going to throw a bone at you."

In the meantime, other people started showing up in the bar. A guy came in with his girlfriend and started to shoot pool and two girls appeared and were talking to the bartender. It is these distractions rather than our words that got him away from Gene so that he could eat. Unfortunately for them. From across the room I heard the girlfriend say, "Please don't touch me," and the guy say, "Are you serious? I'm standing right here!"

Gene finished his dinner and we went outside, him to smoke, me because Gene said he's not leaving me in there defenseless. (I love my friends.) While we were outside a small miracle occurred: One of our friends who happens to be a detective for the Chicago PD showed up with his wife. I was ecstatic and promptly glued myself to them. We went back inside and settled in to watch the show fucknuts was putting on. By this point he could barely stand and was speaking Spanish. Another woman walked in alone and someone immediately grabbed her and sat her down with a group of people, probably saving her life. Or at least her sanity.

Jackoff stood alone and surveyed the room, eyes settling on me. In a moment of clarity he appeared to recognized me as the bitch who yelled at him and started lurching toward us, yelling something at me in Spanish and knocking over other people's drinks all the way. People who know me well know that I rarely confront people and even more rarely raise my voice. I am not yelly, and hearing other people yell normally causes me to panic and try to hide in a corner. I don't know if it was the depth of my anger or the presence of the detective standing beside me, but all that went out the window and I snapped. "You have GOT to be kidding me. Are you fucking serious? STOP fucking talking to me." As he took another step toward me I continued, "And if you get any closer to me I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL FUCKING HIT YOU!" I'm pretty sure the people at the gas station across the street heard me. He stood there, grinning stupidly while I stared him down and waited, fully prepared to punch someone in the face for the first time ever in my life (along with the yelling, I also don't hit people). He stumbled backward and spilled a beer.

The bartender had had enough (right about now, or perhaps earlier, you're saying "Why didn't he just throw the shit eating prick out of the bar?" Because it was too early for the bouncers to be there, and the bartender wouldn't have been able to take him out on his own if he'd started fighting). "That's it," he said. "You're done. Get out of here right now." We all stood at the window and watched him leave, bobbing and weaving across four lanes of traffic, miraculously making it to the other side without collapsing or getting hit by a garbage truck...and getting into a truck. The detective and the bartender bolted out the door and across the street before I could finish saying, "No. Way. He is going to kill someone." Eventually, the detective got his keys, the bartender called him a cab, and we bribed the cab driver (who took one look at him and said "I don't want this guy in my cab") to take him to the address we found on his driver's license since he couldn't remember where he lived.

So, all in all, the night was bizarrely entertaining, the detective bought everyone a round, certain death was prevented and I was a total badass for about 12 seconds. Not a bad night. MrSteve lamented to me that he missed all the good stuff, and Fish wanted to know why I get to have all the fun. The answer comes to us from the detective, who broke the stunned silence by quipping "Only at Tai's." Indeed.

Post script: Several hours later, someone dropped off a woman outside who got in the truck and drove it away. His wife.


*It keeps reminding me of the scene in American Pie, with the lacrosse coach yelling at the team and the assistant coach standing behind him mumbling the last thing he said. "CulmiNAtion."

In America We Celebrate The Failure Of Others. USA! USA! USA!

H-Town: dude - manny ramirez suspended 50 games for testing positive for steroids!

me: BWAHAHAHAHAHA this is the best news I've heard in a week

H-Town: so much for that winning record of the dodgers!

me: this is perfect. he looks even more like a complete douche than his contract holdup bullcrap did

H-Town: 50 games! i just can't believe that

me: i wish it was the whole year.
i am such a horrible person. this makes me so happy

H-Town: that doesn't make you a horrible person

me: no you're right. it makes me a proud american

H-Town: exactly
schaudenfreude may be a german word, but americans can say it
maybe not spell it, but we can say it
speaking of that word, i KNEW that Ms. Calif would have something bad come out about her background
hello naked photos

me: YYYYEEESSSS! What a brilliant day. It makes me want to wrap myself in a flag and hug my freedom

H-Town: hahaha
(think neil diamond) - Nudie pics from far away - they're comin' to America
you think they're gone but they're here to stay....they're comin to America
everyone from 'round the world
they're gonna see your nudie pics
TODAY!
*tempo slows*
My country tis of theee (NUDIES)
sweet land of irony... (NUDIES)
your ass I see (NUDIES)
*rocks out*

me: lolz

Next You'll be Telling Me Sandy Cheeks is a Crack Smoking Pole Dancer.

I like to think that I am not an alarmist, particularly where it comes to kids. I think it must suck for them to not be able to go roller skating without a helmet, elbow and knee pads, I'm not worried that they're all trying to kill themselves by swallowing Duplo blocks and I don't think the world is going to end if they accidentally hear someone say "damn" on tv.

But this?

This is just wrong on so many levels. First of all, The King in and of himself is creepy as all fuck. He is the bizarre love child of Guy Fawkes and a child rapist - he gives ME nightmares and I am (ostensibly) a grown woman. Then there's the dancing hos....are you serious? Stuffing a shoebox down their pants is not fooling anyone, Burger King. We all know you are selling sex to little kids. Congratulations, you have somehow managed to sexualize a beloved, mentally challenged, burger-flipping Porifera. And you, Sir Mix-a-lot. I suppose you really did need the exposure - I actually thought you were dead. It's comforting to know that 17 years after your one hit wonder, you continue to have absolutely no standards*. "Booty is booty"? Yeah right. Crap is crap, but you don't see me running around turning kids meals into disturbing fetish porn, do you?


*It was NOT comforting to look that up and realize that song came out 17 years ago. Thanks for that too, douchebags.

Jenny and Amberance Can't Handle The Hard Stuff (Or Bad Music)

Mrs. Sizemore: vicodin is WEIRD
just a psa

me: um....?
oh, from your tooth

Mrs. Sizemore: yeah
i thought i would be tough and not take it
but that lasted about 4 hours and then i caved

me: yes, my old roommate jim was a big fan of that particular weirdness. mixed with copious amounts of beer and goldschlager

Mrs. Sizemore: oh yikes
i do not want to mix with anything

me: he has a bit of a death wish

Mrs. Sizemore: i keep getting waves of this strange, swimmy feeling
also, i keep crying

me: from the vicodin? i guess that would explain jim's penchant for emo, emo eyeliner

******later******

Mrs. Sizemore: blaaah
i officially do not like vicodin
why anyone would use this recreationally is astounding

me: reality is for people who can't handle drugs

Mrs. Sizemore: side effects?

me: of reality? walls staying still, only seeing one of something, inanimate objects do not talk and/or stare at you, no imaginary limbs growing out of your abdomen or flesh melting off your hands, etc.

Mrs. Sizemore: hmm
those are all correct
the side effects of the vicodin are not as pleasant
i am dizzy and hot
and also i keep wanting to cry

me: i would definitely stay away from the Fall Out Boy and My Chemical Romance CDs then

Wait, What?

Me: Dean Martin's voice melts my vagina.

The agent: Yeah, mine too.

Disparity

The agent: We could sing "The Luckiest". I'll have to transpose it down so that it's more in your range. We should write some harmonies for it. We'll be like Simon and Garfunkel! You can be Art...

Me: Yeah, I'll be Garfunkel and you'll be talented.

Ready For Prime Time

Last night after several hours of wrestling with my kitten in an attempt to get her to stop sucking on my neck and kneading my trachea so I could sleep (and breathe), I finally fell asleep only to be reawakened 30 minutes later at 2 a.m. The bartender was home 2 hours early and was talking under his breath, at first appearances to himself. Moments later I realized he was actually talking to a second, as yet unidentified person. I would have been touched that they were keeping their voices down to keep from waking me, were it not for the fact that they were simultaneously ripping packaging tape off of what sounded like an enormous cardboard box three feet from my bedroom door. A most hilarious fail.

Anyway, long story even longer, the mystery voice turned out to be the owner, and the mysterious box contained a 42 inch 1080p flat panel television. Inexplicably, this television turned out to be a completely random gift for me from the bartender.* He had apparently decided that I "needed" this to be able to watch football correctly. I am overwhelmed and completely bewildered. I am also certain that my roommate is awesome and possibly quite a bit more crazy than I thought.

*The huge cardboard box and giant Styrofoam blocks became a gift for Angela, who immediately commandeered them and built herself an enormous kitty fort taking up half the usable floor space in my living room.

Wisdom Of The Agent

Me (trying to open the door before it was unlocked): Oops. I was premature.

The agent: You're not mature at all.

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.