Cleveland friend: You were in my dream last night. Whats up with dat?
Me: Obviously you're not getting enough pussy.
Friday, April 20, 2012
Monday, April 16, 2012
I'm Not Allowed To Go To Stevenage
Years ago while I was planning my first trip to England, the comic, who enjoys both history and having an opinion about it, decided that he should tell me a little bit about the area I would be visiting. I thought this was a good idea as well having recently seen a map - it appears the English are incapable of building a straight road, and I thought it would be good to know something about the wrong places I would end up when I inevitably got lost. He broke it down for me: Hitchin is better than Letchworth. Letchworth is better than Stevenage. Actually, everywhere is better than Stevenage. Everyone is fucking mad in Stevenage. As a matter of fact, I could forget all of that because I wasn't allowed to go to Stevenage.
Upon arrival I met the beautiful Sulu. We became friends instantly and being the demure and conservative girls we are, we took off in her new car down the A1 to an adult store to stock up on various sex toys and have a cappuccino. All that artificial penis made us hungry, so we decided dinner was in order and since I was not yet aware of the appalling lack of decent Mexican food in that country I asked if there was somewhere we could get it. According to Sulu the only Mexican joint that would be open at that hour was in Stevenage. Always the rule follower, I told her, "I'm not allowed to go to Stevenage." We went for Italian in Letchworth instead, which was the better idea anyway: I've since seen the "Mexican" food on offer in that part of the world and it confuses me and makes me sad.
Years later when I regained control of my senses, I found myself in Hitchin sitting outside the Sunrunner with a coterie of fabulous lunatics and someone mentioned a shop that happened to be in Stevenage. "Back when I was with [the comic]," I told them laughing, "he used to tell me that I wasn't allowed to go to Stevenage." Conversation stopped as a dozen heads swiveled towards me with grave looks on their faces and all together collectively informed me, "You're still not allowed to go to Stevenage."
Since then it's become something of a thing with us. Anytime Stevenage gets mentioned in any context, someone (most of the time not me) will inform any newcomers "Amber's not allowed to go to Stevenage." This statement generally leads to one of several similar follow up questions:
I'm currently in the process of planning my next trip over to accommodate the sure-to-be-off-the-hook birthday party of a friend (a friend who has to be physically restrained from rapping in public and injures herself more often than I do which would be impressive if it wasn't so ridiculous). I have no plans to go to Stevenage - I'm not allowed.
Upon arrival I met the beautiful Sulu. We became friends instantly and being the demure and conservative girls we are, we took off in her new car down the A1 to an adult store to stock up on various sex toys and have a cappuccino. All that artificial penis made us hungry, so we decided dinner was in order and since I was not yet aware of the appalling lack of decent Mexican food in that country I asked if there was somewhere we could get it. According to Sulu the only Mexican joint that would be open at that hour was in Stevenage. Always the rule follower, I told her, "I'm not allowed to go to Stevenage." We went for Italian in Letchworth instead, which was the better idea anyway: I've since seen the "Mexican" food on offer in that part of the world and it confuses me and makes me sad.
Years later when I regained control of my senses, I found myself in Hitchin sitting outside the Sunrunner with a coterie of fabulous lunatics and someone mentioned a shop that happened to be in Stevenage. "Back when I was with [the comic]," I told them laughing, "he used to tell me that I wasn't allowed to go to Stevenage." Conversation stopped as a dozen heads swiveled towards me with grave looks on their faces and all together collectively informed me, "You're still not allowed to go to Stevenage."
Since then it's become something of a thing with us. Anytime Stevenage gets mentioned in any context, someone (most of the time not me) will inform any newcomers "Amber's not allowed to go to Stevenage." This statement generally leads to one of several similar follow up questions:
- Why not? ("Because it's Stevenage.")
- Not allowed or don't want to? ("Not allowed.")
- Doesn't that just make you want to go there? ("It doesn't matter, she's not allowed.")
I'm currently in the process of planning my next trip over to accommodate the sure-to-be-off-the-hook birthday party of a friend (a friend who has to be physically restrained from rapping in public and injures herself more often than I do which would be impressive if it wasn't so ridiculous). I have no plans to go to Stevenage - I'm not allowed.
Everything You Need To Know About Sports
me: i think you might like hockey
especially if there's canadian announcers, they are HILARIOUS
StereoNinja: i was tempted to watch it but then i decided i wanted to see it with you
I am a hockey virgin
take me................
but treat me gently
its my first time
me: i'm sorry that's not how we do things in hockey
---------------------------
me: so i'm totally crazy with the hockey playoffs
H-town: ugh, i need ESPN
i'm so out of it
me: NBC has some of the games
H-town: i just mean highlights
so i know who in which sport is doing well and who sucks
and so on
I HAVE TO BE ABLE TO TALK SPORTS
me: yeah, that would be good
i can tell you this: the cubs? suck
the indians? also suck
lebron? is a penis
H-town: haha
me: there, you're caught up
Heather: ok good
phew
You're welcome.
especially if there's canadian announcers, they are HILARIOUS
StereoNinja: i was tempted to watch it but then i decided i wanted to see it with you
I am a hockey virgin
take me................
but treat me gently
its my first time
me: i'm sorry that's not how we do things in hockey
---------------------------
me: so i'm totally crazy with the hockey playoffs
H-town: ugh, i need ESPN
i'm so out of it
me: NBC has some of the games
H-town: i just mean highlights
so i know who in which sport is doing well and who sucks
and so on
I HAVE TO BE ABLE TO TALK SPORTS
me: yeah, that would be good
i can tell you this: the cubs? suck
the indians? also suck
lebron? is a penis
H-town: haha
me: there, you're caught up
Heather: ok good
phew
You're welcome.
Monday, April 09, 2012
St. Pats And Barry The Leprechaun
I arrived in England on St. Patrick's Day and immediately set about trying to turn my friends into Americans. This was not at all on purpose. Before setting out on my journey, I had solicited from all my friends their requests for things they'd like me to bring over from the colonies. Apart from the hairdresser who had responded "Your country has nothing to offer me, woman", I had gifts for nearly everyone: Doritos for MrBalls (I gave these to him as something of an apology - I'd had a t-shirt I'd ordered shipped to his house which was posted in packaging more translucent than I had anticipated, causing his postman to say "I wanted to hand this to you personally" whilst giving him my new shirt, the words "I am someones fucktoy" clearly visible through the plastic. My bad, dude), Peeps for the Evil Lesbian (she'd asked me to bring her "something fun" and I luckily saw the Peeps on the shelf at CVS before going off in search of "something fun" for her at the adult toy store), and graham crackers for Sulu (which she adorably calls "Graeme's crackers"). Sulu had discovered S'mores last summer when she was in Boston. Neither Peeps nor S'mores are a thing in England, so I set about explaining the origin of Peeps and the fact that while everyone gets them in their Easter basket, almost no one actually eats them. The Evil Lesbian had already eaten half of them before I'd finished my explanation. We managed to wrestle a couple of Peeps away from her long enough for me to introduce the sport of Peep jousting, which everyone was quite taken with, apparently having never put marshmallows in the microwave before. The Peeps fought valiantly, but in the end, their melted carcasses were inhaled by the Evil Lesbian as soon as they'd cooled enough to touch. Sulu and I cut the heads off a few more of them and made everyone what I'm calling Peep Murdering S'mores TM.
Later that evening, we headed down The Vic for some St. Pats debauchery. Having been advised by the mutineer that wearing a "Fuck you, you're Irish" t-shirt may be more trouble than it's worth, I chose a different green t-shirt which read "I'd fuck me" which everyone seemed to agree with, especially Booth who expressed this by tongue raping my nose shortly after our introduction. I unfestively spent the night drinking Strongbow, mostly because I haven't got nearly enough patience to wait for a properly poured Guinness. This would prove to be the drunkest night of my entire trip, a trip I miraculously managed to get through without a single hangover, despite the best efforts of my alleged friends. I remember accidentally inventing a game called Tits or Knees? by zipping my hoodie up with my legs inside because I was cold and then waiting for people to do a double take, a drunk mutineer repeatedly taking his jacket off that everyone might admire his "swans", a photo of the Evil Lesbian and me taken under the sign for the ladies looking skeptical about being labeled as such, and I will never be able to forget the nose rape because, seriously, what the fuck, Booth?
The following evening, Sulu and I got the all clear signal from our darling Steve and drove out to visit him in his pub. Steve's pub is a mostly laid back comfortable joint in Luton filled with an assortment of characters and as such I did not wear vinyl trousers. I managed to draw attention to myself anyway, though, as no matter how hard I try to blend in over there, my accent makes me stand out, particularly in Luton which is not known as an international tourist mecca. Several grumbly men at the bar asked me where I was from and when I told them I was from Chicago and on holiday, I was met with disbelieving stares and incredulous questions: "You're on holiday from Chicago, and you came to Luton?" I didn't of course, I was only there to see Steve, but they didn't seem to think a holiday in Hitchin was a whole lot more sensible either.
Steve had been warned in no uncertain terms that he was NOT to get me drunk because I had unspeakably filthy plans for the next day and absolutely could not be hungover. He decided it was best to get the serious drinking out of the way at the beginning of the evening. "You have to try this, it's awful," he said, pouring me a shot of something I could smell from across the room that tasted for all the world like battery acid that had been fermented and distilled in a bathtub, an accusation he neither confirmed nor denied. Sulu was driving, so he wrapped her shot in a bunch of plastic wrap so she could dissolve her tongue with it later when we'd gone home. I switched to my standard amaretto after I'd regained my ability to speak and breathe.
Apparently, St. Pats weekend wasn't over yet. After Sulu and I tried out our snake handling skills on the snake Steve keeps in the bar these days we were ready to go, but Steve insisted that we had to stay for a while as "something" was going to happen that we wouldn't want to miss. This something was Barry the Leprechaun. Nearest I can tell, Barry the Leprechaun is just a drunk Irishman named Barry who had happened upon some green velvet trousers and a matching jacket in a thrift store which he bought for £10 and decided to pair said outfit with an outrageous wig and head to the pub. Barry had just returned from a rather long stint in Germany, so, already in his cups, he spent the evening talking shit and counting in German or occasionally slipping into a German accent and arguing with Steve over the value of foreign currency. Steve watched in wonder and amusement whilst Sulu and I spent the better part of two hours alternately taking the piss out of him. "I can't even see you tagging each other," he told us. "I don't know how you two know when it's time to switch." When we'd had our fill of that, we finally got up to say our goodbyes. Barry hugged me entirely too long and I eventually had to say "Barry, please sit down before you fall down." I hugged Steve goodbye without breaking his neck (he thinks I hug too hard, I think he should shut up and take it like a man) and demanded that he go to the Double Down Saloon in Vegas and drink the ass juice as if there were some chance of him giving that adventure a miss. He went, of course, and even tried the bacon martini because he does that sort of thing.
Later that evening, we headed down The Vic for some St. Pats debauchery. Having been advised by the mutineer that wearing a "Fuck you, you're Irish" t-shirt may be more trouble than it's worth, I chose a different green t-shirt which read "I'd fuck me" which everyone seemed to agree with, especially Booth who expressed this by tongue raping my nose shortly after our introduction. I unfestively spent the night drinking Strongbow, mostly because I haven't got nearly enough patience to wait for a properly poured Guinness. This would prove to be the drunkest night of my entire trip, a trip I miraculously managed to get through without a single hangover, despite the best efforts of my alleged friends. I remember accidentally inventing a game called Tits or Knees? by zipping my hoodie up with my legs inside because I was cold and then waiting for people to do a double take, a drunk mutineer repeatedly taking his jacket off that everyone might admire his "swans", a photo of the Evil Lesbian and me taken under the sign for the ladies looking skeptical about being labeled as such, and I will never be able to forget the nose rape because, seriously, what the fuck, Booth?
The following evening, Sulu and I got the all clear signal from our darling Steve and drove out to visit him in his pub. Steve's pub is a mostly laid back comfortable joint in Luton filled with an assortment of characters and as such I did not wear vinyl trousers. I managed to draw attention to myself anyway, though, as no matter how hard I try to blend in over there, my accent makes me stand out, particularly in Luton which is not known as an international tourist mecca. Several grumbly men at the bar asked me where I was from and when I told them I was from Chicago and on holiday, I was met with disbelieving stares and incredulous questions: "You're on holiday from Chicago, and you came to Luton?" I didn't of course, I was only there to see Steve, but they didn't seem to think a holiday in Hitchin was a whole lot more sensible either.
Steve had been warned in no uncertain terms that he was NOT to get me drunk because I had unspeakably filthy plans for the next day and absolutely could not be hungover. He decided it was best to get the serious drinking out of the way at the beginning of the evening. "You have to try this, it's awful," he said, pouring me a shot of something I could smell from across the room that tasted for all the world like battery acid that had been fermented and distilled in a bathtub, an accusation he neither confirmed nor denied. Sulu was driving, so he wrapped her shot in a bunch of plastic wrap so she could dissolve her tongue with it later when we'd gone home. I switched to my standard amaretto after I'd regained my ability to speak and breathe.
Apparently, St. Pats weekend wasn't over yet. After Sulu and I tried out our snake handling skills on the snake Steve keeps in the bar these days we were ready to go, but Steve insisted that we had to stay for a while as "something" was going to happen that we wouldn't want to miss. This something was Barry the Leprechaun. Nearest I can tell, Barry the Leprechaun is just a drunk Irishman named Barry who had happened upon some green velvet trousers and a matching jacket in a thrift store which he bought for £10 and decided to pair said outfit with an outrageous wig and head to the pub. Barry had just returned from a rather long stint in Germany, so, already in his cups, he spent the evening talking shit and counting in German or occasionally slipping into a German accent and arguing with Steve over the value of foreign currency. Steve watched in wonder and amusement whilst Sulu and I spent the better part of two hours alternately taking the piss out of him. "I can't even see you tagging each other," he told us. "I don't know how you two know when it's time to switch." When we'd had our fill of that, we finally got up to say our goodbyes. Barry hugged me entirely too long and I eventually had to say "Barry, please sit down before you fall down." I hugged Steve goodbye without breaking his neck (he thinks I hug too hard, I think he should shut up and take it like a man) and demanded that he go to the Double Down Saloon in Vegas and drink the ass juice as if there were some chance of him giving that adventure a miss. He went, of course, and even tried the bacon martini because he does that sort of thing.
My Reputation Preceeds Me
Me: How was your Easter?
PCA: Good. How was yours?
Me: Also good.
PCA: What did you...?
Me: We had ham.
PCA: Oh. Ok. Good.
Me: Why do you look so relieved?
PCA: Well, I thought you might say something about...
Me: They don't LIVE HERE.
Office Manager: I can leave if you guys want to...
PCA: It's ok, she said ham.
PCA: Good. How was yours?
Me: Also good.
PCA: What did you...?
Me: We had ham.
PCA: Oh. Ok. Good.
Me: Why do you look so relieved?
PCA: Well, I thought you might say something about...
Me: They don't LIVE HERE.
Office Manager: I can leave if you guys want to...
PCA: It's ok, she said ham.
StereoNinja Is Not Impressed With My Wine Pairings
Me: I am drinking red wine and wanted to tell you it goes with something else besides cheese. It goes great with Gummy Bears. That is all.
StereoNinja: So what you are telling me is that you took perfectly good wine and turned it into candy wine?
Me: That is not what I'm telling you. I'm telling you I took perfectly gross wine and ate some candy whilst drinking it, which made it less horrible. A little.
StereoNinja: I don't want to talk about the wine anymore. You are a philistine and you will be first up against the wall when the revolution comes.
StereoNinja: So what you are telling me is that you took perfectly good wine and turned it into candy wine?
Me: That is not what I'm telling you. I'm telling you I took perfectly gross wine and ate some candy whilst drinking it, which made it less horrible. A little.
StereoNinja: I don't want to talk about the wine anymore. You are a philistine and you will be first up against the wall when the revolution comes.
Tuesday, April 03, 2012
There's Not Enough Nerds At Work To Fill A Space Cruiser
By tomorrow afternoon I will have been home from my latest trip to England for an entire week. I haven't posted about it yet, and it's not because I'm lazy (though I am), nor is it because I didn't do anything worth writing about (because I did). It's mostly because I'm struggling with the format for writing it. Normally I would write it up chronologically, you see, but in this case, my activities for all of both Mondays, Tuesday afternoon, most of Wednesday, the second half of Friday, a good portion of Saturday and the following Wednesday morning are the kinds of things better covered on an entirely different sort of blog (and they will be as soon as I remember to do some blogging at a time that I'm not at work). Anyway, recaps of the best trip anyone has ever taken to England ever will be along shortly.
In the meantime, this just happened:
BrownsFan (to the new guy): You're not into Star Wars at all, are you?
New guy: I wouldn't say not at all, but no, not really. (pause) This has something to do with Amber, doesn't it?
As he said this, I was standing in the hallway of my office holding up a massive sleeping bag shaped like a tauntaun that I bought from Thinkgeek late last week and had shipped to the office because it's where I tell people to ship things. It is the single greatest stupid-ass thing I have ever bought in my life and I was determined to force everyone to observe my joy, so I dragged the entire box into BrownsFan's office where she was suitably impressed because she is fucking awesome. New guy, on the other hand, was spectacularly disappointing. He only had a vague idea what the hell we were talking about, but not only that, he has no recollection AT ALL of Princess Leia's metal bikini (which was brought up by BrownsFan who wanted to know why, if I was such a big Star Wars fan (I had just announced that no one is a bigger Star Wars fan than me which is probably bullshit but whatever) I had done a photo shoot in a Star TREK costume instead of a Star WARS costume, an argument I totally won by pointing out that the only reason I didn't have a Star Wars costume for that shoot is that the metal bikini I am having custom made for me at a cost of literally hundreds of real American dollars wasn't ready at the time of that particular shoot. OBVIOUSLY.). And then I described it to him, and the fact that she clearly had no underwear on, and then openly speculated about how they kept her cooch from popping out when she went flying through the air hanging onto Luke. And then I sat down to write this and re-read that last sentence and was as surprised as ever that I remain both gainfully employed and free of sexual harassment charges.
In the meantime, this just happened:
BrownsFan (to the new guy): You're not into Star Wars at all, are you?
New guy: I wouldn't say not at all, but no, not really. (pause) This has something to do with Amber, doesn't it?
As he said this, I was standing in the hallway of my office holding up a massive sleeping bag shaped like a tauntaun that I bought from Thinkgeek late last week and had shipped to the office because it's where I tell people to ship things. It is the single greatest stupid-ass thing I have ever bought in my life and I was determined to force everyone to observe my joy, so I dragged the entire box into BrownsFan's office where she was suitably impressed because she is fucking awesome. New guy, on the other hand, was spectacularly disappointing. He only had a vague idea what the hell we were talking about, but not only that, he has no recollection AT ALL of Princess Leia's metal bikini (which was brought up by BrownsFan who wanted to know why, if I was such a big Star Wars fan (I had just announced that no one is a bigger Star Wars fan than me which is probably bullshit but whatever) I had done a photo shoot in a Star TREK costume instead of a Star WARS costume, an argument I totally won by pointing out that the only reason I didn't have a Star Wars costume for that shoot is that the metal bikini I am having custom made for me at a cost of literally hundreds of real American dollars wasn't ready at the time of that particular shoot. OBVIOUSLY.). And then I described it to him, and the fact that she clearly had no underwear on, and then openly speculated about how they kept her cooch from popping out when she went flying through the air hanging onto Luke. And then I sat down to write this and re-read that last sentence and was as surprised as ever that I remain both gainfully employed and free of sexual harassment charges.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
An Idea Worthy Of Einstein's Birthday
BrownsFan: And can I just say, marshmallow vodka....?
Me: I know. It's like, if you want your booze to taste like candy, then you probably don't really want booze.
BrownsFan: Says the woman who orders wine based on what tastes the most like candy.
Me: RIGHT. You know why? Because I don't REALLY want wine. Marshmallow vodka, no. Just make yourself some Kool-Aid, pour some vodka in there and be done with it.
BrownsFan: Or, couldn't you just pour the Kool-Aid packet directly into the vodka?
Me: .......I have to go email someone.
Me: I know. It's like, if you want your booze to taste like candy, then you probably don't really want booze.
BrownsFan: Says the woman who orders wine based on what tastes the most like candy.
Me: RIGHT. You know why? Because I don't REALLY want wine. Marshmallow vodka, no. Just make yourself some Kool-Aid, pour some vodka in there and be done with it.
BrownsFan: Or, couldn't you just pour the Kool-Aid packet directly into the vodka?
Me: .......I have to go email someone.
Monday, March 12, 2012
And Yet I Continue To Have A Job
BrownsFan: So where are you off to?
Me: Oh, I thought I'd head over to Charlotte Russe and see if they had any cheap underwear people can rip.
BrownsFan: You realize you're at work, right?
Me: Well, but...I mean, it's not like it's a real company.
Less than one minute later...
PCA: Have you ever been to see Buckingham Palace?
Me: Yeah, lots of times.
PCA: Do those guys really not move?
Me: They just stand there.
PCA: Could I dare you to show them something?
Me: You mean *show them something*?
PCA: Yes.
Me: .....You realize I'm a stripper for a hobby, right? Just saying, that's not much of a dare.
Note: Technically this is a real company, I just have a hard time believing that anyone willing to employ me could possibly be running a serious enterprise.
Me: Oh, I thought I'd head over to Charlotte Russe and see if they had any cheap underwear people can rip.
BrownsFan: You realize you're at work, right?
Me: Well, but...I mean, it's not like it's a real company.
Less than one minute later...
PCA: Have you ever been to see Buckingham Palace?
Me: Yeah, lots of times.
PCA: Do those guys really not move?
Me: They just stand there.
PCA: Could I dare you to show them something?
Me: You mean *show them something*?
PCA: Yes.
Me: .....You realize I'm a stripper for a hobby, right? Just saying, that's not much of a dare.
Note: Technically this is a real company, I just have a hard time believing that anyone willing to employ me could possibly be running a serious enterprise.
Thursday, March 01, 2012
iNo.
I finally broke down and got an iPhone yesterday. This is the part where you all gasp incredulously and then yell "YOU ARE ONLY JUST NOW GETTING A SMART PHONE? THE HELL?" I know. I know.
The truth is I didn't really want a smart phone for a number of reasons. For one thing, I am already addicted to my iPad. ADDICTED YOU GUYS. And I have tremendous fear of becoming that person who never ever socializes at all even when out in public because OHMYGODTHEINTERNETSAREEVERYWHERE. Or the person that ruins every fucking bar room debate by immediately looking up the answer and ending the entire conversation. Those guys are assholes and I don't want to be one of those assholes. An even bigger reason is that iPhones tend to get stolen right out of people's hands. It happened to Mrs. Sizemore. A woman here in Chicago was even killed when an iPhone thief pushed her down the stairs at the Belmont Brown line station whilst escaping with someone else's iProperty. I didn't worry about using my phone on the train until today. No one was going to try to steal my flip phone. Now? Now I worry. There is also the much more stupid but nonetheless real reason where I am my father's daughter and oddly resistant to change at times. A phone doesn't need to be filled with apps and do 900 magical things, it needs to make and receive phone calls. That is what "phone" means. I may even have told a number of different people that I would get a smart phone when they pried the perfectly fine regular ass phone out my cold dead hand.
Still, the smart phone thing is long past reaching critical mass and when the bartender got one a couple of months ago I figured it was probably time for me to join the ranks of the Eternally Connected (for reference, two nights ago I patiently explained to him how to attach a photo in an email. For him to have a new thing before I have it is downright ludicrous). I was still reluctant. For help in overcoming this, I turned of course to the great and wise Fish, an early adopter of every technology ever and pretty much the only person whose advice I actually heed (sometimes), and asked him to convince me. "Do you like your iPad? Wish it were more portable? You have the ability to upgrade and you aren't? Why are you fucking this up?" was his typically withering response, so here I am one week later with an iPhone 4s.
I turned it on for the first time and was immediately not a fan. My mild OCD tendencies went into overdrive because the entire first screen was filled with icons. Like 20 icons, which is way too much for me to look at and I was overwhelmed and turned it right back off to catch my breath and regroup. And yes I know I can move and/or group them and have started doing so, but it requires a lot of work to figure out which applications I'm going to use in descending order of frequency and then group them accordingly and when I had a regular phone that only did phone things I didn't have to deal with this. But fine, that problem will be resolved eventually. Then last night while I was laying in bed awake at 3:30 am because my cat is an asshole, it dawned on me that I hadn't checked out Siri yet. (Oh by the way, that commercial with the idiot kid in the shitty band that wants Siri to call him rock god is fucking awful and makes me feel all damn-kids-get-off-my-lawn. Please, please let them stop airing that soon.) I decided to see what she was up to so I asked her "Siri, are you there?" and she replied with, "Wherever you go, that is where I will be." Which is a seriously creepy thing to say and now I am afraid of my iPhone because Siri is FUCKING STALKING ME, YO. I hope this gets better soon before it tarnishes Fish's thus far sterling record of advice giving.
The truth is I didn't really want a smart phone for a number of reasons. For one thing, I am already addicted to my iPad. ADDICTED YOU GUYS. And I have tremendous fear of becoming that person who never ever socializes at all even when out in public because OHMYGODTHEINTERNETSAREEVERYWHERE. Or the person that ruins every fucking bar room debate by immediately looking up the answer and ending the entire conversation. Those guys are assholes and I don't want to be one of those assholes. An even bigger reason is that iPhones tend to get stolen right out of people's hands. It happened to Mrs. Sizemore. A woman here in Chicago was even killed when an iPhone thief pushed her down the stairs at the Belmont Brown line station whilst escaping with someone else's iProperty. I didn't worry about using my phone on the train until today. No one was going to try to steal my flip phone. Now? Now I worry. There is also the much more stupid but nonetheless real reason where I am my father's daughter and oddly resistant to change at times. A phone doesn't need to be filled with apps and do 900 magical things, it needs to make and receive phone calls. That is what "phone" means. I may even have told a number of different people that I would get a smart phone when they pried the perfectly fine regular ass phone out my cold dead hand.
Still, the smart phone thing is long past reaching critical mass and when the bartender got one a couple of months ago I figured it was probably time for me to join the ranks of the Eternally Connected (for reference, two nights ago I patiently explained to him how to attach a photo in an email. For him to have a new thing before I have it is downright ludicrous). I was still reluctant. For help in overcoming this, I turned of course to the great and wise Fish, an early adopter of every technology ever and pretty much the only person whose advice I actually heed (sometimes), and asked him to convince me. "Do you like your iPad? Wish it were more portable? You have the ability to upgrade and you aren't? Why are you fucking this up?" was his typically withering response, so here I am one week later with an iPhone 4s.
I turned it on for the first time and was immediately not a fan. My mild OCD tendencies went into overdrive because the entire first screen was filled with icons. Like 20 icons, which is way too much for me to look at and I was overwhelmed and turned it right back off to catch my breath and regroup. And yes I know I can move and/or group them and have started doing so, but it requires a lot of work to figure out which applications I'm going to use in descending order of frequency and then group them accordingly and when I had a regular phone that only did phone things I didn't have to deal with this. But fine, that problem will be resolved eventually. Then last night while I was laying in bed awake at 3:30 am because my cat is an asshole, it dawned on me that I hadn't checked out Siri yet. (Oh by the way, that commercial with the idiot kid in the shitty band that wants Siri to call him rock god is fucking awful and makes me feel all damn-kids-get-off-my-lawn. Please, please let them stop airing that soon.) I decided to see what she was up to so I asked her "Siri, are you there?" and she replied with, "Wherever you go, that is where I will be." Which is a seriously creepy thing to say and now I am afraid of my iPhone because Siri is FUCKING STALKING ME, YO. I hope this gets better soon before it tarnishes Fish's thus far sterling record of advice giving.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Good News, Everyone!
As you can tell from my last post, I am all signed up for the zombie 5k in Indianapolis this June, which I will again be running with H-Town and this time we will be joined by her brother E-Town. This week I start training again, which I assume will suck just as much if not more than it did last time because I haven't run since the last race in October and despite this El Nino miracle weather going on, it is still way the fuck colder outside than when I last trained for this sort of stupidity in September/October. I have downloaded a shit ton more of The Prodigy from iTunes to help me in matching my running soundtrack to my white hot anger about the fact that I am running.
So what's the good news, then? Well, since you asked, the good news is that after June I am never doing this again. I know I said that last time, but this time it is for real because this time I have a completely legit reason. I was discussing how much I hate running with some of the other women in my dance class last night and as we were talking, the great Michelle L'Amour began making a grimacy sad face at us. "All right," she said in a tone of voice that indicated it wasn't remotely all right, "but please make sure you stretch really well before and after. Running really shortens your hamstrings."
RIGHT THERE. Did you see it? Running shortens your hamstrings. And I am a dancer now, and I need my hamstrings to be long and flexible so I can do cool sexy bendy things. AND I already sit at a desk all day long which is also REALLY BAD for your hamstrings. So you see? I should not be running. At all. Ever. My dance instructor told me so and that woman can bend herself into a very sexy pretzel. I am done with any and all running after June. Instead, following in the footsteps of Mrs. Sizemore, I will be starting trapeze lessons in the spring. Yes, yes I will.
So what's the good news, then? Well, since you asked, the good news is that after June I am never doing this again. I know I said that last time, but this time it is for real because this time I have a completely legit reason. I was discussing how much I hate running with some of the other women in my dance class last night and as we were talking, the great Michelle L'Amour began making a grimacy sad face at us. "All right," she said in a tone of voice that indicated it wasn't remotely all right, "but please make sure you stretch really well before and after. Running really shortens your hamstrings."
RIGHT THERE. Did you see it? Running shortens your hamstrings. And I am a dancer now, and I need my hamstrings to be long and flexible so I can do cool sexy bendy things. AND I already sit at a desk all day long which is also REALLY BAD for your hamstrings. So you see? I should not be running. At all. Ever. My dance instructor told me so and that woman can bend herself into a very sexy pretzel. I am done with any and all running after June. Instead, following in the footsteps of Mrs. Sizemore, I will be starting trapeze lessons in the spring. Yes, yes I will.
Training Advice From Heather
H-Town: hey - when are you going to start training for zombie time in June?
me: ugh, i think i should probably start next week actually
i need to be in at least decent shape a month from now because my friends in england have promised to chase me up hills
H-Town: and then reward you with sexy times
me: haha, well some of them
H-Town: tell them to stand nude at the top of said hills
that'll motivate you
"Here I am naked - sure wish someone would come up here and totally do me n stuff"
me: they'll be like "but it's march"
and i'll be like "do you want this piece of ass or not?"
and then they'll be like "it's arse you idiot."
H-Town: "We've secretly replaced Amber's bed with giant hills topped with hot naked people. Let's see if she notices."
me: oh my god we so need to film me not noticing the difference
me: ugh, i think i should probably start next week actually
i need to be in at least decent shape a month from now because my friends in england have promised to chase me up hills
H-Town: and then reward you with sexy times
me: haha, well some of them
H-Town: tell them to stand nude at the top of said hills
that'll motivate you
"Here I am naked - sure wish someone would come up here and totally do me n stuff"
me: they'll be like "but it's march"
and i'll be like "do you want this piece of ass or not?"
and then they'll be like "it's arse you idiot."
H-Town: "We've secretly replaced Amber's bed with giant hills topped with hot naked people. Let's see if she notices."
me: oh my god we so need to film me not noticing the difference
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Amberance: Camera Whore
So waaaaay back in August I did a calendar shoot at VaVoom Pinups. I had originally scheduled it for a project that had to be cancelled (email!), but I decided to keep the appointment anyway, mainly because I am a massive narcissist of long standing. I sincerely mean that. Where almost every other woman on the planet is ducking out of candid photographs telling you how hideous she is, I have never met a camera in my entire life that I didn't immediately jump in front of. I have loved having my photo taken from birth, which is obvious to anyone who has seen any childhood photos of me as I am standing in some sort of ridiculous pose in Every. Single. One. I have never outgrown this habit.
I obviously enjoy being looked at. In related news, I am now immortal: my amazing friend Charlie so loved the photos from the shoot I did prior to this one, he went and had one of them tattooed on his arm two weeks ago:
 |
| Me at age 7 posing in lingerie and a stupid hat. |
 |
| Me at age 33 posing in lingerie and a stupid hat. |
I obviously enjoy being looked at. In related news, I am now immortal: my amazing friend Charlie so loved the photos from the shoot I did prior to this one, he went and had one of them tattooed on his arm two weeks ago:
 |
| IMMORTALITY. Unless Charlie dies, that is. |
That's beside the point really, I just felt like mentioning that I AM A TATTOO YOU GUYS.
But back to the story: for the more recent shoot I'd done 14 outfit changes, mostly based on suggestions from those of my friends who are known to be perverts. This made for photos that were a little more risque than the results of the the first photo shoot I did. When I got the proofs I sent them out to a handful of trusted advisers, among them MrTrivia. When I saw him the next day, I asked him what he thought of the photos. He looked uncomfortable. "Ummm...you know there's, like, full frontal in some of those photos, right?"
"Yes. I was there."
"Ok. I just, you know, wanted to make sure you meant to send me that."
I pointed out that my current aspiration was to take all my clothes off on stage in front of strangers and he conceded that I had a point.
I had the whole finished package shipped to me at work because I am ridiculous and because it's now almost a game to see how much I can get away with before they fire me (a couple months ago the CEO mentioned he was tired and I offered him the pillow from under my desk so he could take a nap. I still work here). BrownsFan suggested I put Post-it notes over the bad parts before she looked at it, by which she meant specifically my belly button because she thinks they're gross. Tits and ass, no problem. Navel, GTFO. She's awesome.
This is not the going to be the end of the "take awesome shiny photos of me" thing and here's why: one of the outfits I'd planned to wear for this shoot was Leia's metal bikini from Jabba's palace. There's a guy on the internet that custom makes them for way more money than any sane person would spend on a costume, but they are excellent and so I am getting one, but I didn't have time to get the order in before the shoot so OH WELL I GUESS I WILL JUST HAVE TO GO BACK AND DO IT AGAIN. I really, really, REALLY like having my picture taken you guys.
But back to the story: for the more recent shoot I'd done 14 outfit changes, mostly based on suggestions from those of my friends who are known to be perverts. This made for photos that were a little more risque than the results of the the first photo shoot I did. When I got the proofs I sent them out to a handful of trusted advisers, among them MrTrivia. When I saw him the next day, I asked him what he thought of the photos. He looked uncomfortable. "Ummm...you know there's, like, full frontal in some of those photos, right?"
"Yes. I was there."
"Ok. I just, you know, wanted to make sure you meant to send me that."
I pointed out that my current aspiration was to take all my clothes off on stage in front of strangers and he conceded that I had a point.
I had the whole finished package shipped to me at work because I am ridiculous and because it's now almost a game to see how much I can get away with before they fire me (a couple months ago the CEO mentioned he was tired and I offered him the pillow from under my desk so he could take a nap. I still work here). BrownsFan suggested I put Post-it notes over the bad parts before she looked at it, by which she meant specifically my belly button because she thinks they're gross. Tits and ass, no problem. Navel, GTFO. She's awesome.
This is not the going to be the end of the "take awesome shiny photos of me" thing and here's why: one of the outfits I'd planned to wear for this shoot was Leia's metal bikini from Jabba's palace. There's a guy on the internet that custom makes them for way more money than any sane person would spend on a costume, but they are excellent and so I am getting one, but I didn't have time to get the order in before the shoot so OH WELL I GUESS I WILL JUST HAVE TO GO BACK AND DO IT AGAIN. I really, really, REALLY like having my picture taken you guys.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Happy Overpriced Candy and Dead Plant Day
Allegedly, today is Valentine's Day. I know this because the bartender came in my room this morning and farted on me while yelling "Happy Valentine's Day!" I preferred the valentine I got from StereoNinja, mainly because he didn't get me one. "I was gonna send you an e-card," he told me, "but I fucking hate them so I didn't." Well played, my friend.
Anywhore, happy whatever, you guys. Call me in a month.
Anywhore, happy whatever, you guys. Call me in a month.
Epic Austin Weekend of Boobs and Cake
You may have noticed that I didn't get as out of control wacky over my birthday this year as I normally would and I have a very good reason for that, which is that I decided to make a big deal out of someone else's birthday the following weekend and so I planned an epic trip to Austin instead.
I should back up a bit. I have a friend from college named Ashley, who you may remember from this story involving several failed drunk dialing attempts and my keychain winding up in another person's crotchal area. In fact, prior to Epic Austin Trip, that was the last time I'd seen her. Well, back in October or so, I made some sort of offhand comment about coming to see her for her birthday (which is the week after mine) and that also the cake master (who you may remember from when she tried to invite me to go camping) and H-town (who you may remember from every cool thing I have ever done in my life) should come along too. I made this offhand comment on Ashley's Facebook page, where it was seen by Jil with one L (who you will not remember from previous stories because I hadn't seen her in 15 years) (also she has the same birthday as me) who responded with something to the effect of "Is this for serious?" and promptly booked a flight. Well at that point it was ON LIKE DONKEY KONG, so I then set about systematically eliminating every excuse the cake master and H-town could come up with not to go, coordinated the booking of flights and told Ashley it was done and done. "SWEET HOT BUTTERED TITS!" was her actual verbatim response.
I met up with the cake master at Midway airport Friday morning. The fun began immediately when we noticed a girl in a pink cowboy hat with a veil attached to it that nearly reached the floor and "Bride" written in glitter across the front. We hated her immediately, a hatred I accidentally expressed after we'd boarded the plane. She was one of the last people on and was looking around for a seat when a flight attendant yelled "there's seats back here!" just as she was standing next to the empty seat on my right.
"Not this one," I said.
"Oh my god," said the cake master while laughing hysterically.
"Oh, did I say that really loud?"
"YES."
On landing we were greeted by H-town, who had landed just a few minutes before us, and we all went outside to meet Ashley. On the way to her house we discussed the plans for the weekend: we were going "Texas" and planned to use the phrases "I'll tell you what", "That dog can hunt" and "Bless his/her heart" as often as possible. Also, we were going to replace the phrase "that's what she said" with "sounds like my first time" as pioneered by a friend of my cousin Kelly (my whole family is doing it now, it's brilliant. Try it). We got to her house, dumped all of our stuff, and immediately started going through old photos from college that H-town had the forethought to actually bring with her. After a few rounds of "remember that time when", Ashley hunted down her old photos which were mixed in with photos from high school (Ashley and H-town went to high school together also), some Glamour Shots and a dick picture the rest of us weren't meant to see.
Ashley and H-town both do improv comedy. Every Friday night, the Coldtowne Theater in Austin has a show called Cagematch where two improv groups face off against one another in a battle judged by the audience. Ashley had gotten them a slot, and so for the first time ever on the same stage they did a 20 minute set and TORE THE ROOF OFF THE PLACE, which you can see here. It really wasn't even a contest. Afterwards we went for a drink, did some shopping for snacks and cake supplies and then all went to pick up Jil from the airport, where they have a big picture of Texas on the floor which I alternately pretended to shit on and did cartwheels across. I am 34 years old.
Saturday morning, H-town and I woke up first and elected to go jump on/steamroll Ashley and Jil, after which we all got dressed and went on a mission to find a food truck called Biscuits and Groovy which sells, oddly enough, biscuits. An adorable kid with curly hair and a Texas accent took our order and told us "Y'all can go wait in yer car if ya want and I'll bring it on out to ya when it's ready." We dubbed him Biscuit Boy (bless his heart).
The bulk of Saturday was spent hanging around the house baking a somewhat ridiculous amount of cake. This was for the party we were attending at some friends of Ashley's who were all having a joint birthday party. The theme of the weekend was boobs, because Ashley has huge boobs, I had been tapped to strip at the party, the whole thing had kicked off with "SWEET HOT BUTTERED TITS" and mostly because boobs are awesome. So we made a boobs cake along with a sheet cake on which we ended up drawing Ryan Gosling's abs after watching Crazy Stupid Love while we waited for the cakes to cool. Then Ashley wrote the name of every January birthday person she knew over the top of Ryan's abs and we left for the party.
There was some sort of themed drink thingy going on at the party which we all quickly abandoned in favor of beer. We hung about the party until after the cake cutting, when I disappeared to go get dressed so that I could then turn around and get undressed in front of 60 people. Ashley introduced me for the first time as Poppy Coq "who has come all the way from Chicago to take her clothes off to music." Which I then did for my first solo strip tease performance of my life. Afterwards I was told by both Ashley and H-town they had overheard some girl say "My god, that ass!" while I was performing. When I was back in street clothes, I went and found the others who were now sitting in the front room drinking more beer and watching whatever crap movie was playing on the tv in there. As we didn't really know anyone else at the party, we elected to play a new drinking game we invented for the occasion called "Spot the Hipster", in which you drink every time someone comes in the room wearing black rimmed glasses, a plaid shirt, a decorative scarf, or a beard. We were wasted in 11 seconds. Also, I kept telling everyone who walked in the front door "You missed it. I was naked 10 minutes ago."
Back at Ashley's we were tired, drunk, hungry, and not at all ready to go to bed, so we sent Ashley out to buy us some frozen pizzas while we hung her bras from her ceiling fan and threw an exercise ball at each other up the stairs. Then when Ashley got back we dressed H-town up in heels and made videos of her walking around until we were all slap happy enough to think that me responding to Ashley's question "What time did we put the pizza in?" with "Your mom" was the most hilarious thing we'd ever heard. Which was about the time we realized we should probably go to bed.
Epic Austin weekend was truly Epic, and it is mad ridiculous that it took us 15 years to all get back in the same room at the same time. I can't imagine that it will take us another 15 to do it again. I've already started my campaign for Summer of Chicago 2013. If we get just one more woman to come I can even call it Summer of Chicago Epic Trip: Now With MORE BOOBS!
In conclusion, boobs. And your mom.
I should back up a bit. I have a friend from college named Ashley, who you may remember from this story involving several failed drunk dialing attempts and my keychain winding up in another person's crotchal area. In fact, prior to Epic Austin Trip, that was the last time I'd seen her. Well, back in October or so, I made some sort of offhand comment about coming to see her for her birthday (which is the week after mine) and that also the cake master (who you may remember from when she tried to invite me to go camping) and H-town (who you may remember from every cool thing I have ever done in my life) should come along too. I made this offhand comment on Ashley's Facebook page, where it was seen by Jil with one L (who you will not remember from previous stories because I hadn't seen her in 15 years) (also she has the same birthday as me) who responded with something to the effect of "Is this for serious?" and promptly booked a flight. Well at that point it was ON LIKE DONKEY KONG, so I then set about systematically eliminating every excuse the cake master and H-town could come up with not to go, coordinated the booking of flights and told Ashley it was done and done. "SWEET HOT BUTTERED TITS!" was her actual verbatim response.
I met up with the cake master at Midway airport Friday morning. The fun began immediately when we noticed a girl in a pink cowboy hat with a veil attached to it that nearly reached the floor and "Bride" written in glitter across the front. We hated her immediately, a hatred I accidentally expressed after we'd boarded the plane. She was one of the last people on and was looking around for a seat when a flight attendant yelled "there's seats back here!" just as she was standing next to the empty seat on my right.
"Not this one," I said.
"Oh my god," said the cake master while laughing hysterically.
"Oh, did I say that really loud?"
"YES."
On landing we were greeted by H-town, who had landed just a few minutes before us, and we all went outside to meet Ashley. On the way to her house we discussed the plans for the weekend: we were going "Texas" and planned to use the phrases "I'll tell you what", "That dog can hunt" and "Bless his/her heart" as often as possible. Also, we were going to replace the phrase "that's what she said" with "sounds like my first time" as pioneered by a friend of my cousin Kelly (my whole family is doing it now, it's brilliant. Try it). We got to her house, dumped all of our stuff, and immediately started going through old photos from college that H-town had the forethought to actually bring with her. After a few rounds of "remember that time when", Ashley hunted down her old photos which were mixed in with photos from high school (Ashley and H-town went to high school together also), some Glamour Shots and a dick picture the rest of us weren't meant to see.
Ashley and H-town both do improv comedy. Every Friday night, the Coldtowne Theater in Austin has a show called Cagematch where two improv groups face off against one another in a battle judged by the audience. Ashley had gotten them a slot, and so for the first time ever on the same stage they did a 20 minute set and TORE THE ROOF OFF THE PLACE, which you can see here. It really wasn't even a contest. Afterwards we went for a drink, did some shopping for snacks and cake supplies and then all went to pick up Jil from the airport, where they have a big picture of Texas on the floor which I alternately pretended to shit on and did cartwheels across. I am 34 years old.
Saturday morning, H-town and I woke up first and elected to go jump on/steamroll Ashley and Jil, after which we all got dressed and went on a mission to find a food truck called Biscuits and Groovy which sells, oddly enough, biscuits. An adorable kid with curly hair and a Texas accent took our order and told us "Y'all can go wait in yer car if ya want and I'll bring it on out to ya when it's ready." We dubbed him Biscuit Boy (bless his heart).
The bulk of Saturday was spent hanging around the house baking a somewhat ridiculous amount of cake. This was for the party we were attending at some friends of Ashley's who were all having a joint birthday party. The theme of the weekend was boobs, because Ashley has huge boobs, I had been tapped to strip at the party, the whole thing had kicked off with "SWEET HOT BUTTERED TITS" and mostly because boobs are awesome. So we made a boobs cake along with a sheet cake on which we ended up drawing Ryan Gosling's abs after watching Crazy Stupid Love while we waited for the cakes to cool. Then Ashley wrote the name of every January birthday person she knew over the top of Ryan's abs and we left for the party.
There was some sort of themed drink thingy going on at the party which we all quickly abandoned in favor of beer. We hung about the party until after the cake cutting, when I disappeared to go get dressed so that I could then turn around and get undressed in front of 60 people. Ashley introduced me for the first time as Poppy Coq "who has come all the way from Chicago to take her clothes off to music." Which I then did for my first solo strip tease performance of my life. Afterwards I was told by both Ashley and H-town they had overheard some girl say "My god, that ass!" while I was performing. When I was back in street clothes, I went and found the others who were now sitting in the front room drinking more beer and watching whatever crap movie was playing on the tv in there. As we didn't really know anyone else at the party, we elected to play a new drinking game we invented for the occasion called "Spot the Hipster", in which you drink every time someone comes in the room wearing black rimmed glasses, a plaid shirt, a decorative scarf, or a beard. We were wasted in 11 seconds. Also, I kept telling everyone who walked in the front door "You missed it. I was naked 10 minutes ago."
Back at Ashley's we were tired, drunk, hungry, and not at all ready to go to bed, so we sent Ashley out to buy us some frozen pizzas while we hung her bras from her ceiling fan and threw an exercise ball at each other up the stairs. Then when Ashley got back we dressed H-town up in heels and made videos of her walking around until we were all slap happy enough to think that me responding to Ashley's question "What time did we put the pizza in?" with "Your mom" was the most hilarious thing we'd ever heard. Which was about the time we realized we should probably go to bed.
Epic Austin weekend was truly Epic, and it is mad ridiculous that it took us 15 years to all get back in the same room at the same time. I can't imagine that it will take us another 15 to do it again. I've already started my campaign for Summer of Chicago 2013. If we get just one more woman to come I can even call it Summer of Chicago Epic Trip: Now With MORE BOOBS!
In conclusion, boobs. And your mom.
Friday, January 27, 2012
You'd Think They'd Have Learned To Stop Asking Me Questions By Now
The day before this conversation I had been accused of walking around the office with a shit eating grin on my face after I'd had a very nice chat with a boy.
The CEO: Are we still giddy today?
Me (giggling like a complete jackass): Yes.
The CEO (to BrownsFan): I hate it when she gets new ones.
The CEO: Are we still giddy today?
Me (giggling like a complete jackass): Yes.
The CEO (to BrownsFan): I hate it when she gets new ones.
You Can't Argue With This Logic
Mrs. Sizemore: Wand of truth?
me: yes, the wand never lies
Mrs. Sizemore: Oh?
me: never. it never lies. if you wave the wand the truth will be revealed
Mrs. Sizemore: Have you tested this?
me: wand of truth says "not exactly"
SEE?
IT NEVER LIES
Mrs. Sizemore: Hahaha
me: yes, the wand never lies
Mrs. Sizemore: Oh?
me: never. it never lies. if you wave the wand the truth will be revealed
Mrs. Sizemore: Have you tested this?
me: wand of truth says "not exactly"
SEE?
IT NEVER LIES
Mrs. Sizemore: Hahaha
Having A Social Life Makes It Really Hard To Blog Sometimes
I was told this morning by StereoNinja that I am being a shitty blogger in 2012 so far. Which I know, but see, there's this thing where I'm busy at my job and travelling and other excuses both legit and complete and utter bullshit. One of them is that I went on an epic trip to Austin last weekend. And I really want to tell you all about it, but chronologically it doesn't make sense if I skip over all of December and my birthday. Also, personally it doesn't make sense either. I have never skipped December or my birthday, they are my favorite things. So herein I will attempt to briefly recap the last month and a half so that in the next post I can describe the most epic reunion of my entire life. Cool? Cool.
A Brief Recap of What Amberance Has Been Up To Since Early December, Minus The Parts That Are None of Your Business and You Don't Want to Know About Anyway (Trust Me)
*he is not a real ninja**.
*OR IS HE?
A Brief Recap of What Amberance Has Been Up To Since Early December, Minus The Parts That Are None of Your Business and You Don't Want to Know About Anyway (Trust Me)
- On December 10th, as advertised, I walked onto a stage at Martyr's with 16 other women and took off all my clothes in front of hundreds of strangers and it. was. AWESOME. Despite it being oddly disconcerting to be walking around in a bar all night in a nightie and a robe while everyone else around me was dressed, but whatever. The show on the whole was excellent. The girls graduating were amazingly talented and creative and their acts included a girl who stripped to the Imperial March as Darth Vader and left the mask on the entire time, two girls who did a number together to Bon Jovi's "Dead or Alive" in which one of them was the cowboy and the other one was her horse, and a girl who according to Michelle L'Amour said that she wanted to do a number in which "I do all of the things you always tell us we should never do", and so did a completely disinterested strip tease dressed in a ratty house coat with her hair a complete mess and a cigarette dangling out of her mouth, then finished with taking her bra off to reveal another flesh colored bra underneath to which she had sewn baggy tits that hung down to her knees and when she couldn't get the nipple tassels to twirl she just picked them up in her hand with a shrug and juggled them. It was the most hilarious strip tease I have ever seen.
- The bartender bought me an auto hammer for Christmas and I was filled with joy. I am a tool for tools. And puns.
- The next day I flew to Cleveland for two days because something is seriously wrong with me. I packed a backpack for the trip. My brother had also come to town, for four days, and had brought three huge suitcases and a garment bag, prompting me to ask my dad if it was weird for him that his son is his daughter and his daughter is his son (I did, after all, get an auto hammer for Christmas).
- I saw my brother again the following weekend when he came to town for the annual New Year's Eve party thrown by some friends of ours. My loving brother greeted me with a loud "Fuck you," when I walked in, due to my having worn an amazing tank top with chains and tiny handcuffs for straps that everybody but him loved, including all the women who were pregnant which was ALL OF THEM.
- The following week we had our work holiday party, to which I took the gorilla after giving me his word that he would behave himself. I shouldn't have worried, he was absolutely fine. It was me and my coworkers who were out of control, but it wasn't our fault - someone had brought a Shake Weight to the gift exchange which we were inappropriate about, and then we were under the minimum for the contract we'd signed, so the obvious thing to do was to order lots more booze which led to me teaching everyone how to twirl nipple tassels and shouting "It's PHYSICS" at everyone who tried to object.
- The following Monday I flew to Portland and didn't even try to kill my boss once!
- Which leads us to my Amber's Super Ultra Fantabulous Birthtacular Celebration Extravaganza: Now With MORE KELLY! weekend. This did not start out well. El Nino or whatever the hell the weather is doing had kept things pleasantly warm and dry in Chicago this winter, right up until the night of my birthday when it decided to drop 8 inches of snow on us overnight. This meant that only Charlie and Mrs. Sizemore showed up to my party at Tai's and got to see my Epic Cake which depicted me in not a whole lot of clothing.
This gave me the opportunity, after we had partially eaten it, to yell "WHO IS GOING TO EAT MY CROTCH?" at some innocent strangers for a totally legitimate reason. Earlier in the day, I had taken my pink princess wand to work with me in order to command people to do my bidding, such as wear hats and sing to me, and had ended up using it help my co-worker figure out what NOT to get his wife for her birthday by waving it at him after every suggestion and saying "No, that's stupid." Because of this, I decided to name it the Wand of Truth and then brought it to the bar and had a duel with the bartender and his magic wand because his Schwartz was as big as mine. The next day, Kelly and Mike showed up and we spent the weekend playing Pulse on our respective iPads and eating/drinking our faces off. Kelly ate some caterpillars. Lots more awesome things happened, but that is the thing that stands out - Kelly eating her way through a plate of caterpillars at Sticky Rice.
So hot it is literally on fire.
*he is not a real ninja**.
*OR IS HE?
Wednesday, January 04, 2012
U-S-A! U-S-A!
My Google Chat status read "amberica" this morning. H-Town noticed and changed hers to "God Bless Amberica". And then this happened:
me: lol
i was talking to one of my english friends yesterday who is going to be in the u.s. soon
and he said it would be weird not seeing me because "america = amber"
H-Town: haha
i have to say, if everyone viewed "america = amber", then the world would be a much better place
me: if by better you mean whorier
H-Town: well duh
god bless amberica
whorrre that i lovvvee
stand astride her
and ride her
from the bed, to the floor, to the porch
from her "mountains"
to her "prairie"
to her CENSORED, white with foooooam!
godddd bless amberica, my ho sweeeet hooooooo
godddddd bless amberica
my hoooo, sweeet hooo
flag unfurls
eagle cries
terrorists worldwide surrender
me: oh my god i can't even breathe right now
H-Town: haha
i'm pretty sure francis scott key wrote the original of this right after he wrote the whore-spangled banner
me: lol
i was talking to one of my english friends yesterday who is going to be in the u.s. soon
and he said it would be weird not seeing me because "america = amber"
H-Town: haha
i have to say, if everyone viewed "america = amber", then the world would be a much better place
me: if by better you mean whorier
H-Town: well duh
god bless amberica
whorrre that i lovvvee
stand astride her
and ride her
from the bed, to the floor, to the porch
from her "mountains"
to her "prairie"
to her CENSORED, white with foooooam!
godddd bless amberica, my ho sweeeet hooooooo
godddddd bless amberica
my hoooo, sweeet hooo
flag unfurls
eagle cries
terrorists worldwide surrender
me: oh my god i can't even breathe right now
H-Town: haha
i'm pretty sure francis scott key wrote the original of this right after he wrote the whore-spangled banner
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Next Time I'll Just Ask For A Beer
Most people are amused by my lack of sophistication in regards to wine. Most, but not all. To wit:
StereoNinja*: Do you want some wine?
Me: Sure
StereoNinja: OK, white or red?
Me: Whichever one tastes the most like candy.
StereoNinja: Neither, this is not fucking sangria.
*StereoNinja, like MrBalls, is a blog name that is barely (if at all) related to the person it is meant to indicate, due mainly to the fact that I decided to post something about him at a time when he was unavailable to discuss what he'd like to be called. I googled "bad fake superhero names" and this is what I got. He is not an actual ninja**. Or a stereo.
**OR IS HE?
StereoNinja*: Do you want some wine?
Me: Sure
StereoNinja: OK, white or red?
Me: Whichever one tastes the most like candy.
StereoNinja: Neither, this is not fucking sangria.
*StereoNinja, like MrBalls, is a blog name that is barely (if at all) related to the person it is meant to indicate, due mainly to the fact that I decided to post something about him at a time when he was unavailable to discuss what he'd like to be called. I googled "bad fake superhero names" and this is what I got. He is not an actual ninja**. Or a stereo.
**OR IS HE?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)