Cellulite and Jiggly Thighs

I was dying.

At least, I felt like I was dying.

I huffed and puffed up the tiny hill and reminded myself why I was doing this.

So I don’t scare people on the beach in my swimsuit!

A bead of sweat slipped down my back. Ew. So what if I scared people in my swimsuit? If Borat could traipse around in that green thing he put on, who cares about my cellulite and my jiggly thighs?

I had to keep going. I could do this. It was just a mile. I used to run the mile in high school in 7 minutes. Walking was no big deal. Of course, I was fit in high school. And now…well, I know I’m not fat, but I wouldn’t exactly call myself fit.

“Walking sucks,” I breathed out, slurping down some water from my bottle. A man jogging past gave me an odd look. What? Don’t people talk to themselves while exercising? Or perhaps that’s just me.

I didn’t want to be the fat one during our annual family reunion. All my cousins are skinny. It would be lovely if one of them could be overweight, but no. One of my cousins popped out two kids and you wouldn’t even know it. She doesn’t have an ounce of fat on her. It’s just not fair. Why didn’t I get those genes?

Then again, she probably doesn’t love fast food like I do. I’ve only ever seen her eat fruits and vegetables and tiny portions during meals. And then there I am inhaling the chocolate that I insisted be included and going back for seconds.

I wear tankinis on the beach. No bikinis, because yikes. My stomach is covered in stretch marks and looks like a deflated ball. I’d worry people might think I was diseased if I exposed it. Then I’d be like, “No, not diseased, my minions just stretched me out as much as my skin could go.” Especially Natalie, which isn’t surprising considering her temperament.

“Keep walking,” I mumbled. “Just keep walking.” My face was burning. I was sure it was bright red. It didn’t help that it was nearly 100 degrees.

I kept moving and when I made it back to my house, I sprawled out on the living room floor. The blast of air conditioning felt superb. I didn’t want to move but I had to get up and finish packing for the Texas trip. I’ll be there until the 14th so I had to ensure I had proper clothing.

Only…I had to get myself off the floor.

“Walking bad,” I said into the carpet. I need to hire a personal trainer who will scream at me to get off my ass. I’d probably cry, but at least I’d be working out.

Is Jillian Michaels for rent?

Guest Post: 5 Things We're Doing When We're Not Writing

I love reading Chick Lit.

Half my books are probably that genre.

So I was excited with Lisa from BookSparksPR contacted me about a book she and her friend Liz wrote.



You might have heard about Lisa and Liz. They run a site called Chick Lit Is Not Dead and I love it, because it’s so true. If you want to read about the latest chick lit book, check out the site. They also do giveaways on books, which excites me because free books=an ecstatic Amber.



Liz and Lisa wrote a book called The D Word. It sounds hilarious. (Curious on what it's about? Check out Amazon.com)

Clearly they do a lot of writing so they wrote a guest post on things they do when they AREN'T writing. So without further ado....here are 5 Things Liz and Lisa do when they aren't writing:


5 Things We’re Doing When We’re Not Writing

We spend a lot of time writing. The posts for our website, CHICK LIT IS NOT DEAD. Our two books: I’LL HAVE WHO SHE’S HAVING & THE D WORD. And emails. We write a lot of emails. And we love to write- everything from a story to a clever Facebook status (although Lisa’s been pretty rusty in that department lately). But that’s not all we do. Or all we’d want to do. Or all our husbands would let us do. So here’s what we’re doing when we’re not writing (in no particular order).

1.Exercising (Lisa) or Avoiding Exercising (Liz)

In an attempt to keep her sanity (and lose her spare tire) since having the baby, Lisa squeezes in workouts whenever she can- even at **gulp* 5 a.m. She looks like a hot mess when she staggers into the gym bleary-eyed but she tells herself it’ll be worth it when she can move from tankini to bikini. Liz, on the other hand, is quite adept at avoiding workouts. In fact, if it was an Olympic sport, she might even medal in it. Her hatred for working out started back in college when she fell flat on her face while trying to keep up in a step aerobics class and then reared its ugly head again recently when she tried, and failed miserably at, P90X. That's when she decided that it was much cheaper and easier just to give up cheese.

2.Watching Reality TV

Without shows like The Bachelorette and Big Brother, we’re not sure what we’d do to feel numb to the stresses of life. Thankfully there’s enough horrible TV out there to give our brains the vacation they need from real life so we don't have to turn to booze. Although, don’t get us wrong, we definitely enjoy our cocktails!

3.Planning Our Next Trip To Vegas

Okay so maybe we were just in Sin City for Liz’s vow renewal (woo hoo ten years!) and maybe we even have a rule that we only go to Vegas ONE TIME a year (hell, rules are made to be broken right?) but we might just be planning another trip to Vegas for September… and then another one in November. We like to use the excuse that we want to see each other since Lisa moved to Chicago two years ago. But really, we love to get dressed up, play some blackjack and maybe have a little escape from the kids. Speaking of…

4.Being Slaves to Our Babes

Lisa’s baby is almost six months old and Liz’s kids are six and four. So it’s safe to say they keep us pretty damn busy! From Girl Scouts (why oh why did Liz volunteer to be a troop leader again?) to Mommy and Me swim class (Um, why did Lisa sign up for a 9:00 a.m. session?) we’ve got our hands full. And if that's not enough-we decided to take the entire brood to Hawaii later this summer. It will be so much fun once we can get through the plane ride, right??!!

5. Stressing That We’re Not Writing

Sure, THE D WORD was just released. And yes, we should probably be kicking back and relaxing and basking in the glow of completing another book. But that’s not our style. We’re already in the planning stages for our next book that we both believe we should’ve started writing yesterday. So if you come looking for us in the next few months, you’ll probably find us holed up in a hotel room somewhere between Los Angeles and Chicago banging out another manuscript!

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And great news. Liz and Lisa have offered a free e-copy of their book to a lucky winner.

To enter, just leave a comment on what your favorite book is.

For bonus entries:

Like chicklitisnotdead on Facebook

Follow Liz and Lisa on Twitter

Leave a separate comment with each entry.

Good luck! I will announce the winner when I return from Texas on July 14th.

It's Very Quiet

It’s quiet.

Almost too quiet.

Even the cat is spooked.

My kids are with my parents in Texas. Mom took them back with her so I could finish unpacking in peace. It’s much easier to unpack without kids wanting to “help.” I know all the parenting magazines suggest giving your child a job so they are included, but no. When I’m trying to get something done, I need my space.

Anyway, before they left, the kids would try to “help.” They’d pull the paper out of the box and throw it around. Then one would try to climb in the box, smashing the contents inside. I’d have to bite my tongue to keep myself from telling them to piss off. I’d try to put things away and they’d want to touch whatever I brought out and act as though they hadn’t seen that particular piece in years. I pulled out a lamp and both kids leaped on it as though it were candy.

So I appreciated the fact that Mom offered to take them back with her. I’ll be flying to Texas tomorrow and then we’ll have our annual mini family reunion on the beach.

But as I said, the quiet is strange. It’s odd to be able to sit on the couch and read a chapter without sticky hands coming at you.

It is nice to get errands done and not have a little person whining that they are booorreed and could we please go home?

The good news is, I’m basically done unpacking. The only thing that is left is the garage and I’ll leave that to Tom. He can organize it how he likes.

I do miss the kids though. Sometimes I’ll peer into their rooms and feel a pang in my heart. It was nice to get a break though.

Oh, and I’m flying to Texas so I get to endure an airplane. Since I’m flying without kids, I’ll try to read to distract myself that we might go crashing to the ground at any second. Or I’ll play Lost. But sometimes when I’m playing Lost my eyes will rest on a passenger and I’ll think, “He (or she) looks just like the type of person who would blow up a plane…” Yes, I think awful things like that. I can’t help myself.

For now, I’m going to go clean the bathrooms.

Without “help.”

And then I’m going to read.

Without my book being taken from me and hidden.

Hey, It's Okay Tuesday!

I got this idea from Glamour magazine. They have a section called Hey, It’s Okay and will list a bunch of things to be okay about. You're welcome to join in and do something like this on your diary. Doesn't have to be on a Tuesday either.

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To not care that George Clooney is single again. He’s not my type.


To hope I don’t move for many, many years. I do not like the packing and unpacking at all.


To be disturbed by My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding. (And to wonder how they afford those lavish wedding dresses.)


To be craving the fried rice from Benehana.


To wish that Blogger would stop messing up. I can’t leave comments on some blogs. It’ll just log me out even though I’m logged in. So then I re-log in but it still logs me out. I swear I’m not ignoring you, it’s Blogger. Plus, I can’t see my Followers. Hmph.


To be proud that I hooked up the printer all on my own. I’m awful at doing stuff like that. I half expected it to blow up on the desk when I plugged it all in.


To hate having to change my address on so many magazines. I probably read too much.


To love the place called Braum’s around here. It’s basically a burger/ice cream joint and it’s amazing.


To think Casey Anthony is guilty and should spend the rest of her life in jail.


To be a fan of the new McDonalds sauces. The buffalo one is really good. Now I want some nuggets.

Back to Korea

Tom left.

No, not because of our furniture shopping experience. Not because I wouldn’t let him get the leather headboard or the couches with cup holders in them.

He had to go back to Korea.

He left on the 20th and yes, it sucked.

I had just gotten used to him again. Actually, when he came back, it was as if he never left. The only thing I had to get used to was sharing my bed because I like to spread out. There were times where I’d stick my feet out in habit and Tom would be like, “There’s a person here now!”

I wish he didn’t have to go back. But alas, the Air Force insisted. He comes home in August for good. But then we found out that at this base he’ll deploy a lot. The good news is, he’s untouchable for 6 months so at least I’ll know he’ll be around for Christmas.

And then…well, then he could possibly go to Iraq. They deploy there a lot, unless all the troops are suddenly pulled out. I really don’t see that happening though.

But I won’t think about that now.

We had to wake up at 430 in the morning so we could leave for the airport at 5. Waking up butt early is difficult for me. The alarm went off and my first instinct was to throw it against the wall. Hard. Then my brain computed why I was up so early: Tom. Leaving. Again.

“I’m going to miss you,” I said groggily as I snuggled up to Tom.

He tilted his head town for a kiss. Ew, morning breath. Maybe I’m overly sensitive to smells because Tom never minds morning breath. He’s forever trying to get me to make out with him in the morning and I’m like, “Tom, really, I’m trying not to gag here.”

Still, since he was leaving, I allowed him to kiss me and just held my breath.

Then we got ready and got the kids out of bed. Natalie was like, “But it’s still night time.” I reminded her that Tom was leaving and mumbled, “Oh man.”

When we lived in Wyoming, we had to drive an hour and a half to the Denver airport. In Oklahoma, the airport is only a half hour away. Twenty minutes, if Tom is driving. It seemed like we were at the airport too soon and then suddenly we were at the curb and had to say goodbye to Tom. (We didn’t park since he was going to just check in and wait at the gate. He doesn’t like to wait around airports.)

“Goodbye, my Daddy,” Natalie said, waving.

Tommy was more formal. “Bye, Dad.”

I was like, “Don’t leave me! Please!” and gripped onto his leg.

I’m kidding.

I told him I’d miss him and that I loved him and to have a safe flight.

“If you get bored on your flight back to Korea, play Lost,” I suggested.

Tom wrinkled his nose. “No, thanks.”

“I’ll see you in August then,” I sighed. A gust of wind blew and a strand of hair went into my mouth. It’s really windy in Oklahoma just as it was in Wyoming. Apparently we can’t escape from the wind.

We hugged and kissed and I started to walk away but then he pulled me back to his chest. I breathed in his familiar scent: Old Spice mixed with a woodsy smell and blinked the tears back.

“Bye,” I said, pulling away.

“Bye,” Tom replied, hoisting his backpack up.

And then he was gone. Again.

Luckily my Mom had come out the day before to help with the moving in. Otherwise I’d have lost my mind. She also drove us back to the house. Another good thing, as I don’t like driving around unfamiliar roads. Especially in the dark.

The first half of our stuff arrived the 17th so Mom and I could finish unpacking that.

The other half of our stuff....well, who knew when that would arrive. We kept getting the run around from the moving company.

We pulled away from the airport and the last glimpse of Tom I got was him checking into the Frontier counter.

“I’ll see him in August,” I reminded myself, to stop the pain in my heart.

And luckily I’d be distracted from the annoying task of unpacking....

Chocolate Colored Couch

“I really like this one,” Tom said, gesturing to the headboard. With glass in it. Meaning, it was like a mirror. In the headboard.

I burst out laughing.

Both the salesman and Tom stared at me as though I suddenly belted out Bette Midler tunes.

“You’re kidding, right?” I said, because neither man smiled.

“I wasn’t kidding,” Tom said slowly. “I like this.”

Uh.

Okay.

This is why going furniture shopping with someone else can be difficult. It’s especially difficult if that someone else has a penis. I wish Tom were like some of those husbands who hand over the credit card and say something like, “I know you’ll pick out something great.”

But no. Tom wanted to come and pick out our new bedroom furniture and couches. Which I totally understand but a headboard? With glass?

“Or there’s this one,” Tom said, walking ahead of me. He patted a leather headboard lovingly. He frowned in my direction. “What?”

“What?”

“You look disgusted.”

Oops. I thought I had masked my disgust. It’s just, since Tom had been in Korea for nine months I really didn’t want to argue. We were still in the honeymoon phase of our reunion. I didn’t want an ugly headboard to ruin that.

“It’s….it’s….lovely,” I forced myself to say. “It’s just not for me.”

Where were the nice headboards made of wood the color of honey? I glanced around the room. Ahh, there they were.

My eyes drifted over to a beautiful one and I thought, “Yes, that’s it. I could totally picture that for my bed and…holy shit, 2000 dollars? For a headboard?” For the millionth time in my life I wished I were rich.
Tom followed my gaze. “Do you like it?” he asked, walking over. “I could deal with this.” He didn’t even check the price. The thing with Tom is, he’d buy me whatever I wanted. He’s just that guy. The problem is, I’m too practical. Oh, and I like to eat and we definitely wouldn’t be able to eat for like two weeks had we purchased the bed. Or paid for our cable and I’m sorry, I need to know what is going on with those crazy housewives in New Jersey.

“It’s too expensive,” I explained. “But that one isn’t bad.” I nodded my chin to a darker set with a happier price tag.

It was Tom’s turn to look disgusted.

“What? What’s wrong with it?” I wanted to know. It was a lovely dark shade with matching dressers and everything.

“It’s not my taste,” Tom admitted.

How could the lovely dark shade of wood NOT BE HIS TASTE?

“Are we almost done?” Tommy sighed beside us. He and Natalie had been trailing at our heels for an hour. At first Natalie thought it was a fun game to climb up on all the beds. But after the fifth one she was like, “Um, okay? Are we done yet?”

“We’re almost done,” I lied.

“You know,” the salesman spoke up and I jumped. I nearly forgot he was there. I shouldn’t have been surprised to see him though, he hadn’t left our side the second we walked through the door. He smelled a commission and was going to get it, damn it. Which meant he was suddenly our new best friend. “I have a discounted set near the front. A fabulous price.”

Tom and I shrugged. “Okay.” What did we have to lose? Clearly we weren’t getting anywhere.

So we followed the guy to the set and…

…really, it wasn’t bad. It was a cherry wood and the price was right.

So we took it.

Then we had to find a couch and that took forever.

Tom wanted to get a couch with drink holders in the middle of it. I didn’t like the look. Naturally, Tom loved it.

“Can you picture us sitting here with drinks?” Tom asked, plopping down. It was a recliner couch so he pulled the switch down so he could prop his feet up.

“I can picture one of the kids knocking the drink out of the holder and staining it, yes,” I replied.

Tom rolled his eyes. “They wouldn’t. It’s why it’s called a drink HOLDER.”

Clearly, he doesn’t fully comprehend the power of children.

“I don’t really want cup holders in the couch,” I admitted.

“But look. It also has a storage bin. You can put your books here.” Tom flipped it open.

“Ew. No. Not on a couch.” I couldn’t max my distaste any longer. If I didn’t speak up then we’d be going home with a couch that came with drink holders and storage.

“But…” Tom began to pet the arm of the couch.

“How about we keep looking?” I suggested.

“Geez!” Tommy yelled. “You said you were almost done!”

I wished he were an infant so I could stick a pacifier in his mouth to silence him. Not that pacifiers ever worked for my kids. They’d just spit them out and wail even louder.

We looked at many couches. They started to blur together. None stood out to me.

“We might have to look into leather,” Tom suggested after we circled the store for the third time. And yes, Jeeves was behind us. Jeeves is what I dubbed the salesman.

“We have many leather couches,” Jeeves spoke up. He probably wanted to smother us with a couch pillow since we were taking so long.

“I don’t like leather couches. You can never get comfortable on one and when it’s hot, it makes farting noises,” I said bluntly.

Jeeves winced as though he had never heard the word fart before.

“We’ll find something,” I assured Tom.

And we did. We eventually stumbled on a chocolate colored couch that was fluffy and comfortable to sit on.

“Oh, this is a fitting. A chocolate colored couch for a chocoholic,” Tom said, settling down on it. He wiggled his butt on the cushion. “I could deal with this. I mean, I like my drink cup holders but since you’re being mean to me, I’ll take this one.”

“Let me make sure it’s in stock,” Jeeves said hopefully. He was probably thinking, “They’re almost gone…just suck it up for a few more minutes, Jeeves, and they’ll be out of here.”

They did have it in stock.

We paid a substantial sum—I felt like we should own Jeeves for a day for what we paid—and then we had to go on our way and leave our lovely chocolate colored couch behind because we had to wait for them to deliver it.

I’ll get pictures posted. The other half of our household goods are finally coming today so when everything is set up, I’ll take photos.

I do love my chocolate colored couch.

And my wooden headboards—non-leather, thank God.

Ouch! My Neck!

I couldn’t get comfortable.

I tried to lean my pillow against the window and rest my head on it. Within two seconds my neck started to tense up.

I tried to set my pillow on my lap and lean down.

My neck didn’t like that either.

It didn’t help that Tom had his music on. Tom doesn’t listen to music I like. He listens to music where the artist crones about bitches and hoes. I couldn’t ask him to turn it off though. He was doing all the driving from Wyoming to Oklahoma.

“What’s wrong?” Tom asked, noticing me sit up. I was massaging my neck and scowling at the pillow.

“I’m too old to sleep during road trips,” I answered. When I was younger I could curl into a ball and sleep like that. Now if I tried to curl into a ball my knees would cramp.

It was midnight and we had just driven away from our base in Wyoming for the last time. We were on our way to our new base in Oklahoma, about a nine hour drive. Tom prefers to travel at night so the kids are asleep. And they were. Fast asleep, I mean. I wished I could get some sleep.

“And I like them bitches and hoes,” Tom’s music blared.

“Your music sucks,” I mumbled as I attempted to get comfortable. Why couldn’t we be rich and travel in a comfortable tour bus?

“My music doesn’t suck. Yours does,” Tom retorted.

“Mine has real lyrics. Happy lyrics,” I argued. I mean, really. Why must men constantly rap about women being hoes? It’s been done. Move on. I fluffed my pillow a few times and leaned it against the window again. This would just have to do.

I managed to sleep on and off. Each time I’d wake up my neck would be killing me. And a few times I dreamed about bitches and hoes.

I’m kidding.

We made it to Oklahoma in the morning. The first thing we did was drive to the housing office to see if we could get our house that day instead of waiting tomorrow. When Tom ran inside to get all the paperwork, I waited in the car with the kids and the cat, who was beginning to meow pathetically. It sounded like we had a sick child in the car from the way he was carrying on.

I decided to stretch my legs so I opened the car door and…

…holy crap, extreme heat. See, I had left Wyoming where the high had been in the sixties. Suddenly it was ninety degrees.

Needless to say I got right back into the air conditioned car.

“Meowwwww….meowww…” Max the cat whined.

“Hold on, Max,” I said.

“Meowwwwwww….MEOWWWWW…”

“Mommy, he sounds sad,” Tommy said, sticking his face up to Max’s cage.

“MEOWWWW!”

“Maybe he has to poop?” Natalie suggested. She’s been really into poop these days. It’s all she wants to talk about. Like she calls me a Poop Face. Or she’ll say, “Hi, I’m Natalie and I poop. Do you?”

Crap though. Maybe Max DID have to poop. Hopefully we could get into the house…

Tom appeared a little while later and good news! We could get in the house early. We followed a worker from housing to our new home and she let us in.

I was impressed. Everything is brand new. And we even have a fridge that has water and an ice maker on the front.

Pictures will follow when it’s furnished. I’ve posted some on my Twitter account.

The new house though?

Is wonderful. It’s the nicest base housing we lived at and this is probably because these are privatized. That means it’s run by a non-military company but it’s still base housing. They even mow the front yard for you. Win!

After we were handed over the keys to our new home, Tom and I danced in the kitchen.

“Look at this fridge with the ice maker on the front!” I yelled.

“Look at this garage where I can put all my tools!” Tom yelled.

“Look at Max squatting on the floor!” Natalie yelled.

Crap! We scrambled to get his cat box set up and placed him in it. There would be no messing up our new floors.

“Now we just need to go furniture shopping,” Tom said.

True. We needed a couch and a bedroom set.

That adventure will be in tomorrow’s post. Furniture shopping with a husband who has different taste than my own=blog fodder.

Onto Oklahoma

“What if they fail us? Then what?” I asked Tom as we stood in our empty house in Wyoming.

“They won’t,” Tom answered.

I started to nibble on my fingernail. There is no way I’d ever bother with a manicure. It would be destroyed in less than an hour. “But if they fail us—”

“They WON’T.”

Tom was probably right. We paid for a cleaner, after all. See, when you live in base housing, you have to clean the house before you can move. Some people do it themselves. Other people hire cleaners. Like us.

“They’re here,” Tom said, staring out the window.

Sure enough the housing vehicle pulled up and parked in the driveway. I chewed my lower lip. This was it. The moment of truth.

It was a woman and a man. The woman looked friendly. For some reason I had pictured an old woman who would swipe her fingers against the counters searching for dust. This woman was young and I watched as she started opening and closing kitchen cabinets. She didn’t say much, she just walked around and checked things off her list.

“I’m nervous,” I whispered to Tom.

“It’s fine,” he assured me.

The woman went into the garage. We followed behind her like lap dogs. She opened the back door and opened the trash can.

“Did you wash this?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

Oh no.

I knew Tom had washed it a few days before but who knows if the antelope messed with it?

“I did,” Tom confirmed.

“There’s a residue that needs to come off,” the woman said.

So we had to wheel the trash into the house and wash it off in the kitchen since our hose was packed.

That was fun.

The plus? That was the only problem she found. As soon as she checked that we cleaned the trash can, she signed us off.

“You’re free to go,” she said.

It’s a strange feeling handing over the keys to your home that you lived at for nearly five years. I felt my heart squeeze.

“What’s wrong? You do know we passed,” Tom said, easily handing his key over.

I tugged the key loose from my keychain. “I know. But this is the house where we brought our daughter home from the hospital. I still remember walking through the front door and setting her over there.”

I expected Tom to be moved. Instead he was like, “Could you hand her the key so we can go?”

I passed the key over to the woman. “I’ll miss this house.”

She didn’t seem moved either.

She just pocketed the key and handed us over the paperwork that showed we were cleared from the house.

It was no longer our house.

It belonged to the military again.

We headed for the front door. Before I walked out and turned and stared at the empty walls, at the indentations where our couch used to sit, of the spot where Natalie started to walk....

“Amber. Are you coming?” Tom was sitting in the car.

There was the spot where Natalie smiled for the first time. Where Tommy wrote his first sentence. The kitchen where Tom swung me around and said he’d love me forever..

“Amber?”

“I’m coming.” I blinked and closed the door for the last time.

Tom noticed I was down when I got in my seat. “It’ll be okay,” he said. “It’s time for a new house. In Oklahoma.”

I nodded. “I know. It’s just…this home has so many memories.”

Tom backed the car out and I watched the house. There was the front yard where Tommy learned how to ride a two wheeler bike...

“But I guess it’s time to make new memories. In Oklahoma. So goodbye Wyoming house. You were good to us,” I continued.

Tom frowned. “I recall a lot of things breaking down in this house.”

There was the issue with the sink. And the toilets that seemed to always run water. And the carbon monoxide alarms would always go off and I’d think we were going to die in our sleep....

Still. I’ll remember the good, not the bad.

“Onto Oklahoma,” I said to Tom with a smile.

He smiled back. “Onto Oklahoma.”

Hey, It's Okay Tuesday!

I got this idea from Glamour magazine. They have a section called Hey, It’s Okay and will list a bunch of things to be okay about. You're welcome to join in and do something like this on your diary. Doesn't have to be on a Tuesday either.

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To prefer the extreme heat in Oklahoma to the chilliness in Wyoming.


To love the Godiva milkshake. It’s six bucks but it’s worth it.


To hate when people get gas and leave their vehicle by the gas pumps to run inside the convenience store. PARK please, so people behind you don’t have to wait forever. Unless you have to pay inside I guess….


To not be surprised that Hugh Hefner isn’t getting married again. Apparently his fiancé didn’t like that there were always women around. Half naked ones.


To love Steak N Shake. I had never eaten there before I came to Oklahoma and I’m now obsessed with their Diet Cherry Coke (note: happy hour is 2-4…half price drinks and shakes..)


To have been depressed over the ending of Jodi Picount’s Handle with Care novel.


To be wary of the guy on that Haunted Collector show who takes items that he claims are causing hauntings in people’s homes. I’d be like, “Fu*k no you aren’t taking my stuff.” Unless, you know, my children’s heads started to spin like Linda Blair’s.


To hope that the rest of my stuff gets here soon. I sort of need my vacuum.


To have not made the best impression on my new neighbor. I sort of screamed when his dog charged over to me. But in my defense, I didn’t expect to see a dog out at 10 at night. The guy is probably like, “The eff is wrong with her?”


To really need to start exercising since I’ll be going to the beach in 2 weeks. It’s just, I love food…and not healthy food like kale and cereal that looks like bark. Real food.

Dear Wyoming

Dear Wyoming,

Look, I know I called you some bad names. I know I probably complained about your crazy winds and the fact that your wildlife liked to eat my grass. But really, you weren’t a bad state at all. Your roads were easy to drive on, you had most of my favorite stores (Old Navy never arrived but you are forgiven since Kohls was built a year after I got there.)

I didn’t mind your snow when it didn’t get out of control. I did not like it when we were snowed into the house. That was a little extreme, as though you were like, “Haha, look what I can do!”

I’ll even miss Glen, the antelope who loved to eat the tree I attempted to keep alive in my yard (it didn’t work. Glen ate it.) I won’t, however, miss Glen’s offerings (re: poop) that he loved to leave all over the driveway.

You’ve been good to me for the four years we were there and I thank you. Perhaps one day we’ll return for a visit.

Take care of yourself. A suggestion though: you might want to start getting warm in May. It’s not nice to tease your residents and be 70 one day and then 40 the next. By May, that nonsense should be over. I hear that even now you’ve been rather chilly. Please get some lessons from California, Wyoming. She’ll teach you all about weather.

I will miss you. My daughter was born in your state so I’ll always have that even though your nurses promised me a Popsicle while I was in labor and never brought me one. That was mean.

Goodbye for now.

Love,
Amber

I Have Returned. Again.

I'm back.

I have Internet service again.

It came at a perfect time. I felt like I was going to have to walk around with my pink laptop begging for WiFi. The TLF (temporary living facility or basically a hotel room for you non-military folks) had no WiFi either place.

Now we're in a house in Oklahoma unpacking. I hate unpacking. And figuring out how I want my house designed. Now I know why people hire interior designers. Only I can't afford an interior designer so I'm just winging it and hoping my home doesn't look like a Hoarder home.

It's my birthday today. I share it with Father's Day so this means I can't say something like, "But it's my birthday. I insist." Because then Tom can be like, "It's Father's Day. I also insist."

Tom leaves tomorrow for Korea. At least he'll be back for good in August. Still, I'm a little wary being in a new place. I'm awful with directions so I hope I don't end up in the middle of Oklahoma. I do have a GPS but there have been times where its led me to an apartment complex and not the destination I wanted.

Anyway.

I just wanted to pop in and say hello. I've missed the Blog World. I've had all sorts of things I wanted to write. Eventually I'll post pictures of the new house. Granted, we only have half of stuff here. The other half sits in a warehouse in Wyoming.

I'll write about that sometime next week.

For now I better head off. We're checking out the nearby mall and eating at The Cheesecake Factory.

Have I mentioned their White Chili is amazing? If you ever go, get their White Chili.

And cheesecake, of course.

In Historical Buildings

This might be my last post for a few days.

We've moved into TLF (temporary lodging facility for you non-military people) and there is no WiFi in there. It's because the buildings are historical or some nonsense. Look, I think the spirits of the 1800s would appreciate being able to go online.

Anyway. Most of our house is packed up. Today they finish packing and then tomorrow everything is loaded onto the truck.

And then it's time to clean the house, because in base housing, you can't just be like, "We're all packed up so we're leaving now. Peace." You have to clean it to their standards. Someone from housing will walk through the house, ensuring that everything is clean.

(Which, okay, I don't totally get because they hire cleaners to come into the house after we leave anyway.)

Lucky for us, we hired a cleaner.

Though we've still be cleaning.

I was scrubbing the floors yesterday and Tom was like, "Um. Aren't we hiring someone to do that?"

"Yes but, I don't want her to know what SLOBS we are!" I shrieked, scrubbing at a stubborn dark stain.

If all goes well, we'll check out of housing on the 14th and be on the road to Oklahoma on the 15th.

Maybe Oklahoma's TLF has WiFi.

Unless their buildings are all historical too.

The Five Stages of Moving

Moving can be difficult.

You have to organize, pack, stare intently at the movers so they don’t try to steal your stuff....

Or mouth something like, “I have a blog. I also took a photo of you on my phone so if you try anything, I know who you are.”

I probably won’t do that when the movers come today.

But you know how there are 5 Stages of Grief? I also believe there are 5 Stages of Moving.


Denial: “It’s not going to happen. The military is going to say no.”

Anger: “Okay, so we really are moving. The movers better not steal my stuff. If they steal my stuff, I’m going to have a fit and throw the change from my purse at their heads.”

Bargaining: “Okay, if they have to steal something, let them steal Tom’s hideous jackets that he insists he’ll wear again someday.”

Depression: “What if when we get to Oklahoma, things are broken? And stolen. What if they steal our DVDs? They better not steal my seasons of Lost. If they steal my seasons of Lost, I'll cry.”

Acceptance: “Everything will be okay. The movers will be nice, friendly men who would never dream if taking something that doesn’t belong to them.”

Hey, It's Okay Tuesday!

I got this idea from Glamour magazine. They have a section called Hey, It’s Okay and will list a bunch of things to be okay about. You're welcome to join in and do something like this on your diary. Doesn't have to be on a Tuesday either.

----------------------


To have cheered when Patrick Jane finally killed Red John in the season finale of The Mentalist. (Sorry if I spoiled it but it’s been out for nearly 3 weeks at this point…)


To be excited for Big Brother to come back. Yes, I know it’s a terrible show but I can’t help myself. At least I don’t watch The Bachelorette.


To have not cared about the MTV Movie Awards nor the fact that the Breaking Dawn preview was shown. Yawn.


To be glad I’m not anal about my nails breaking—they look horrible thanks to all the packing and taping I’ve been doing for the move.


To be disturbed over what goes on in Toddlers and Tiaras. I mean, okay, sometimes I do watch but it’s like a train wreck…with lots of makeup and fake eyelashes.


To know I will bitch about how hot it is in Oklahoma when we get there.


To have wanted to cheer when I found out there was a Target and a Kohls by our new house in Oklahoma.


To desperately want The Melting Pot since they gave me a coupon for a free chocolate fondue for my upcoming birthday. (Yes. There is one of those near my house in Oklahoma as well....)


To wonder why Paris Hilton has another reality show. Remember on her first one how she was like, “What’s Wal-Mart? Are there just walls there?” What’s next? Her asking, “What’s Target? Are there a bunch of targets there?”


To REALLY hate packing. I know we have movers coming but we've been packing the things that mean the most to us ourselves.

Here Come The Movers

As most people are aware, we’re moving.

To Oklahoma.

Have I mentioned the movers are coming the 8th?

As in this Wednesday?

No?

Well, they are.

Coming THIS WEDNESDAY.

It all started when a woman from the moving company came to our house to record all the stuff we had.

I’ve mentioned before that I’m a bit of a pack rat, right?

She walked through our house writing our items on her notebook. I think her eyes bugged out of head a little bit when she saw the garage. Full of plastic bins. Of clothes. And, you know, high school stuff.

“I think it’s going to take two days to move you guys out,” she admitted before she left.

Two days?

The phone rang a couple hours later. It was the moving company informing us that it would take THREE days to move us. They went over the list of items we had and it seemed like a lot.

“So we’ll be coming out the 8th, 9th, and the 10th.”

I dropped the phone and screamed after I heard that.

Well.

Not really.

I wanted to though. See, I had been planning for them to come out on the 10th and only the 10th.

We’ve been running around trying to get everything ready for the movers.

I might not be on the blog as much but I will update on Twitter at WhisperAmber. You can read all about when I hyperventilate.

I also have this fear that the movers will steal our stuff. I hear horror stories about movers doing that.

If they do, mark my words, I will write a blog entry ranting about the moving company.

Please let the move go smoothly. Please let the movers not steal our stuff.

Please let me not lose my mind.

New York City Part 3

My side hurt.

How could people run for fun? There was nothing fun about this feeling.

I ran at top speed down Fifth Avenue and could feel sweat beads forming on my forehead. Any second now one was going to drop on—ew. There it went. Right on my nose.

I could see my prize getting smaller and smaller in the distance. If I could move a little faster I could catch it. Wait! It stopped! Thank goodness for New York traffic. I waved my arms wildly and almost hit a man walking past. I think he might have called me a twat but I couldn’t be certain. New Yorkers can be rather cranky.

How did this happen?

Well.

I suppose it’s best to back up a little bit.

The day started off enjoyable. Jennifer and I met up with another blog friend. She met us at Grand Central Station and treated us to breakfast. I felt relaxed. And full of the delicious French Toast that I ordered.

After breakfast it was time to ride the Subway to Battery Park in order to catch the ferry to see the Statue of Liberty.

Yes. The Subway.



Tom had warned me to avoid it. And I imagine my mother wished I would avoid it as the one time she visited New York, a man was masturbating behind her as she rode it.

We heard it was easy enough though. And it was. Nothing crazy happened. A guy didn’t come on while waving a gun in the air like what happened on an episode of Blue Bloods. No, it was calm. Relaxing even. I felt like a real New Yorker. I knew exactly what I was doing. Lalala.

At Battery Park we saw a gigantic line stretched out. My heart dropped. It was hot, a balmy 80 degrees and I already felt like I was melting. The line looked as though it went on forever. Nervously, I asked a worker if we had to wait in the line (please no, please no, please no) and he said we didn’t since we bought our tickets online.

So here’s a helpful tip if you are going to New York City: buy your Statue of Liberty tickets ONLINE to avoid the never ending lines.

Jennifer and I only had to wait in a small line. Granted, then we had to wait again for our ferry to come but that was okay.

The ferry ride took about 20 minutes and then we saw her.

The Statue of Liberty in all her green glory:









We went through the museum and then walked around. We couldn’t go on top. All those tickets were sold out. So another tip: if you want to go on top, buy tickets early.

Here’s when things got dicey.

We got in line to catch the 120 ferry back to Battery Park. This is because at 3, we had a Sex and the City tour.

The problem is, we didn’t get on the 120 ferry because it was full even though we got in line in plenty of time. Never underestimate groups of Indian people I suppose.

Anyway.

We missed that ferry and had to wait for the 150 one.

This meant that we were running late.

We didn’t get back to Battery Park until 230. Not good.

We decided to get a taxi since we weren’t sure the Subway route back. I waved my hands wildly in the air and at one point Jennifer was like, “What are you doing?” I thought I was hailing a taxi but instead it looked as though I had ants in my pants. Forgive me. I’m new to the city.

We eventually found a taxi. I behaved like a true New Yorker and barged in front of a group of men who tried to barge in front of ME for the taxi I saw pulling up.

“Ours!” I snapped and Jennifer and I got in. We gave the taxi driver the address and hoped for the best.

Problem is, Battery Park was like 20 minutes away from where we had to be.

When it got to 255, we were 5 minutes away. Jennifer called the company to let them know we were coming.

As the taxi pulled to our stop, we saw the tour bus in front of us. Yes! We had made it! We had—

Then the bus started to pull away.

“Shit!” I screamed, tumbling from the cab. I waved my arms manically in the air. “STOP!”

A few people gaped at me. Most didn’t pay attention. New Yorkers are used to the crazies, you see. I think a Japanese tourist took a photo of me. So if you have a Japanese friend and see a picture of an American girl waving her arms like she’s on fire, that’s me.

Jennifer and I began running down the street. And as I said in the beginning, this was not easy.

“I....wish...I...were...in...better...shape,” I gasped as I ran.

My side was screaming for me to stop. But I couldn’t stop. I paid $40 for the Sex and the City tour and I was going to get on that bus, dammit.

Only...

...the bus kept moving and my legs didn’t.

They basically died on me. They died on Jennifer, too. She eventually said, “I can’t run anymore.”

“Me either.” More sweat beads dropped off of me. Gross.

Thankfully the tour lady we had called gave us the address of the first stop of the tour. The Pleasure Chest. Where Charlotte bought her rabbit.

So we got another cab and gave the address. The driver seemed confused.

“Where is that?”

I guess tourists don’t ask to go to The Pleasure Chest often. What, don’t tourists have needs?

He had to look at Jennifer’s phone for a few seconds before he nodded and said he knew where it was.

Only he really didn’t, because he dropped us off on a street in Chelsea and drove off.

“Er…I think we’re 5 blocks away,” Jennifer said, staring at her phone.

More running?

Ugh.

It’s a good thing I’m done having children. With all the running I did, I’m sure I gave my uterus a terrible jostle to the point where nothing would want to ever grow in it again.

“I see the bus,” I said, after we had jogged for a few minutes. I shielded my eyes with my hand to make sure it wasn’t a mirage. Could it be? Was it really the bus? Did we make it after all?

“It is the bus!” Jennifer confirmed.

Then we noticed The Pleasure Chest and knew we had made it. Success! All the running paid off. I mean, sure, my feet probably had all sorts of disgusting blisters on them but it didn’t matter. We MADE IT!

The tour guide was expecting us. We stumbled onto the bus and took a seat as the tour guide pointed out places where the show was filmed.

We got to go to a place called Buska—baccakhan? I don’t remember. It was used when the two gay guys finally kissed on New Years. Their names escape me. And it was used again in the first movie when Carrie told Big, “This will be your last kiss to me as a single woman.” Something like that.



Yes. My face is bright red. Running around New York will do that to you.

We also got to go in the place where Aiden’s bar was. Scout. Only it’s really called something else. We got to have Cosmopolitans but they wanted 9 bucks for one. No thanks. So Jennifer and I just sat and tried to cool off.



The tour was okay. I mean, they gave us cupcakes. But I guess I was expecting…more?

Ahh well.

After that, we decided to go to FAO Schwartz. We had to walk 14 blocks because we couldn’t get a taxi. My feet were really pissed off at this point.

By the time we got to FAO Schwartz, a worker was like, “We’re closing!”

I didn’t even get to play on the piano! Or do obscene things with the guy dressed as a soldier.

It was a bummer, but oh well.

I did get a photo with the Plaza Hotel in the background:



Bette Midler and Lily Tomlin looked out those windows in Big Business! Yes, I’m a nerd.

We went to Serendipity for dinner and dessert:



This is the famous frozen hot chocolate:



And this is the coward’s portion of the Banana Split:



I know what it makes you think of. A Viking hat, right?

Our last stop that day was the bar on top of our hotel. I ordered a mojito and it seemed to take awhile for my drink to come. Jennifer suggested we take photos and I assumed we were pouting because our drinks were taking so long:



Um. A little miscommunication.

But I wanted my MOJITO, dammit.

The next day we returned home.

I miss the city. Yeah, it’s crowded. But people move quickly. I love it.

Someday I’ll go back.

New York City Part 2

As I said before, I’m awful with directions.

It’s a good thing Jennifer knew where she was going.

She got us safely to our OnLocation movie tour where a bus would drive us around to different places where movies were filmed.

I really liked our guide. She was full of energy and her name was Roseanne. I love the show Roseanne.

We drove by Central Park:



Scenes from Enchanted were filmed here.



Trump Tower. There’s Donald Trump going, “You’re fired!”



The Flatiron Building.



You see that guy? His head was bleeding and he was walking around going, “Could somebody PLEASE give a cigarette to a guy whose head is bleeding?” There certainly are characters in New York, let me tell you. Jennifer and I also passed a singing naked old lady cowgirl. We were disturbed.



Here’s Jennifer and I in front of the I Am Legend house. I never saw it.



Katz’s Deli! You can't really see it but it's in the corner. You get a happy dance if you know the significance of it.



Jennifer walking into Dash. Yes, that’s the Kardashian’s store. No, I wasn’t impressed. Some security guard was inside going, “You can’t take pictures of the merchandise.” Someone from our group did buy something. It was a chick who was a Snooki lookalike. It was disturbing. Newsflash: orange skin does NOT look good. Nor does poofy hair.



Law & Order is filmed here a lot.



This is the firehouse where Ghostbusters was filmed.

The firemen and women are proud of this fact:



Some rich guy in a Lamborghini passed the bus:



Does this look familiar?



Yup. The Cosby Show house. The owners got $1300 per outside shot. Not from us. The show. I wish a sitcom wanted shots of my house.

After the tour, we went to the Hard Rock Café for dinner:





Yes, I needed that drink. After all the walking, my feet were like, “What is going on?” Plus, it was hot. I felt like my face was going to melt off.

Then we got to see Wicked!





Go see it. It’s fabulous. I laughed, I cried, I wanted to know who the heck played Boq because he was pretty attractive and plus, I liked saying the name Boq.

I’ll end with a photo of this:



Let’s pretend you’re on Jeopardy. I’m Alex Trebec except I have a vagina.

What building is this?


*Cue Jeopardy music*

New York City Part 1

Oh, God.

I was going to die on this plane, wasn’t I? It can’t possibly be normal for it to shake this much.

I gripped my Diet Coke as the plane dipped. My stomach lurched and I took deep breaths. I couldn’t die like this. There was so much I hadn’t accomplished yet. Like...getting a novel published. Beating Angry Birds. Having a gay best friend.

Plus, I needed to make it to New York City. It had been my dream to go for years.

“Are you okay?” the lady sitting beside me asked. It probably worried her that I had turned white as chalk and was muttering, “I don’t want to die,” over and over again.

“I’m fine,” I lied.

The plane dropped again.

“Bumpy weather, huh?” the lady said cheerfully.

How could she be cheerful when we could be on our death beds? Or death seats, really.

The captain of the aircraft came over the loudspeaker....ahhhhhh, he was letting us know we were all going to die and—

“We’re circling LaGuardia currently. Because of the poor visibility, we have to wait.”

Oh.

It was horrible weather. The skies were dark and gray. Miserable. Not the best first impression of New York.

Still. I’d let it go. New York had so much to offer.

If I made it to New York, that is.

It took forever to land. The captain kept coming on and saying. “We’ll land in 10 minutes.” Then he’d pop back on and say, “My apologies, that’ll be 20 minutes…”

At that point, I really had to pee. But there was no way I would go in the airplane bathroom. So I crossed my legs tightly and tried to think of happier things.

Like Times Square!

And…and…Serendipity. Mmmm, frozen hot chocolates.

We landed an hour late. At that point my bladder was screaming but I had to get to my best friend Jennifer. We had a scheduled a shuttle to take us to the hotel and I was already way late.

I found Jennifer easily and we checked in for the shuttle and I hurried to the bathroom. I behaved like a New Yorker and knocked people over. Well, not really. Just this one chick who was in the middle of the hall yakking on her phone and she refused to move even when I said, “Excuse me.” When I came back out, the shuttle was waiting. I took a step outside and thought, “I made it to New York! I didn’t die after all!” I took in a deep breath and..

…well, okay, New York sort of smelled like pee.

But that’s fine, there are tons of people in New York. It’s allowed.

My heart was thumping with anticipation as the shuttle drove us to Manhattan. I discovered that people really did drive like maniacs in New York. I could not drive in New York. I’d cry.

The shuttle driver took us to The Roosevelt Hotel.





Pretty, huh? And you can save 20% if you are a Facebook friend. FYI. I’m all about saving money.

Waiting in the lobby was Summer, a blog friend who was meeting us for dinner. And she knew the area, so that was helpful.

Have I mentioned I’m bad with directions?

We ate at Benihana. I’ve never eaten there before but I was impressed. And everything was SO good.



Then it was off to Times Square to Madame Tussands where I got inappropriate with some wax figures.

And excuse my haggard appearance. I had survived a terrifying plane ride and didn’t bother to put on makeup when we left the hotel.

First off, I was trying to escape King Kong.



And then George Clooney was like, “Hey baby, wanna go out?” (I said no.)



I hung out with the Osbournes and did not eat a bat.



I ran into Rob Pattinson and was not impressed.



Neither was Jennifer.



Or Summer.



I picked Leonardo DiCaprio’s nose and he told me what was going on between him and Bar. He claims she wants to settle down and start a family and this tends to terrify him.



Jennifer became a rapper.



We hung out with the Obama’s.



I attempted to drive in New York. It did not go well. I ran over Jennifer.



And then she ran over me when I was trying to shop.



Regis and Kelly interviewed me.



I messed with Donald Trump’s hair. He now wants me on The Celebrity Apprentice.



I briefly died.



Summer hung out with Lucy.



I was alive again and hung out with Janis Joplin. We have the same hair.



Jennifer and I tried to take Mark Spitz’s gold medals.



Summer found boob tassels.



I mocked Justin Bieber.



Jennifer soothed him and was like, “Don’t worry. I still love you.”



And that was Madame Tussands. I believe I got my money’s worth.