Monday, November 30, 2009

Cruel Reality


Well, my first attempt at National November Writing Month was an utter FAIL... unless, of course, you consider it a success to write 25k in words when the goal is 50.

When you look at it that way, I only half failed.

Awesomespice.

(I'm pretty sure I'll only add spice onto words when being sarcastic, Jayme. I want to use it correctly, but I just can't. I hate to say it, but I think it's like fetch: it's just never going to happen. Sorry, Gretchen Weiners.)

Yes, it's Monday and I am moody. I feel like someone took a hacksaw to my sinus cavities last night while I was sleeping, and when they were finished with that torture, they went ahead and stuck a hot poker in my bronchial areas.

It's all grim and phlegm over here at musings of amber murphy today.

Still, I vow to accentuate the positive. Look out for LoDecWriMo, which stands for Local December Writing Month, and is my own little venture to write fifty thousand words in the same month as Christmas and New Years Eve.

The exciting news is, if I succeed, I'll pretty much have completed a novel draft by the end of 2009.

Then I won't have to make any goals at all for the New Year.

 Slackerspice.

Friday, November 27, 2009

Overexposure

Did anyone else have their holiday weekend interrupted with work today?

The tyrptophan has not even worn of yet, and I'm back at the bank. Clearly, it is the slowest day of the year, as the Black Friday shoppers have no money left to deposit, and the sane folk are warm at home, eating turkey omelets and watching football. (Louisville's game starts at 11:00 this morning, in order for us to share our losing season with a national audience on ESPN 2. Suffice it to say, it wasn't too much of a sacrifice to come to work rather than attending the last home game of the season. It's like fourty degrees outside, so the weather is even less desirable than the dismal number in the Cardinal-win-column.)

In other news, I learned a lesson yesterday. If one wants to keep her blog semi-separate from her "real" life, mentioning said blog in a facebook status update is really not the way to go... especially on or near a Thursday, in my case.

Last night, my brother-in-law said, "So, it's TMI Thursday, right?" Before I knew it my sister was reading my post from his i-phone, with my mother over her shoulder, wondering what she was doing.

"Just reading something," said my sister with a grin.

(Thankfully, my husband was in a full-on turkey coma on the couch.)

Oh. my. God. Don't. show. Mom.

Thursday, November 26, 2009

TMI Thursday, thanksgiving style...

TMI Thursday

My husband will probably kill me if he catches me writing this, because he doesn't really like when I bring it up. I mean, it's been over three months since this happened, so I think he should just get over it.

Here goes.

On September 6th, just after 4:00 in the morning, I updated my facebook status to "I think I am getting divorced."

Needless to say, I awoke the next afternoon to a facebook inbox and a voicemail inbox flooded with concerms. (No one clicked "like" on that status. I guess I don't have anyone pining for me in such a way that they are rooting for me to leave my husband. Kind of sad.)

Here's what caused the status update:

Hubs and I were hanging out at that bar - you know, the place that would eventually cause me to puke in my own car and stuff. He made a trip to the restroom and I sat on a barstool alone. I was starting to wonder if he fell in or something, but spotted him across the way talking to some pals he ran into. I stayed put, not wanting to lose our seats. Boys approached me - a good looking boy and his wingman.

I wish I could relay the witty conversation between the three of us, but it's a blur, of course. I do remember that hot guy was married, and that the wingman was his best friend from high school and was in from out of town visiting. When my hubs returned to find his bar stool occupied, hot guy said that he had "known me for years" and that he and I were just catching up.

Hubs knew this was clearly false, but he didn't mind us chatting. He allows me to speak when spoken to, and sometimes, even when I am unprovoked.

A foursome now, we all retire to the patio for cigarette smoking and fresh air - quite the contradiction, I guess. Hubster and the wingman are lost in sporty chat and the hot guy is giving me googly eyes.

When my Mr. goes back into the bar, hot guy tells me I am a MILF. I remind him I don't have children. He says the "M" stands for married.

Oh. Wow. Swoon. Thank you for the compliement?

So, hubs is talking to wingman again, lost in talk of football players and manuevers and the night is drawing to a close. Hot guy is all a flirt-in' and I am trying to behave.

Then, it happens. Hot guy asks me for my phone number. I give it to him, two numbers at a time, coyly. I am not concerned, since hubster is not paying attention and the hot guy won't call. He's married. He'll delete the number when he gets home, satisfied that he can still score digits, and our lives will go on.

We leave the bar soon after that, and hubs apparently wasn't as drunk or as oblivious as I thought. He. was. pissed.

"You gave a guy your phone number! Right in front of me!"
At first I tried to deny, much like I had at nine years old about the handwriting on the bottom of my foot. "What? No I didn't. I'm drunk. What was the question again?"

This all errupted into a verbal argument about my intentions and integrity. He said he was done, that it was over, that he was moving out and divorcing me, over those seven little uttered numbers.

Sheesh.

The next day he forgave me, and I tried to console him by telling him that it was unfair of the hot guy to ask me for my number, because I had been drinking. If he had asked me what color the sky was, I would have answered blue. That's how my mind works when I have been drinking, because I overshare. Thankfully, hubs didn't ask how I would have answered if hot guy's question had been "how do you suck a..." (Family holiday. Keep it clean, Amber.)

It hit me, though, that the reason I found hot guy so irresistible: he looked like the teacher from GLEE.



In short, I am thankful for a forgiving husband. And for hot boys who still want to get me in trouble.

Check out Lilu's blog for more tragic tales.

And then go eat turkey. Gotta run! Here comes my hubby.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

thanksgiving funnies




And please click on the word turkey for a You Tube clip of the funniest Family Feud episode of all time, where a guy can't saying turkey.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

My Memorable Facebook Statuses (Stati?) of 2009; or: YEAR IN REVIEW

January 20 at 7:44pm
Amber Leigh Tidd Murphy has a new president, and a new precedent.

February 1 at 8:26pm
is superbolwing

February 23 at 2:49pm
got a (tax) refund. I dig it!

March 2 at 10:37pm
is another year older and wiser.... thanks for all the birthday wishes!

June 26 at 9:28pm
I never update facebook anymore... but I felt the need to sign up for twitter?!

July 20 at 5:24pm
just did the grocery shopping for probably the first time since we've been married... I'd kind of forgotten how nice it is to choose ones own food. :)

August 31 at 8:24am ·
one year down, the rest to go. happy one year! anniversary, murph. i love you. ·

September 1 at 3:02pm
sometimes i secretly wish michael vick would kidnap my dog. is that bad?

September 6 at 4:02am
I think I am getting divorced.

September 6 at 2:10pm
Alcohol + facebook at 4:00 a.m. = bad idea.

September 11 at 7:54am
Where were you? I was home. I declined a substitute teaching job that day. I am so thankful I wasn't in a classroom of kids. I turned on my tv in time to see the second tower hit.

September 14 at 9:25pm
has a sudden hankering for listening to unchained melody and molding something from clay.

September 21 at 11:52am
is not resting on her laurels.

October 10 at 6:38pm
I'm getting ready to get my (ten year high school) reunion on. :)

October 14 at 3:18pm
Really, there is no need to update my status: today is the same as yesterday. Well, except that I might be feeling a bit more prickly.

October 17 at 2:51pm
Why are people ignorant enough to think they can rob an ATM?

October 27 at 1:01pm
my google reader runneth over...

November 9 at 7:35pm
Today, a bank customer told me he hopes Barney Frank gives me a shot in the ass because I deserve it. It was one of those Mondays.

17 seconds ago
Because I'm so vain... I just reviewed all my status updates for 2009... and blogged about it. http://www.ambermurphy.blogspot.com/

Monday, November 23, 2009

Zen and the Art of Teddy Bears

I wish I could say I remember when I got the bear, that it was a gift from an important relative. But, I don't remember. I have no recollection of receiving him: no memory of unwrapping him from a box or pulling him from a gift bag and saying, "Oh my gosh! I wanted this bear so much." It could have been a Christmas gift, or something I got on my birthday. He might have come directly from a plastic store bag, given to me at some random moment rather than on a special occasion, or could have been a toy I earned for being a good girl one day in Wal-Mart.


Maybe the reason I don't remember the moment I received Snuggles is because it just seems like he has always been there. Without shame, I will admit that I slept with that little guy until a man started sharing my bed on a regular basis. These days, he lives in my closet, in a tote bag with some lesser-revered stuffed animals. He's actually in pretty good shape: still has two eyes and a little nose firmly attached. His hot pink tongue hasn't faded. There is a little hole in his left leg, and the stuffing in that limb is no longer as plentiful. Still, for twenty-eight-ish years, the bear is in pretty good shape.

Over the years I have given up many items of sentiment. I threw out the shoebox full of snail mail from my camp friend Amy, lost the necklace my mom and dad gave to me when I turned 18. I put tons of photos from my high school years into the trash before I left for college. The cd containing an ochestral piece of music my exboyfriend wrote for me? It's long gone. A toy chest my grandfather bought for me went for $5.00 in a yard sale. All my Baby-Sitter's Club books went to charity along with the barbies and other playthings from my childhood.

It felt good, in fact, to purge myself of a lot of that at the time, though I wish I had kept the photos and the cd.

I know that ultimately, it's just stuff.

But, be that as it may, I will never get rid of that bear.

What are your prized childhood posessions? Is there something specific you can't bring yourself to toss out? Is there anything you wish you'd kept, but didn't?

Friday, November 20, 2009

The Edward Cullen of MY youth

This morning I stumbled across a mix cd my husband made for me a few years ago and my heart pitterpattered when I discovered track five, the song Forever, which is officially a Beach Boys song, but in my heart will always be the hit ballard performed by Uncle Jesse on Full House when he fronted the band
Jesse and the Rippers.


Don't tell me you don't remember that episode... the horrible remix, and then the sensitive music video at the end.




And who could forget when he sang it to Aunt Becky at their wedding?

All I have to say is this:
Suck it, Robert Pattinson. You ain't no Stamos.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

TMI Thursday: Liar, Liar

TMI Thursday
Seriously, it has just been one of those days. I want to regale you with something witty and whatnot, but I just don't have the energy today, so don't expect anything too earth shaking.

Here goes:

When I was in the fourth grade, I had a friend named Tina. Tina told me she was a model, and that she had a boyfriend who was in college and that he was also her photographer.

I told her that I was a model, and that I also had a boyfriend who was in college and was my photographer.

I thought she was lying, I thought she knew I was lying. I thought she knew that I thought she was lying. (Et cetera. I told you this post was going to be uber stupid.)

So, Tina and I would talk on the phone after school pretty much every single day, and one day I told her that Trevor (oh, that was my fake boyfriends fake name) was at my house and that she could talk to him if she wanted. She wanted to, so I was all, "Hang on, he's in the other room, let me get him."

Then I disguised my voice and and had a full conversation with Tina as a boy who didn't even exist.

After Trevor "left my house" that evening, I called Tina back to chat some more. We talked about how much we loved our (pedophile) boyfriends, and what we wanted to do to confess our undying devotion to them. We decided that tattoos would be appropriate, and she said the boys should take us to get them together. Now, since Trevor was fictional, I knew that I was going to have to come up with a plan so that Tina wouldn't discover the truth, since it was starting to seem that she thought this whole charade was serious.

The next morning before school, I rummaged through the junk drawer and found a blue marker. I wrote I LOVE TREVOR in capital letters on the bottom of my foot.. I was just going to tell Tina that I went ahead and got the tattoo without her, and I would show her the evidence on the sole of my bare foot, which was where all the hard core eight year olds got tattoos, of course.

That night, after my evening bath (I took a bath at night, because I was an eight year old little kid, remember?) I was in my pajamas eating ice cream in the living room when my parents noticed my artwork.

"What's on the bottom of your foot?" my dad wanted to know.
"Nothing."
"No, seriously. There's something blue on your foot. Let me see."
"No."
"Did you write something on your foot?" My father was understandably confused.
"No, I think that it might be..." Yeah, I had nothing. I couldn't even come up with a plausible lie. I just knew that there was no way I was admitting to this. There would be explaining to do, explanations about who Trevor was and uh, was not. It was really just far too embarrassing. "Actually, I don't know what it is. I have no idea."
"So, you're saying that you did not write something on your foot, and that you have no idea what it is that is on your foot at this present time."
"That's what I am saying."

My dad wasn't mad that I had blue marker on my foot. It was the lying about it that got me into trouble. He told me I had three choices. I could admit what I had done, go get a belt out of his closet, or be grounded for some certain number of days.

I chose the belt. I went into his closet and grabbed one.

When I came back, he gave me a pitiful look, shook his head, and told me to go to my room. I had chosen the thickest leather belt in his closet. I didn't realize it would have hurt the most, because I had never been spanked.

To this day, my father has never spanked me, but still loves to bring up the time I lied, just because I gave myself a fake tattoo about a fake boyfriend and was too chicken to come clean about it.

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Sarah, Plain and Tall



Seriously, Sarah? I am more irritated with you now than I was when you called Katie Couric perky on Oprah this week (and wasn't that the annoying pot calling the whistling kettle black?) and more irritated than I was when the interview with Katie Couric aired and you couldn't think of one book or magazine that you read on the regular. (Oh, I'm sorry - you chose not to disclose the titles of books and magazines and newspaper you devour, because Katie Couric was annoying you and treating you like an uneducated inuit.)

Maybe you should have just swallowed your ego and mentioned Newsweek. I mean, I'm not suggesting that the cover page would look different if you had, but could you try any harder to alienate the media? I know, I know, they are all evil, with their leftist agendas and loose morals. I understand. It's so difficult when the world won't give a feminist maverick a fighting chance, and harder still when that maverick has been ordered to stay on script.

However, calling this cover sexist is just absolutely ludacris. The majority of the visual aids which aired during the Oprah interview showed you sweating your buns off on an ellipitical. You've obviously worked hard to stay in shape, and it shows. You might have reason to really tackle an issue if the photo was heavily retouched or airbrushed, which (I'll be honest) I am assuming it was. But, I would also assume that the responsibility for that lies with the original publication, Runner's World. We can't have young woman thinking that toned thighs and an itty bitty waist are the only way to the top, now can we?

Oh, Sarah. What are we going to do with you? This cover is perfect, for you have become a part of pop culture, not a fighter for any serious political reform.

I remember sititng in in an uppity coffee shop soon after your veep nomination was announced, and smiling at all the Sarah button-wearers (upper-middle class, conservative housewives) in the middle of a conservation about what this meant for women. I had to ask them, I couldn't resisit, "Would you still wear the button if it is said Hillary?" (They told me they would not have worn the button if it said Hillary.) They were merely pro-lifers on baby highs. You won over the suburbs this way Sarah. It wasn't because of  t & a, and certainly wasn't a result of  q & a.

Yes, I am jealous that your book became a bestseller before it even hit the stands, but ultimately, I am just over your excuses for the way you are perceived, your accent, and your solid colored wardrobe.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

how's the weather?

Here in Louisville, Kentucky is it below fifty degrees and drizzling. I quipped on my facebook status that the song of the day is November Rain.

But, I digress. That is not the purpose for this post.

When I want to avoid actually writing the words of my work in progress, I read about how I can make it better. And since I am often stuck behind my desk at a computer and can't spend endless hours at bookstore cafes sipping one hazelnut latte after another while browsing through books on my craft, I often look for websites that provide useful insights.

Today, I found author Sandra Miller's website, which offers great fiction writing tips on aspects of writing ranging from character development to point of view and perspective. She also has this to say about creating a vivid setting:

What about weather? The weather in your character's world will change. Depending on the season, you may have rain, or snow, or blistering heat. If you don't provide a sense of the weather--and the greater context of season--the reader is left with a sense of unreality about this place...

Then I realized that though the first few chapters of my ms cover approximately eight years in the early life of my character, all the action takes place in the summer. This might not be a problem, but the only way readers would notice that it was summertime is because there are lines such as,

It was summertime again, and Laurel was a proud kindergarten graduate.

Ick! I find it odd that "show, don't tell" is so ingrained in me when it comes to emotion, but I never considered that I needed to do that with the weather.

I can't wait to create a more realistic setting, one that is richer with description and doesn't need an announcement for the changing of the seasons.

Monday, November 16, 2009

The Laurel Stories (my ms still needs a working title, and that isn't it)

I'm feeling rather inspired with my writing. I guess it stems from deciding on a jumping off point: beginning with my main character's childhood. Waves of euphoria rush around in my brain as I rework two short stories into the beginning of my manuscript - fingers fly across the keyboard as I type the words I penned so thoughtfully years ago. My eyes are focused downward, in my lap, where the short stories live on yellowed pages.

The word count soars upward, which is fullfilling, and it's interesting work, too. I've made changes to certain sections, adding more depth to the characters, extending certain scenes, giving a more solid voice to the talking heads in Laurel's early life.

But, the unwritten lingers in the back of my mind. Now, I can't wait to work on the rest of the book. I think that the majority of my previous frustrations hinged on a strong desire to start from Laurel's childhood. Because, as much as the story is about her attempt to cope with the suicide of her exboyfriend, I've discovered that, really, the story is more or less just about her.

When she meets David in chapter four or five, the audience will understand who she is and what brought her to him. Once I finish the early chapters, I'll get to delve into the first obstacle in Laurel and David's relationship: it's temporarily long distance.

I think I am on the right track. It feels good fabulous to say that out loud, which I just did.

Friday, November 13, 2009

Wedding Obsession: the final installment

So, wedding obsession starts and ends here. I promise. Some of you might be getting tired of my endless string of photos. However, if you are half as obsessed with my wedding as I am, you can watch the highlights! Click here to visit Something Blue Wedding Videos. Since my bro-in-law owns the business, you can see three "chapters" from my wedding dvd. The highlight reel is the second video in the left column. The credits reel (which is hillarious!) is below the first video, and my photo montage is on the bottom right. Also, if you explore the website you'll see one of my pics on the main page. I'm famous.


The purple shoes that have inspired envy. Maybe Susan R. Mills will use them in her blog... just an idea.

Everything looks more magical in black and white, don't you think?
Next Friday, it's onward to honeymoon photos, because, clearly, you want to see them.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

TMI Thursday: Blackout

TMI Thursday

There's that certain kind of drunk, one I don't experience often.

Thankfully.

Last Saturday was supposed to be fairly low key. I was content to stay indoors and piddle around the internet, watch a movie, maybe work a little furiously on my WIP. (Capitalized for Deb's benefit.)

Hubster had other ideas. His best friend, who owns a pet cemetary, incidentally, (I shit you not!) wanted to go out for drinks. He and his wife had their second child in June, and her mother was baby-sitting. I think it's probably the first time they've been out since the baby came. Who was I to turn down their double date offer? Afterall, I hadn't been properly smashed for awhile since Halloween. (Who am I kidding?)

So. We were dive-bar bound. There was good conversation and yes, there was karaoke. I performed a moving rendition of Jann Arden's Insensitive. (No, but really, I did sing it well. I swear.)

Then, my hubster's friend opted to order a round of drinks for his wife and me. The drink was called The Green Dragon. To the best of my understanding, it is basically a Long Island Iced Tea with Midori instead of the traditional splash of coke. Think: everyclearliquor known to man with a deceptively sweet melon taste.

After swearing that any sane human wouldn't drink more than one of these stout beverages in a single sitting, my hubster's best friend proceeded to order me rounds number two and three. I slayed a trio of Green Dragons.

Then, suddenly, it's Sunday afternoon. I am curled up in my bed. Hubs stands over me with a glass of water in his hand and orders me to drink it. "You haven't moved in hours," he informs me. I take a sip of the water. Then, I realize I am nude. I typically sleep in pajamas, even on nights when the hubster is lucky enough to get some ambertiddmurphy lovin'. Why the hell am I naked?!

I crawl out of bed, pull on some flannel pj pants and a comfty t-shirt, and make my way into the living room. An untouched six pack of Coors Lite sits on the end table. Wait a minute. We stopped at the store on the way home from the bar?! I don't remember that. Wait another minute. I don't remember leaving the bar, the ride home, getting into bed...

Uh-oh.

"Honey, what the hell happened to me last night?"
"You passed out in the car while I was in the gas station getting beer."
"Awesome. I feel like death."
"Also, you puked everywhere."
"At the bar?"
"No, in your car. I am so glad I drove your car last night. If it had been my car, we would be done. Over. Finished. Divorced."
"I puked in my car?! Mother-effer. Was it hard to clean up?"
"Let me know if it was hard to clean up after you finish cleaning it up."
Mother-effer.

A few hours later, after intermittently sipping ginger-ale and vomiting up ginger-ale, I forced myself to head outside and assess the damage. It was mainly the dashboard. And the floorboard. And the inside of the passenger window. And the passenger seat. And the center console.

I found the shirt I'd worn to the bar on the driveway next to the passenger door. Apparently, I'd peeled it off and stumbled into my house in just my bra.

"Would've been the hottest thing ever," hubs told me. "If your jeans hadn't been covered in vomit."

Oh, for the love of God. As I scrubbed at the vile mess I'd made, I thought about how this would make the perfect Thursday blog post. Sweet justification. Redemption.

Fabreze.

Visit LiLu's blog for more tragic tales.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

where does your story start?

As I have referenced in past posts, I'm having a bit of difficulty with the present action in my thus far untitled wip.

Here is the meat of the story: Laurel is tweny-five-ish (don't worry, she'll have a definite age before her creator queries anyone) and her exboyfriend dies. She believes it was suicide and that she was, in large part or in some part, to blame, even though they broke up a couple of years before the accident. (Are you intrigued? I hope you are intrigued.)

(To prologue or not to prologue? I love my prologue. My mc gets the news: the boy died.)

Either way, when the story begins at chapter one, where should it start?

I have started it a few ways. I started it a couple of months before David, the aforementioned exboyfriend, died. I started it with Laurel having trouble sleeping. She spirals downward into a certain mental anguish, a manic depression... a preocupation with her past, her present, her, her, herself. I wrote this for a couple of hundred words. Then, I decided it might be better to start from the beginning.

Enter: Chapter One, Version Two. David and Laurel met, talked their first talk, blah, etc. It was summer and she was leaving for college. Would they or wouldn't they (continue to date)? This is really the bulk of what I've written in November. I'm good with these scenes, I like the way things play out, and I will definitely be using all this.

But, last night, it hit me. The way Laurel turned out and the decisions she made that led her to break David's heart (and her own spirit, really) -- these things were a result of her childhood. Her story starts there.

So, enter previously written short story, which begins:

Laurel remembers clearly the day her mother left her father. She was no older than five; she hadn't yet started kindergarten. Her sister, Laine, was a screaming toddler.

Yes, as I lay awake last night (thanking veterans everywhere that I don't have to work today) I realized that it just might be okay to start allthewaybackthere... that I just might be able to pull it off, to make it a little more novel-y, and so:

     It all started when Laurel's mother walked out on her father, because don't all our stories really start there, back in those formidable years? The deck might already be stacked against us, but the cards are still being shuffled and haven't been dealt yet. Then, like ligtning, some event or non-event happens or does not happen, and we are thrust into the wheels of fate, which are turned and clank.
    
     Laurel was five years old; she hadn't yet started kindergarten. Her sister, Laine, was a screaming toddler.

What do you think, readers? Would you read a book about a woman who is trying to cope with the death of someone she loved, but did not love particularly well... if the story started with her childhood?

Damn. I need a crit group. And a stiff drink.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

nano update/ confession

I wrote a little this morning. Not, mind you, a lot. I'm still about 6,000 words behind the approximate-Nano-worthy word count... oh, and that's only if you count the words I wrote before the beginning of November. I figure I'm allowed to cheat since I am not officially signed up, and I since I had less than 5,000 words written before the month stared, so it's not really that big of a deal.

(Well, I would have a lot more than that if you counted the backstory about my main character's childhood, which I want to embed into the ms as a flashback, but I am not yet sure where or how I'm going to use it, so for now, it's not considered part of the word count.) <-- longest sentence ever.

It feels good to admit that I am cheating. Although, let's be honest.

It kind of sucks, too.

I'm about to beat the living daylights out of my inner editor, who is being really mean to me lately, and telling me that my blog posts suck as much as my first draft. I think she might be a little PMS-ish.

Monday, November 9, 2009

booky blogs

While stumbling around this blog called The Elegant Variation, I discovered a really great article on autobiographical fiction written by Melvyn Bragg.

I'll quote the same passage from the article that Mark Saavas did:

It is often thought that autobiography cannot reach into the core of fiction; that the author’s own direct experience is too limiting a factor. That only if you step wholly outside yourself can fiction be formed. But why not step inside yourself? The brain, we now know, is more complicated than the universe, and we are just at the beginning of the exploration of what happens in there. What better laboratory for fiction than the brain that writes it? The more I write fiction, the more I see it as the best way to get at the truth and the only reason for writing it. Autobiography can be a high road to that end.

Yes, it might be nine months old, but the article really speaks to me...What do you think?

Friday, November 6, 2009

Self Obsessed/ Wedding Craftiness/ Bridal Party Photos


I made twenty-five of these frames from Garden Ridge ($2.50 each!) with different quotes in each one. They were lovely additions to the tables at the reception and made great gifts for people who were involved in the wedding day.

Our favors were fortune cookies with love fortunes inside. I used four different sayings -- my favorite one was "all you need is love." I bought the boxes and cookies online, and assembled them myself with the help of my mama! Half the boxes were purple with yellow ribbon.

I made our programs online using http://www.vistaprint.com/, and I really loved the simplicity of them. I used no capital letters whatsoever. I also ordered them in magnets and gave them away to friends and family.
My cake topper was the creation I was most impressed with, because I spent $5.00 on it.

I bought the wooden "m" at Michael's along with some purple paint and a sponge. A couple of coats later and... viola!

I didn't make this, but it was my idea. We used a signature frame instead of the traditional guest book, and I loved displaying our engagement photos (taken by a friend for free!) Also, I love how the linens matched my dress!

The gals. The bitch bridesmaid on your right is the one who made the video of me singing at the bachelorette party... and the one who took the engagement photos.

The guys.

The front of the building where the event took place. http://www.louisvilleglassworks.com/

Duty goofy bridal party shot.

Posing for the paparazzi.

Will I ever again look this smashing? Le sigh.

Hubs-to-be sees me walking down the aisle. LOVE.

Thursday, November 5, 2009

TMI Thursday: Video Killed the Radio Star

TMI Thursday

A few things:

1. Clearly, there are really no excuses to justify what you see above, unless you count that it was my bachelorette party, the last stop of the night, and that I didn't puke once and was allowed to sing twice.
2. The heartless bitch bridesmaid who made this dvd for me is no longer my friend.
3. I once won $50.00 in a karaoke contest.

I am not sure I will ever be able to top this post, but here's hoping. Be sure to check out LiLu's TMI Thursday Post-Secret Edition part two!

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Award Winning Wednesday

I love getting awards. I think it's because I need want affirmation.

I've received three awards in the last week, and now I'm going to brag about them!

Tina Lynn over at Sweet Niblets gave me two awards. (I'm starting to wonder if she has the same kind of crush on me that she has on Fiction Goupie.) Anyway, I ain't complain'.


The first award is the Kreativ Blogger Award. This award excites me to to end, because I need affirmation because of its cute spelling. Well, not really. The spelling is actually quite annoying, but it's the thought that counts.

So, the torch shall be passed to the following bloggers, who make me feel happy in my heart with their ingenuity.

First, to my fellow Hoosier the inDefatigable mjenks at A Crown of Thistles for rewriting children's books, blowing up pumpkins all last month, and for almost puking in a girl's mouth one time.

Second, to Carissa at Carissa Jaded for her stormy blog header and devotion to the vocal arts.

Third, to Tia at Clever Girl Goes Blog for her use of the parenthetical aside.

Fourth, to Leslie at Walking in Memphis, for having a blog named after one of my all time favorite songs.

Fifth, to the boys over at Confessions of a Morman Bachelor Pad for their inappropriate use of a sweet girl's handwritten letter in a recent entry and for being my biggest guilty pleasure since the American Idol season ended.


Onward to my second award from Tina Lynn, a.k.a. my lady lover. She gave me the Honest Scrap Award for my ability to occasionally embarras myself on Thursdays.

Other honest bloggers:

To Lilu at Livit, Luvit for heading up TMI Thursdays and insanely linking all of our posts to her blog each week. I've linked her most recent post secret edition from last week, and you better check it out, because it is fierce.

To the Organic Meatbag for leaving comments like these on my blog: Hooray for Mammaw! She sounds like an ass-kicker! and Amber, I'll personally see to it that you get all of this stuff... Santa owes me a favor since I saved his ass in 'nam...hahahahah. Well, I don't know if that makes him honest or just funny.

To my girl (first follower!) Too Cute to be Very Interesting for admitting that she is not always both funny and smart. I think she's both more often than not.

To Salena at The Daily Rant, because she links her daily posts to previous posts (i.e. one year ago, two years ago, three years ago, four years ago) which I think is just stupid cool.

Finally, to THE OTHER at The Life and Times of the Other Woman because the title says it all, and she finally stopped capitalizing the words HE, HIM, and HIS every time she uses them. THANK YOU for stopping that.


My third award is from Travener at The Big Litowski. He's the boy who taught me the word subterfuge. He gave me The Thoroughbred Golden Pin Award for always cheering him up with my humor and sensibility. (I think it was a compliment.) Also, he called me the Louisville Filly.

Look for some Golden Pin Awards of my own, which I will bestow upon some lucky people next week... when it's time for another edition of Award Winning Wednesday. (Husband is kicking me off computer now for World of Warcraft commitments. Sheesh.)

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

check it twice

Dear Santa,

As you well know, I've been an extremely good girl this year. Not only have I stopped using my credit cards, but I have also cut down on my spending by eating lunch at home during the week. I really miss Jersey Mikes and Panera Bread and Five Guys Burgers and Fries.

Here is what I want, you jolly old man...

1. A good hair straightener that doesn't cost $15.00 and isn't sold at Wal-Mart. I've heard you can get a decent one at Ulta. (It doesn't even have to be pink.)

2. A houndstooth coat. I realize that basic black might be better, so if you think the houndstooth pattern is a trend, Santa, then I'll understand. Please just choose something that won't show tan doggy hair.



3. There are so many books I'd like to read, Santa. Here are a few that are on my must-read list.
* The Post Secret Books. All of them. I'd prefer if you'd choose copies in which strangers have hand written their own secrets, if it isn't too much trouble.
* The Lacuna by Barbara Kingsolver
* Wishin' and Hopin' by Wally Lamb
* The Little Friend by Donna Tartt
* Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides
* The Almost Moon by Alice Sebold
* The Senator's Wife by Sue Miller
* Any books on the craft of writing that are recommended by the North Pole book shop.
* Any short story anthology of your choosing

Those oughta keep me out of trouble in the early part of '09, Santa.

4. I know it isn't easy to shop for women's clothes, Saint Nick, but this VISA gift card will suffice. I can spend those cold January days at the mall, and it would save you a ton of time.



5. While we're talking about gift cards, you could throw in some for lunch so I don't always have to eat leftovers and Lean Cuisine.




6. I could really use a new digital camera, Claus. I'm not loyal to any particular brand -- I'm sure pretty much everything is an upgrade from my hp Photosmart piece of shit junk. (Sorry, Santa.)




7. Tickets to an Indiana basketball game would be nice, but if you can't make that happen, then could I at least get a pair of candy-striped warm up pants?



8. I'd really like to start applying my foundation with a make-up brush. Can you help make this happen, Santa? Go to the MAC counter; they'll know what to do.



9. Victoria's Secret Love Spell Stuff. Pllllease?!




10. Peace on Earth, goodwill toward men, and new gutters for the house. "Nuff said, right Santa?

Monday, November 2, 2009

No, No Nano

I had never heard of Nano (National Novel Writing Month) until this year. For those of you who don't know, you better ask somebody.

Well, since you asked, I'll tell you. It's insanity, that's what it is. The goal is to write 50,000 words - the equivalent of 175 pages -- in the month of November.

I didn't sign up to officially participate, but figured I would write the approximate 1500 words per day in an attempt to finish my manuscript before Christmas. I thought it would be such great motivation, knowing that other writers out there were sitting at their laptops and pounding the keys, forming sentences and paragraphs and scenes.

But I'm behind already and considering the wave of a white towel. I'd written 1500 words by this morning and proceeded to quickly delete the crappy half this afternoon.

I think that November is a sucky month for writing - November 1st, particularly, is really not the best day to start doing anything. Whether you were in a sugar coma from all the Halloween candy or hungover from twenty jello shots (as was the case with me) I just cannot imagine that yesterday was a productive day for anyone. If you were productive, then I want to tell you where to stick it that I am happy for you.

If I could count blog entries, emails, and facebook status updates, then I might actually be on track to hit 50,000 words by the end of the month.

I'm off to sulk. I'm all crusty nosed from being out in the cold at the Louisville football on Saturday and I feel like someone punched me in the liver. Take your 3000 plus words and shove them up your ass, Nano participants.

Yes, I am a little envious. No, I don't really want you to shove anything up your ass, unless you're into that, in which case I have no problem with the shoving of whatever your little hearts desire, except gerbils, because that's animal cruelty.