Too Many Books

My niece, Carley, is an angel. the dress. I wish I could afford her every single day. My toenails match my shoes. loving the way i look... Pre-ceremony fuel, with a straw, so not to muss my lipstick... My pimp daddy. (That came out wrong. I meant, my dad looking pimp.) 'bout to get married on a rooftop overlooking the Ohio River... My dad made the arch... how bad ass is that? I mean, seriously... my dad is the ultimate craftsman. I couldn't resist posting a photo of the bride and groom. Mr. and Mrs. Amber Leigh Tidd Murphy We look cooler than shit, son. Since it's almost Halloween now, I give you: ghost bride. I guess I should credit my photographer, Jackie Johnson, @ http://www.jaclynjohnsonphotography.com/ even thought she was a heinous bitch whore on my big day. 

I am now an oldmarriedlady, but I look back on my single days with rose-colored fondness. I have had a fair amount of success with the less-fair sex, but most of that success involved ego-boosting amounts of alcohol and the willingness to lower my standards. However, like every woman, I've had my share of failures in the realm of "will you go out with me?" I thought for this TMI Thursday, I could revisit a few of those times when my pimp hand was not its strongest. THE CAR GUY I bought a Geo Metro one summer after a deer killed my sporty Dodge Neon (RIP, Stella!) and the only reason I chose the Metro was because the salesman, Clayton, was super hot. I was working as an assistant manager at a movie theater in those days, and he wanted to know if I could hook him up with some free tickets. I decided to give him two rainchecks (i.e. free passes) and paper clipped them to a note that said, "These two tickets are good for one movie if you take me." I included

I did it! I wrote 1000 words today, give or take 139 words. I also enlisted over at the new Writer's Digest Community , which I learned about from Lydia over at The Sharp Angle.  In her post today, she wrote that "the site is being coined by some as the "facebook for writers.". " Um. Maybe they can teach me how to quote someone who has already quoted a quote. You should check out the community (as well as Lydia's blog) and join the groups that suit your fancy. I joined The Writer's Edge as well as Fiction Writing . And, I must say, I am quite proud that I got some writing completed before wondering about the website. Now, I am going to do just that! I hope it hasn't been a total snooze fest over here at musings of amber murphy this week. Please, keep coming back to my blog; I promise that my next post will include something that will make you pee your pants  (more professional blogging, amber, remember?!) witty. In the meantime, answer me

A little while back, I blogged about being published my alma mater's  honors literary journal . I spotted my pieces yesterday when I google image searched myself , which I did because I'm so vain. Enjoy! Critique! Compliment! (Especially, compliment.)

Tonight, someone I know is going to appear on Jeopardy! His name is Justin Gilbert, and he is the owner of Gelato Gilberto , a yummy shop near where I live in Louisville. It's situated in this little Truman-show type neighborhood called Norton Commons.  Seriously. Click on the link for a little preview of Wisteria Lane-ish living. Some people I know are creeped out by it. Anyway. That's Justin, on the left. His wife Kristen is on the right. I hope that they don't mind that I used their picture in my blog, but I figure that any press is good press, right? Plus, I got the picture from google images, which makes it fair game, does it not? Apparently it is a facebook photo. This made me realize I should probably google image (search) myself, and it was quite cool to see my pictures out there in cyberspace. Go ahead. Google-image me. (Be sure to type in "Amber Tidd Murphy" in the search box for better results. I'll wait.) So, tune in tonight to see someone I

Happy 85th birthday (one day late) to my Mammaw, who is the most beautiful person on the earth. I hope I grow up to be half the woman you are. I love you for your strength, your wisdom, the way you laugh, and for unplugging appliances during thunderstorms. I love the way you pronounce Hawaii (Huh-why-yuh) and Hello (Mellow). I love your sense of humor and your generousity.I love you.

So. This really doens't fall into the realm of TMI, except it is one of the more adventurous irresponsible things I've done in my life. I probably really could have gotten hurt. My freshman year of college, I attended an uber-conservative Christian college. I mean, we're talking chapel-every-day with seat checks, prayer in the classroom, preacher's kids get discounted tuition, and a no dancing rule kind of conversative. Perhaps boredom drove the Christ-like coeds to carry on the tradition of the bridge jump. In all honesty, I really don't even know if it was a tradition or not. I think that's what the guys told us, but maybe they just said that to get us in the car. My memories of the event are a little hazy - I couldn't tell you exactly how high up we were, or if we were preparing to jump into a river or a lake or a stream. As I recall it, this particular bridge wasn't the type of bridge that cars use to get from one land mass to another, beca

Head over to Pink Julep like I did to find out more... or don't, because you will give me a better chance of winning.

     I am still trying to find my place as a blogger. Since I am a bit of an attention whore, your comments - yes, yours, my loyal followers - are duly noted and filed in the happy part of my brain. I have gathered that a good many of you thirty peeps find me mildly amusing and that I often cause you to ROTFL or at least LOL a little. It's like you have a snap cup, and you're pulling out a tiny folded post-it note, clicking your thumb and middle finger together, and saying out loud, "Amber is funny! Snaps for Amber!"      Well. It is a pleasure to entertain, and I thought that perhaps it was time for one of those entries where you get to know a little bit more about me. Completely unprovoked and not at all asked for, I will now brighten your day or night, depending on your time zone (or need to obsessively log in to your reader) with a few fun facts about ME. However, per yesterday's entry, I am writing it for your benefit. 1. I have never been in an airplane

"blank stares at... blank pages... no easy way to say this..." I'm feeling all Sara Bareilles today. Actually, I am settling in to write, as the hubster is out of the house for the evening and I am left to my own quiet and focused devices. This entry will serve as a little warm-up exercise. My copy of  Rolling Stone came in the mail a couple of days ago, and I spent a bit of time tonight on the  toilet couch reading a few of the articles. This issue's bookshelf column featured a conversation with Nick Hornby . Jonathan Ringen wrapped it up by asking Hornby if he had any advice for "would-be novelists." Here is Hornby's reply: Anyone who says they're writing for themselves is full of shit. That's something that you hear writer's say a lot. I always wonder why their drafts happen to be 90,000 words long, because that's a really strange, random length for a book, but it happens to be the length of most books. You know what I m

I've stumbled across quite a few blog entries in the past couple of days that speak of one's blog needing a focus. It has caused me to stop and wonder: is my blog too broad? I would love some feedback from my followers. Do you find me completely random? Do you think I have a voice? What would you like me to blog about? In the interim, I shall entertain you with a random (of course, random!) moment from my weekend. While hanging out at a local pub called Flanagnan's on Saturday night, I went outside on the patio to smoke a cigarette, leaving my non-smoker friend inside the bar.  A man used the following line on me after striking up a conversation by dubbing me "lonely cigarette girl." He said, "You're homely hot." I said, "Pardon?" He tried to defend his come-on. "You know, you're that type of girl who can just throw on a sweater, some jeans, and a cute pair of shoes, and still look smokin' hot." His friend said, &

I am aware that it is still autumn, but here in Louisville, Kentucky it feels more like winter than fall. The temperature hovered in the mid forties all of last week, and not a day was crisp or clean. The sky has been dull grey and misting rain at me. I understand that I really have no right to complain, as many states are already seeing snow, frost, ice, and the like. Should we blame El Nino for their noreaster? I have no idea, but Good Morning America just said something about it. Winter does not agree with me; cold does not agree with me. While there are certain things I love about the fall, like pretty red and yellow tree leaves swirling around in the air, I just can't bear knowing that winter is around the corner, like in-laws planning to visit and stay too long. For me, winter is the ultimate dark night of the soul... I feel so cold I can't get my tootsies warm or my frozen brain to function (not great for the progess on my wip) and my heart just breaks a little as

I'm off in an attempt to humilate myself because Livit,Luvit  and company have inspired me. I could choose to tell an array of embarrasing stories, as there are probably about a vault full of moments I will not live down. I have often been called an over-sharer, as I take pleasure in confessing when I've been bad. It's cathartic, right?! I will do myself a favor, though, and give you TMI about an event without moral ambiguity or downright legality issues. This is, afterall, my first time. Be gentle, dear readers, be gentle. So. A few years ago I attended a wedding in northern Ohio with two of my restaurant friends, straight girl (SG) and gay guy (GG). SG drove, and we smoked cigarettes and sang showtunes the whole way. I don't recall if there was a traffic delay or if we took a wrong turn -- or if maybe it just took a bit longer to get there than we expected -- but we were running late. SG whipped her car into the lot and we raced toward the church in our dre

I realized today that I am out of sugar, as opposed to last week, when I was out of hazelnut creamer. Rather than run to my neighbor's house to request the cliched "borrowed cup," I decided to sweeten my caffeine dream with chocolate syrup. Ohmygod yum. Starbucks, suck it. I don't need you anymore. You are now the old mop to my new Swiffer, and you can serenade me all night long, but it will be to no avail. Anyhow. Onward with my chosen blog topic. I blogged last week that I was going to attend my ten year high school reunion. The event took place at a fun little bar, which I have google-imaged for your viewing pleasure. You can't really tell by looking at the photo, but to the left of the building is a second floor, covered patio, and that is where green and blue balloons and a chalkboard sign beckoned the class of 1999. Once I made the painful trip up the concrete stairs, wearing very cute but ill-fitting high heels, I was greeted by a station which con

Bank holidays, especially Monday bank holidays, make me so happy when it's Sunday night and I'm up late, or when it's noon on Monday and I am just getting out of bed. But then there's Tuesday, also known as today. I've had about zero down time today. No time to browse through blogs, eat lunch, update my checkbook register (and I'm in dire need of a "how much money do I really have in my account?" update) or even stop to take a piss. What's a working girl to do? I could tell by around noon that it was going to be one of those days, so I decided that instead of working until six, I was heading out of the office at four. Ahh... home now for a little uninterrupted me time, which I shall spend working on my WIP instead of balancing said checkbook, because after a day at the bank, who feels like looking at numbers? Not me!

Last month, I stopped taking my birth control pill. No, it wasn't because I've already started to design a nursery in my mind, plotting color schemes and stocking up on diapers and onesies and burp cloths. It isn't because I'm ready to get pregnant. I am required to order my contraseptives in three month supply, and I ran out. This has happened a few times before. Normally, my husband just grumbles a little and then makes a trip out for condoms. This time, he said, "I really don't feel like getting condoms. Wanna just see what happens?" I concurred. It isn't because I'm ready to get pregnant. (I'm aware that I already said that.) You see, I always wanted kids. I started babysitting when I was eleven, for a family that grew to four little girls. I wanted to have four little girls of my own, and wanted to name them Emma, Claire, Alexis, and Nora. I vaguely remember this dream. It was a dream shattered by adult life choices, the ones that

Tomorrow is my ten year high school reunion. I have mixed feelings about celebrating this completed decade of adulthood. My senior year was one of the greatest years of my life. No, I didn't party like it was 1999 (even though it was , in fact, 1999) but I did meet this intelectual, wonderful, thought-provoking, heart-piercing boy... and promptly made him my boyfriend. He was the slightest bit younger than me, so he is not a member of my graduating class. Sadly, thankfully, there is no need to obsess about running into said ex at the reunion. As implied above, he isn't the man I ended up marrying. Le sigh. There is something to be said for first loves, whether it's "What was his name again?" or "My heart still skips around four beats when I think of him/ look at old pictures of us together/ stalk his facebook page." When I think back to high school, I will always think of him. I feel a little bit sad about the reunion. Wow. Ten years later and I am st

Last Wednesday, Roni over at  Fiction Groupie made my day by bestowing upon me the Heartfelt Award! Apparently, I write one of the blogs she has "recently discovered and enjoys." To quote the very witty JmDiaz ,  I'd like to thank the bloggcademy. Do you reach for a cup of cocoa or tea when you're relaxing, seeking comfort, sharing a plate of cookies with family and friends? You know the feeling you get when you drink a yummy cup of cocoa, tea, or a hot toddy? That is what the Heartfelt Award is all about, feeling warm inside. Rules:Put the logo on your blog/post. Nominate up to to 9 blogs which make you feel comfy or warm inside. Be sure to link your nominees within your post. Let them know that they have been nominated by commenting on their blog. Remember to link to the person from whom you received your award. So, I shall pass the e-torch to my fellow bloggers. Here are my nods to the blogs I stalk read on the regular:   Amber at  A Little Pink in the C

Over the weekend, some outdoorsy men in orange vests repaved and restriped the bank parking lot.  When I got to work this morning, yellow caution tape sealed off both the entrance and exit to the bank lot, leaving it to resemble a crime scene. I secretly hoped that there had been a body found in the ATM lane or something, and that I might be able to go back home since I wasn't a witness. I think I've been watching too much Dexter lately.  Alas, Thankfully, the only reason for the caution tape was the new Purdue-colored parking lot, which looks lovely but smells like burnt rubber . The odor reminds me of my childhood: I am riding with my grandfather through the twisting back roads of rural Indiana, headed back to Bloomington or maybe Bedford from Carmichael Cemetary, where my lineage lay. I need to tinkle and have no choice but to make in the cornfields. My Papaw pulls over. As I step out of the Cadillac, my mary janes go squish in the not-yet-hardened asphalt. Though my gran

I consider myself pretty driven, career wise. I graduated college in four years despite transferring schools twice. I've moved up the bank-ladder to reach a management position in three short years. I certainly push myself to excel. I am trying to understand my lack of motivation in nearly every other area of my life. First, there are the friendships I have all but abandoned. Yes, I've gotten better about trying to have monthly get-togethers with my college/restaurant and highschool/girl groups of friends. However, I've always been more of a one-on-one type. There are two friends, in particular, who I haven't seen since January. I keep promising myself to remember they are only a phone call away. I need to recognize that being a little emotionally exhausted after work isn't an excuse to come home every night and plant myself on the couch, and that weekends were created for more than just football and loads of laundry. Next, there's my house. There are pile