Too Many Books

Yesterday I posted my "day in the life" piece, but oddly enough -- it was not a Typical Tuesday. I took the afternoon off from work. I skipped out of the office bankbranch office ( office sounds so much cooler!) at 2:00. And literally, I skipped out. There is just something about free time which turns me into a giddy twelve-year-old girl. I came home and pounded out the afforementioned blog post. Then, I had to hit up the DMV to renew my tags and pay taxes on dear Bella (my cherry-red Pontiac Vibe) and her boyfriend Edward (hubs sporty blue Niassan Senta.) (Clearly, hubs has no idea that I've named his vehicle after an old man who loves jailbait. You know, I'm really not sure he'd be cool with it, either. Oh, wait -- I'm certain he wouldn't dig it.) Assuming there would be a torturous wait at the ever-bustling Department of Motor Vehicular Annoyance and Expense, I walked in with my story on my mind and my notebook in my purse. However, the a

Stolen from Sierra Godfrey (who stole it from someone else) and Travener (who stole it from Sierra) 6:32 a.m. -- Curse alarm radio, which is currently set on a country station. 6:33 a.m. -- Curse  hubs, who has not yet hit snooze. 6:39 a.m. -- Curse six-minute snooze. 6:45 a.m. -- Consider another snooze. Realize hubs is still in bed and that morning laptop time will belong to me if I go ahead and haul myself out of bed. 6:47 a.m.-- Contemplate making coffee. Audibly curse, remembering that bedroom alarm clock is five minutes fast and that it is actually 6:52 a.m. 6:53 a.m. -- Start coffee. Grab diet pepsi from fridge anyway. 6:55 a.m. -- Open blogger to check for new comments while lighting cigarette and opening diet pepsi. 6:57 a.m. -- Open reader and check out a few blogs, opting to keep most unread so I may savor them later. 7:00 a.m. -- Realize I'd better pour a cup of coffee now if I hope drink a cup before work. 7:05 a.m. -- Wish with fierceness that I had used

This Saturday evening, the coolest ever thing happened. I Skyped. Not only did I skype, but I skyped with the lovely, talented, wonderful, awesomespice Tina Sandoval . (It was only the conference-call kind of Skype... no video feed. Thankfully. I am pretty sure I was wearing some ratty t-shirt at the time.) Hearing my Sweetest Niblet's voice from the speakers of my little laptop, I felt like I was taking to a gal pal who was right down the street -- not time zones away in Arizona. It. was. divine. We talked about our writing, we chatted about blog posts of the past... we talked for an hour. She, of course, wanted to know when I am going to make good on the vloggy part of her giveaway win, and asked when I would be posting my karaoke-dedication. (I quickly changed the subject.) (But it will happen eventually.) (And by eventually, I clearly mean: don't hold your breath. I have to gear up for it, which means finding just the right song and rehearsing it until I s

You've been warned. This post may be a little sleepy, because I am litearally nodding off as I type these words. So, it's clearly fatespice that I decided to participate in my first Friday Five meme today. 1.How many hours’ sleep do you need in order to be at your best, and what’s the minimum you can get on a regular basis and still be functional? I need eight hours. I prefer more. Sometimes, I sleep ten or twelve hours on the weekends. (Shh. Don't tell people.) I can survive with six hours, but seriously, if I only get six hours my demeanor screams pothead. I either act aloof or braindead, usually both. 2.What’s your favorite sleeping position? Ahh, I love to sleep on my stomach with my arms curled underneath me boobies. (Yes, I basically, feel myself up while I'm sleeping.) Sometimes when I wake up I have no feeling at all in my arms or hands -- or that creepy tingling sensation. 3.What was the cause of your most recent difficulty sleeping? Well, last n

Nice pants, wanna... ? So, a couple of weeks ago the manager at my branch had a super busy day. He didn't even take a lunch! He was literally in his office all day long, bombarded with customer after customer. Suffice it to say, when he came up to the teller area at 4:45, he was famished and informed us that he was going to "lunch" and would see us all on Monday. After the obvious, "Yeah, go on and go. You must be starvingspice!" I went ahead and decided to compliment his wardrobe. (Nothing wrong with staying on his good side!) (Plus, he had on this light purple shirt, a sharp looking tie, and black and white [kindofhot] pin-stripe dress pants.) So, yours truly tells him, "You know, I really like your outfit. I just noticed, because  I haven't seen your pants all day! " One of my tellers turned beet red and burst into boy-giggles. "Are you aware of how that sounds?!" Oh. So, I had to admonish my teller. "Mind! Gutter!

For those of you who thought my post from yesterday was the funniest yet -- many, many thanks. I sort of don't know what to say today. I mean, anything I type is just going to be anticlimacticspice and will inevitably fail in comparison. There are those who do a weekly theme -- it's called wordless Wednesday -- in which they merely post a photo without blogging about it at all. To me, that's not lazy... it's willpower. When I sit down with this blank white space at my disposal, I got things to say. I've kept it bottled up all day. I can't just upload a photo and go -- no, where's the emotional cathartic release fun in that? So, I had to commentate a little first. Now, I'll show you some photos. Well, after some more commentary. I spent last weekend with my 4.5 year old niece. Before we went to dinner, I decided to freshen up a bit. She refused to leave my side while I fixed my face. I decided to put a little make-up on her, and she informed me

It was Free Pastry Day at Starbucks. My thighs are not as excited about this as the rest of me. In fact, my thighs wanted to know, did you not just feed us a bacon, egg, and cheese bagel from Panera? Are you out of your damn mind? To my thighs, I responded, But, it was an asiago bagel! All bets are off when there's asiago involved. And it was breakfast and lunch. I'm not going to eat my free pastry yet, so step off. I'll put it in the fridge, and heat up that flaky, free croissant later -- like for dinner or something, when I will unabashedly smother it with either hubs homemade chicken salad or a giant gob of butter. My thighs weren't done. Are you aware that bathing-suit-season is just around the corner? Do you not recall that picture your husband took of you walking down a honeymoon beach a mere eighteen months ago? (You know, the one in which we had a striking resemble to cottage cheese?) Me: Hey! We promised to never bring that up again! What happened

Wall. head. bangspice. It has officially been a Monday. I have, in fact, a case of the Mondays. Perhaps I am feeling a bit surly due to the state of utter failure that is my NCAA tournament bracket. I may as well have wiped my arse with the five dollars I spent to enter my own damn pool at work. The Kansas Jayhawks can run and flock themselves. In other news, I have learned that my biggest failure as a writer is point of view. Apparently, even when writing in third-person omniscient, one cannot freely head-hop her way through a manuscript, even if it sounds really, really cool in her own head. It only confuses and annoys readers. Now, rather than throwing in the towel, I'm trying to compile a list of references so that I can become a better writer. If anyone has reccomended remedial reading on POV, please leave a shout-out for me in the comments. Also, if anyone can think of good examples of novels written in omniscient third person POV, leave me those titles as well. My

Sometimes I wish I could use this blog as a forum to vent about specific co-worker situations. (I mean, I've semi-done that once, awhile back.) (I'll be honest: it felt amazingspice.) But, I am kind of hesitant to push the boundaries. In this economy, a girl can't be too cautious when it comes to safeguarding her job security. So, I'll keep my luscious lips sealed. All I can say is, TGI-effing F. In other news, I'm exhausted today. Because I am sporty as well as girly, I stayed up until the wee hours last night, intently watching the late basketball games. I'm running the bracket pool at work, and I take great pleasure in circling my own wins with a nice red pen. Oh, what? You want to see my what ? (I'll show you mine if you show me yours.) And here is where I plan to spend the next five or six hours: Yes, there is a beer in the corner. A beer for Ber. I will cheer for Louisville with hubs, a mega Cardinals fan, because I am a supportive wife.

If i do consent to "trying harder" in the baby-making department, is it wrong to hope the kidlet arrives in the middle of March so I can take maternity leave during the basketball tournament next year? Is it weird that I haven't gotten my hair cut since last October, and am sort of procrasinating solely because I am obsessed with finding and splitting my split ends? Should I remember the last time I ate a god-honest vegetable? Is it bad that I used the phrase "flicking the bean" at work today? Should I be worried that I haven't changed my oil since I purchased my car in August? Is it wrong that as I type this, I keep shooting the husband mean faces every time he opens his mouth to say anything at all? (I'm busy, dude. Shutitspice.) Is it wrong that I didn't shave my legs on purpose today, because hubs called in sick to work and therefore is not entitled to sex tonight? (You remember, right. When you were a child and stayed home from school b

I married a Murphy, so today is kind of a big deal for the paternal side of his family. We started our celebration on Saturday, which consisted of drinking a whole lotta Guiness (well, for me, a whola lotta Smithwicks, since I can't quite stomach the Guiness) at the annual parade of green-clad potato throwers. This was my first year in attendance, and hubs says I am a real Murphy now. Well, he did say that at the parade, but changed his mind at the end of the night when we had a hellacious argument about whether or not we're going to procreate. (I'm the one who is hesitant to be with child.) He resorted to low-blows, like how I refused to even take his last name. (I think Amber Tidd Murphy sounds even more Irish than just plain ol' Amber Murphy, but you know, you just can't win 'em all.) (Plus, a serious lover's spat is kind of Patty's Day tradition for us.) Spectators... and hey lookit! That's the place where I had my ten year high school reunion l

I watched Hoarders last night. During the first commercial break, I dared to look around my living room and I thought, oh holy mother of four-letter-word. Color me cluttered. Yes, it's true that most of my mess is hidden and collecting dust in the dark, but I know what's there -- like the 100+ VHS tapes in my bookshelf/ media cabinet, for instance. Yes, I love knowing that should I desire to watch my old school copy of Riding in Cars with Boys or Girls Just Wanna Have Fun or The Royal Tenembaums or Serendipity or Ghost World or Memento or... okay. You get the picture. It's there. If I wanted it, it would be right there. Also semi-hidden? Probaby 50+ copies of this weekly magazine from the late 1960's - early 1970's called Story of Life. My grandma gave them to me. Have I cracked the cover of even one issue? Hell to the no. I don't have time for that type of nostalgia. Plus, I can't even find a link for it with a quick google search. Something tha

I am not often told that I resemble anyone remotely famous, but a few weeks ago, I wore my hair curly (which really just means scrunched with some gel) when I worked a Saturday morning at the bank. One of my coworkers said it looked "very Pam Beasley." Even later, after telling my hubs the story and getting his opinion on whether or not this was a compliment -- he said, "Pam's hot. I'd do her" -- I was still not convinced that I would ever wear my hair curly again. When I think of Pam, I think of frumpy. So, I was not particularly stoked that I had found my facebook doppleganger weeks late, but I didn't let it break-a my stride. Nobody's gonna slow me down. (Etc.) Part two. Enter: mr. and mrs. musings of amber murphy, headed out on Friday evening for a date night. Since our tax refund had been directly deposited into our his checking account hours before, we had money burning a hole in our proverbial pockets. Hubs and I decided a trip to the

One of my best gal pals is in New York this weekend on an art school trip. I'm so jealous, but I love her and hope she has fun and sees celebrities cool art stuff. Here I am with my Mee-gan at a recent slumber party. Even though she doesn't have a blog (or read my blog... yet!) she deserves a shout out for her pure awesomeness. When we met, we were both working as waitresses. I didn't like her much at first, because soon after we met we went to see Metallica in concert. It was bad enough that she impressed all the boys in our group because she knew like allthewords to everysingle song (while I knew none.) Worse, she also impressed my husband-to-be, who tried to convince her to flash everyone or something. I was younger then, and less secure in my own fabulousness, so I was lividspice. (Okay, so I don't even quite remember the night. It's a haze of hard rock and hard liquor.) Now, we're super close. We have been friends for years and years. She knows all of

Circa 2006, 2007 and 2008, I was engaged to be married to a man. (Now, I actually am married to him. You know, because this post might leave you wondering.) So, even though I was engaged, I was still a pretty shameless drunk flirt. There may be stories from those years which contain too much information even for TMI Thursday. I mean, maybe. I'm not ruling anything out, nor am I confessing that those types of stories definitely exist -- hidden deep in the vault where secrets stay. Either way, in my world, there are certain rules which govern the girls-night-out. I have numerous married gal pals who remove their wedding rings while galvanting in taverns of ill repute. They believe that they'll have a better chance of scoring free drinks if they appear single, and justify it from the "what's mine is his" school of thought. One of our basic tenants is as follows -- if a married lady spends less on cocktails due to another man purchasing a round or two for her

I'm sorry. I can't blog right now. I just spent my entire lunch hour writing! Are you proud? Are you? You'd better be. I'm writing a scene in which David (Laurel's second love interest) comes to visit her for the first time since she went away to college. He wants to getitonspice. She's trying to get ready for her sorority induction ceremony. Now the author needs a cold shower before she heads back to the bank.

I've been feeling a little guilty lately. I think I'm sort of obsessed with my own blog. Seriously, I adore coming home for lunch in the middle of my workday. My plan is always to sit down and write. It's the perfect time to work. There are no distractions (other than the hungry rumble in my tummy) or reasons that I shouldn't be able to churn out a good amount of words before I head back to the world of checking account deposits and cash-in tickets. However, I find that when I come home for lunch, all I want to do is blog. My reader is full as a good girl's Christmas stocking, and then there's my own post -- just waiting to be written. Something alarmingly witty, for sure. Something that will generate the multiple comments I will hungrily read from my cell phone when I sneak out for a cigarette break at 4:00. So, I avoid the writing -- you know, of the fiction variety. I sit here, instead watching the text fill the blank screen of a New Post. Then, at

Oh, this is so exciting! I have been looking forward to this alldayspice. I'm pleased as punch to announe that the winner of my bithday/ 100 followers giveaway is none other than... Tina Lynn Sandoval! To whom it may concern, I assigned numbers to each entrant. Tina Lynn had numbers 38-42 for her five entries. Then, I used random.org to select the winner. Out of a whopping 79 entries total, number 42 was selected. Now, she thought she only deserved 4 entries because instead of just saying I was pretty she said: #amberishot. I gave her five anyway. It's my blog, so I reserved the right to do that. Kthanx. The thought of vlogging my karaoke dedication to my sweetest niblet has me feeling a bit weepyspice. I can't wait to go out and get my sing-song on. Let me just say, though, that it may be a few weeks before I can deliver on this promise. I am recovering from some nasty sickness in which I cough up my lung on the regular. You'll all just have to be patient. So, T

Yesterday, I missed  my husband's  our nephew's birthday party. They went to play Lazer Tag, and then later there was ice cream cake. (I'm sad about missing out on the ice cream cake.) I stayed home not only because I wanted to watch basketball, but also because I am continuing to a) hack up a lung and b) breathe out of only one nostril at a time. This morning, I feel a little better. I think it's due to my miracle concoction: the hot toddy. Combine: a good amount of whiskey, a big spoonful of honey, a squirt of lemon juice, and water... then microwave that until it is steaming. It soothes the throat and warms the insides, and has the added bonus of  numbing intoxication , which makes one forget they are sick, and after consumption, causes you to feel compelled to mix up another four of them . In fairness, I didn't invent this drink. I'm just glad someone did. In other news, today is the very last day to enter my giveaway! I shall be announcing the w

Well, some of you must think I am supercoolspice because I have a ton of awards to pass on. I intend to graciously accept each one, but if you feel I've forgotten an award you bestowed upon me, then by all means, let me know. Tina Lynn gave me one, and I failed to comment on that particular post because theraflu has caused my brain to cease functioning. So, she just left me a polite comment to say wazzup with that?! You might need to do the same. Unless you're Ashley Stone over at Fragment Ideas, because today I am passing on an award she gave me! Now, I must admit that, though honored, I do feel a bit unworthy of said award. I had never even seen The Karate Kid until six months ago. (Hubs says I'm un-American.) However, I am a huge fan of Kung Pow: Enter the Fist. ( and then?! My nipples look like milk duds! I hope they have icees!! ) Yeah, so now I am going to tell you some things I've mastered: 5. Typing really fast, especially when typing account numbers a

So, one of my girlfriends hosted a sleepover a couple of weeks ago. There was sushi. There was a pretty intense game of I Never. There was karaoke, oh yes, there was karaoke. But before that there was dancing. The hostess is the gal on the floor in the beginning of the vid. I was the camerawoman. It should be mentioned that fair hostess passed out about four minutes after the song ended, but is still fiercespice. This post likely will not stay up long, because I would like to remain friends with said hostess. (p.s. There is one tiny word that merits a language warning before clicking play.) Don't forget to enter my contest if you haven't already. And, as always, be sure to visit Lilu's blog for more tragic tales.

Well, I never. You people put yesterday on my toptendaysinlife list. I can't tell you how much all your birthday wishes (and compliments!) meant to me. Special thanks to my Sweet Niblet , Fiction Groupie , Sierra Godfrey , Mehlane , and Diana for making #itsambersbirthday a trendy trending topic on Twitter. However, no one could have outdone my main blog squeeze over at Vita Brevis , who dedicated an entire post to me  yesterday. No, seriously. The post was about me. I inspired it. Go there now and read it.  I'll just give you a snippet, to entice you to click on my linkage: And, while Amber is definitely a very attractive young lady and she's also quite talented and funny, these are not the traits that originally attracted me to her blog and such. Well, it didn't hurt; I'll be honest there. However, the thing that made me sit up and take notice? Her love of college basketball, specifically the lowly and woebegone Indiana Hoosiers.   For reals, I read 

The blogger as a child. p.s. it's my birthday. And people at Starbucks like me. (I did get this for free, but it was not for the benefit of my blog.)  (Obvi, it was a gift .) There's a cupcake in that box! There's a hazelnut latte in that cup! In other news, I'm having a 100 Followers/ It's my birthday giveaway. You should enter. I'm giving away the following goodies: 1. A $25.00 VISA giftcard. 2. An original poem, which will be hadwritten and autographed on pretty paper. It might be about love, about being a writer, or maybe the winner will be able to choose the topic. We shall see. This giveaway is a bit seatofthepantsspice. 3. A frame from my wedding day. In fact, this very frame: 4. A mystery. The fourth goodie will be a surprise until you open the package! 5. The whopper: I will dedicate a karaoke song to you, personally, and put it on my blog, vlogger style. If you want to enter this smashing contest: leave a comment. 1 entry if you follow and comme

If you didn't already know, now you do: tomorrow is my birthday! Also, I finally reached 100 followers over the weekend. (Actually, I gained 11 followers, because I signed up for this insane Friday Follow business, in which over 750 people link their blogs and follow each other. I consider this a semi-sell-out move on my part. but I really wanted to reach 100 followers by my birthday. And I did. And I feel awesome. And popular.) And. I get to have the duty 100 Follower Giveaway. Stay tuned for deets... I'll post the giveaway tomorrow. If you'd like, you can feel free to leave suggestions on just what I should give to you in the comments.) Here are a few ideas to warm up your Monday brains: an autographed photo of me a strand of my hair a vlog in which I karaoke (again) and, this time, dedicate the song to you, the winner! (ohh, you could even choose the song!) or, a gift card to a place. you know. the regular kind of give-away gift. Yes, let me know if any o