Too Many Books

Mr Wonderful sported a half-sleeve tattoo, a work in progress, of characters from the childrens' book Where the Wild Things Are, which was important to him. Something metaphoric about the darkness. He named his cat Max. I believe it was that Friday after Superbowl --  he took the day off to have work done on it. Then he delayed our time meeting up, saying he needed to hang with a friend who he kept putting off. I came over at my Newly Assigned Time, and he explained how he'd stopped at a Nearby Sportsbar and showed some of the bartenders the work he'd had done. "My friends, Amber and Sarah, They both love the tat. I'm something of a local celebrity at Nearby Sportbar, apparently. Oh, and they both asked about meeting you." See, here's the thing about Other Women. There was always someone. 1) Papardelle Pasta Lady. Explained. Written off. 2)The Facebook Commenter. Her name was Haley or something. Once, off the cuff, Mr. Wonderful was showing me...

Get it together, Amber.  You had a past before you met him.  In fact, I had been seeing someone else, vaguely. A tall, well-proportioned Trinity alum with a booming voice and personality to match. He was fun to sing songs with, but I likened it to dating an oversized child. He wasn't ready for a single mom. It was ending. But I saw him the night of my Meet Cute with Mr. Wonderful, on the snow-day. Still grasping at straws. Ever the optimist. Of course - my Mr. Wonderful had been seeing someone else, too. This is Adult Life. So, when he asked me back over again that very night, I went. And I sat on his bed criss-cross-applesauce Adult Style, and said, "I have to ask." Yes, we dated casually. Then it turned into more of a friendship for us both. We didn't even kiss Saturday night when I made her dinner. I think she wanted to give it one more chance to see if we changed our minds. We didn't. We even spent the night together, she in her bed and me on her cou...

He didn't make me dinner that Friday night, as promised. Instead, as I was primping in preparation to head to his place, he sent a text. A picture of him, and the edge of his toilet with the view of SomeNBAGame on in the background. He had food poisoning, he assumed. And here was Photo Evidence. (Looking back, the picture was red flag #1. Whosendsthat?!)  Raincheck? He asked what I was up to the next morning. I was working for a few hours. He sent another pic, himself in the cough-drop aisle of a Walgreens. His throat was raw from all the vomiting. Did I have plans that night? I did. I was attending a comedy show, a Roast of Saved by the Bell. (Incidentally, my now-boyfriend played Zack. I didn't know him at the time, nor did I meet him that night. But, I did see him. I find that amusing.) I invited Mr. Wonderful, but he passed, saying he would lay low since he was still recovering, and could he have me over the next day? We could watch the Indiana basketball...

A year after my divorce, I dated this big 'ol player   sociopath  guy who was a player and a sociopath. Friends tried to warn me that he had a reputation, but like any good sociopath he pulled the long-stemmed wool over my eyes and fooled me. He became my best friend. I told him almost everything about me. My belief in him and the way we began to feel about each other was solidified with this added "inconvenience" that we worked for the same company. And more - a close family member of mine worked there, too. And he worked directly with that family member of mine, in the same building. As her supervisor. Surely. It couldn't be anything but love. He wouldn't risk his (decent) job for me if it wasn't. Surely. We met on an unexpected early-release work day in mid-January. It was a Tuesday. Snow was in the forecast, but nothing was coming down, so some work friends met for adult drinks. He was there, tattoos peeking out of the sleeves of his rolled-up ...

Can we still do this?! Is this still allowed? Man. I missed blogging. It's been a dick-year since I posted. In my last posting, my kiddo Stella was barely talking and still pronouncing her name "Yell-ya" which was cute. Now, she's six and then some, and about to finish up kindergarten. She can both write and spell her name, but can't pronounce remember ("renember") OR concrete ("concrepe") which you would think would annoy the hell out of a grammar guru like me... but parenthood changes us, does it not? Speaking of change, a ton more has changed since my days of being large, preggers, and an overall self-deprecating JOY to read. (You know I was. If you read my blog, you know I was.) I got divorced. This was inevitable. If you read my blog, you know it was. But gone are the days of over-telling. (It's not TMI-Thursday anyway.) All you need to know is that it was my idea, it needed to happen, and it was four years ago. He wa...

Kenzie is one of Stella's daycare playmates and NOT our dog. Stella's been bitten a few times at daycare, always on the arm between her elbow and wrist. However, this was the first time she was able to tattle on the kid with the over-active choppers. Kenzie bited. Bad. NO biting, Kenzie. Kenzie bited Yell-ya. Kenzie hurted. My poor Stella! It just about broke my heart. She talked about it all weekend. I will punch that little 'Kenzie. I will encourage retaliation. I felt so bad for Stella that I took her shopping for fall clothes and got us McDonalds which we secretly ate in the car because it was like 5:15 on Sunday (yesterday) afternoon and Daddy was making us chili for dinner. So, yeah.   If our dog Carson ever bit Stella, it would be on like Gangbusters. I'm not entirely sure which one of them moves faster, but they are super cute even in blurryspice photos. 

Carley turned seven in late August. Sheesh. They grow up way too fast, don't they? My sister got her a Caboodle for her birthday -- talk about a blast from the past. I didn't even know that they were still available to buy. But, it makes sense, because they are awesome. *Side note* My grandma used to call my Cabooodle a "Skeedoodle," as she always forgot what it was actually called. Hilarity. Obvi, a little make-up session took place and Carley did my face (photo not available) and then I returned the favor. Carley was so cute when I started giving her the smoky eye. She's all, "My mommy doesn't let me put the eye shadow on the bottom lash line! I'd better go ask her if this is okay." I tried to explain that I was giving her a "rock star night time look" and that on NO occasion would she ever wear this amount of make-up in her second grade classroom. Clearly. Or any make-up at all. Because she's SEVEN. I love her look!...