Amber L. Carter's Blog, page 28

On Hippie Moms & Being Amber

Recitethis.comA few weeks ago, I reconnected with a girl from high school that I had always liked and admired, whom, since high school, has become this sort of cool hippie mom. And not just a hippie mom…like, part of a movement of cool hippie moms. All of them seem to be super pretty beach babes who hula hoop and raise chickens and knit their own colorful, multi-pattern scarves and even have this circle of friends called the "mama crew." And they're all about "intentional parenting" and "unschooling" and it's kind of this weird sort of culture that reminds me of moms from the 50s and 60s, where their whole lives are about having babies and nurturing their children, only these moms do it in dreadlocks and Fifth Wheels. 

Like one of her friends (I feel into a deep rabbit hole on this one…there were some fantastic blogs by this crew. Sue me.) redesigned and renovated this Fifth Wheel that is a BEAUT on the inside and runs on vegetable oil, and this woman and her husband and their kids have traveled all over the country in it, just living wherever the mood strikes them and making (an obviously pretty great) living by blogging and holding workshops on stuff. 

And when I say "hippie", I'm not talking about the dirty tent hippies of our parents' time…I'm talking about "Hey, I'm super attractive but love the earth, so let me just put together this outfit that would look ridiculous on anyone else but makes me look like the West Coast goddess from your better dreams and then I'll have a baby so my hot bearded husband has a real reason to call me "mama" which most people would hate but it totally sounds super romantic and sexy when it's ascribed to me and then I'll impress everyone with my gluten-free bread-making skills that I like to practice in my tiny-but-ridiculously-amazing-and-entirely-made-from-rehabbed-materials dream cabin, whose building progress you can follow on my extremely well-read blog."

Kind of like this:
sheknows.com
Or this:
From igetakickoutofyou.wordpress.com
Right?

Studying this kind of life, it's one that I both envy tremendously and yet know that it's just not for me, you know? Kind of like the women who live up here (in the northwoods) who are super into cross-country skiing and mountain biking and wear second-skin spandex ski leggings into a bar without batting an eye: Sometimes I kind of want to be like that, but deep down I know that that's just not tribe. Like there's this part of me who wants to be all fresh-faced and organic all the time and pierce my nose and grow dreadlocks and get knocked up by some hot hippie carpenter (you know, Jesus was a hippie carpenter…) so I can hula hoop with the mama crew, but then I know I would just tire of always smelling essential oil all over the place, you know? And I would LOVE to just have this fun little nomadic family that travels all over, and sometimes I want to do the thing where I grow all my own food and I homestead my life and go back to the earth, but making sure everything is organic and 100% pure or made from scratch all the time is just hard work…and then I think about how it's just nice to go to the mall sometimes. Get my Starbucks and buy a $20 sweater at Old Navy. That kind of thing. 

My point:

You know how, on Pinterest, you see that "Comparison Is the Thief of Joy" image about 500 times a day? I don't think it's entirely true. I think, sometimes, it can actually bring one more joy…if you do it right. 

Kind of like with what I mentioned the other day, sometimes I'll look at the lives of some of my old friends and feel an initial small stab of envy…until I put myself deep enough into their lives (or what I imagine their lives to be like) to realize: Hey, still not for me. Or sometimes I'll take a look into the lives of the hippie moms above, and I'll be inspired to emulate the things I admire (um, mainly hot hippie carpenter husbands, but also a commitment to organic/Fair Trade/locally-sourced ev'raythang, and I do totally want to build one of these in the future, especially #1 and #5,) while simultaneously affirming the things that I like better about my own style/living space/purpose/life (my free-flowing, undreaded locks; my decidedly Patchouli-free perfume collection; the freedom to not have to bake my bread). Doing a little comparison shopping from time to time can actually strengthen my resolve to Be Amber, and therefore bring me more joy. 

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How about you? Tell me: What lifestyles out there (RunBikeTri vs. happily non-RunBikeTri, urban vs. small town, entrepreneur vs. corporate, nun vs. Carrie Bradshaw, etc) do you sometimes wish you could emulate/make yours? 

No More Crazy Love.

A little less of this.
A little more of this.Here’s the thing I learned this past year: 

I don’t want crazy love. 

Used to be, it was all I wanted...to have that whole locking eyes across a crowded battlefield scenario, where you would push and climb and run against all odds (and there were always odds) to be with that person...where every moment was so heartbreakingly beautiful and poignant that you needed an entire symphony to fully express the depth of emotion between the two of you. It was my qualifier, when it came to relationships...they had to have passion. Sweeping, epic, enchanted passion. The men had to be intense and wild and fully capable of drastic measures when it came to life and love and the things they wanted. I wanted them to be crazy about me, about us, and vice versa....

Until the day when I realized that I was simply dating a string of men who were just basically kind of crazy. 

And that our relationships were kind of crazy, too.

And that, if I was honest, my expectations, requirements, and the things I was attracted to...also a little crazy.

Finally it hit me: When I see that type of sweeping, passionate affair in books or movies? One of them usually dies tragically in the end. 

So I took myself out of the game for a while, and then realized that my entire viewpoint on love and relationships had changed. Instead of always wanting that intense high, that infatuation phase...I was actually rather scared of it now. Because it makes you crazy. It whispers to you to shove off work and flake on friends and ignore the daily stuff that’s usually so important to you so you can instead be with that person, every damn day, and even when you’re not with them you’re still thinking about them all the time, and in normal life we would call that obsessive but when it comes to dating we call it falling in love. 

And then when it wears off...tough news, pal. You spend the next six months looking for that intense high again, wondering where it went and how it could have gone away. Then you blame yourself and then them for it not feeling the same, when all along what you both thought was true, instant love was really just brain chemistry and projected fantasy and an overly potent dose of dopamine.

So I don’t want that. 

I don’t want the intense rush, because after it wears off it can make you anxious and insecure and uncertain. I don’t want the instant stuff that feels like vacation, because at some point that you've gotta clean the kitchen and if you’re only used to being on the cabana together, that stuff becomes even more of a drag. 

Instead, I'd rather have the peaceful, lovely, grown-up kind that's brimming with the really sweet stuff:

Mutual admiration and adoration, even when you’re not having sex all the time. Honesty and communication, even when it’s hard and you're cranky. Support and companionship, even when it’s boring and you'd rather be watching the game. The kind where you don’t feel the need to constantly talk about them all the time to everyone. The kind where you can have your own lives, but they’re just simply better when those lives are paired together. The kind that loves and adores you exactly how you are, right now...not who you’ll hopefully be in ten years or after you lose ten pounds or when you start making ten thousand more dollars. The kind where trust and loyalty builds an impenetrable, invisible fort...private things stay special, special things stay private, and attacks are met with a united front. The kind of love that sticks with you through cancer. The kind that, instead of waiting for a summit to a misty mountaintop to prove that they would do anything for you, they patiently roll out of bed at two in the morning to pick you up after you’ve had one beer too many. 

I once heard someone say that true, sustaining love is not about the dramatic gestures, the epically romantic overtures…it's about managing to live with each other, day in and day out, and still really liking each other at the end of it. And I remember thinking, "God, that sounds so BORING." But now I think…what a feat! And how great, to just really like the person you love and live with. 

And usually, in those types of stories (I think they're produced by Hallmark?), nobody dies in end! 

Well, I mean, maybe sometimes. Mortality and all that. But hopefully it doesn't happen until one is old and grey and boogie-boarding in Hawaii or something and there's a niiiiiice life insurance policy set up in case the other person survives (because sound financial planning can also be quite romantic in its own way).

The Fuck It List.

Welcome to my Fuck It list. Fourteen things I’m going to stop giving a fuck about in 2014. Because, as important as it is to push yourself to be a healthier, more compassionate person, that can be downright impossible. Refusing to give a fuck, however, isn’t just easy — it’s kind of awesome.

So fuck it. Here are the fourteen things I’m going to stop worrying about come 2014. 

- 14 Fucks I Refuse To Give In 2014 
My friend Jason shared this most excellent post on Twitter the other night. I kind of totally loved it, and I thought you guys might, too. Sometimes it's so much more freeing to give up the things that aren't working for you instead of resolving to do new/better/different things. 
I was actually thinking of this concept the other day, after I checked out a hangout with Gabrielle Bernstein and Danielle LaPorte. Danielle talked about how she didn't like to do the same things every day because one of her core desired feelings is freedom (read her book The Fire Starter Sessions and  The Desire Map and you'll get it). Instead of adhering to the discipline of sticking with the same routines every single day, she adheres to "the discipline of devotion" to her desired state. 
Anyway. 
My point: Sometimes just hearing someone say that they don't do things the way everyone else claims things need to be done just gives you so much...freedom. Like a big deep exhale of it. It immediately resounded with me, and led me to finally admit that, yeah, actually…while I crave a certain sort of structure, having to stick to the same routine each day makes me feel trapped. Claustrophobic. So eager to break out that I furiously rebel. It's the very reason why I was notorious for skipping class (and work…sorry, former-boss-turned-now-forever-friend Keri ;), and it's the reason why I still choose to work at home (and on my own stuff) and only accept opportunities that will allow me to retain a sense of autonomy.

But you know what has been so ironic about my days since quitting the 9-5? I don't take enough time to revel in the fact that I can go to bed when I want, wake up when I want, and take a break when I want. I have to constantly remind myself that I used to dream about being able to have a conversation with my friends on Twitter during working hours or tuck into writing in the middle of the day. I wasn't lying when I told the ultra cool peeps at the SMBMSP panel I was on that I am a jerk boss…because I work primarily for myself now, I have a tendency to be more of a slave driver to myself than any other supervisor I could ever have. I mistake routine for structure, no breaks - and no fun - for productivity.

Yet if I just let myself focus on the Big Things I want to accomplish that day (and The Why) - get in a meditation session so I feel centered and focused, knock out some weights or yoga so I feel strong and energized, ship a blog post so I feel fulfilled and jazzed, schedule a meeting so I feel connected to others and excited about the future - I get that shit done. I've said this before because it's true: If I'm motivated and it's stuff that I want to do, I can get more done in an afternoon that someone else can get done in a week. I'm the lazy teenager who can't be bothered to clean up his room but will be up and out the door by 5:30 a.m. to hit the slopes.

So the goddamn point is this: In 2014, I'm going to stop giving a fuck about routines and time management schemes. 

There are certain structures that make me feel better: I like waking up early. I'm a morning person, and I love the feeling that I'm up and writing while the world is still waking up. Putting on make-up every day and wearing an A-List outfit - even if it's created around leggings so I can meditate or hit the yoga mat in the middle of the day - makes me feel good (lounging around in pajamas all day surprisingly doesn't). At night I like to hang out in bed, reading or Dear Diary-ing for an hour before sleep time, and I like scheduling that sleep time so I can get in 8 hours (and wake up early!). 
Other things I'm going to stop giving a fuck about in 2014: 

2. The idea that I have to totally abstain from carbs and sugar in order to be healthy. I *shouldn't* have empty/starchy carbs and/or sugar. In fact, I've actually started to suspect that I'm becoming intolerant to gluten (trust me…I'm fighting it. BEER! What has happened to us? We used to be so close…), and an intolerance would actually explain a lot. I already know that my body immediately responds to sugar and carbs in a way that's freaky and totally not awesome, and so I've made a conscious choice this past year to mostly cut that shit out.

But I keep wanting to do the whole "I am TOTALLY off carbs and sugar! FOREVER! Get that cake AWAY FROM ME!" because I feel like I should, right…but then I know that telling myself that I can't have those things, even on special occasions, only makes me tempted to go right out and get some, just to prove that I still can and that my brain isn't the boss of me (yep…it's pretty entertaining in Amber-inner-dialogue-land). And honestly, it's so much easier for me to eat really well day in and day out if I know that, come Feb. 6, one of my birthday gifts is going to be (a piece of) the kind of chocolate stout cake that haunts dreams. The special stuff makes it just that…special. (And kind of like anything you quit for a while and then "try" a little bit of, I will bet a hundred big ones that that birthday cake is going to make my body freak out so much that I'm not even going to want cake again for another six months. Kind of like with what happened with champagne on NYE…it makes thee sad, though, so I don't really wanna talk about it)
3. The "30 Days" stuff (30 Days of Yoga! 30 Days of Meditation! 30 Days of Law & Order! That kind of stuff)
I always intend to commit, and then I literally forget all about it not even three days later. It's like I have consistency amnesia or something. And then I feel guilty for not being able to commit or be consistent. So fuck that noise. If I wanna do yoga one day, I'm gonna do it. If I don't wanna do it the next day, I'm not doing it.

FREEEEDOOOOOOMMMM!

4. Social Media/Branding/Copywriting Shiz
So tired of that stuff. I made a lot of money doing social media and brand consulting over the years, and I had an absolute blast during some of it. But now I read an article about social media practices and my eyes glaze over. I still have opinions, but 2013 was the year when I finally started to own the feeling that I don't want to spend my time helping you build your brand. I want to spend my time working on my own thing. And I can, so...

5. What my Bible college/Youth Ministry/Bible camp friends think of me now. 
My faith has changed. It has deepened, widened, morphed, and stretched. And I love it. I love what my faith has become. The first part of that was learning that I get to decide what my faith looks like and what it doesn't. And it doesn't look like it used to, and it certainly doesn't look like what I was told it should look like back when I went to Bible college and Bible camp. And sometimes it makes me sad, when I become Facebook friends with someone I used to know from North Park or Okoboji/Riverside and then they end up defriending me when they realize that I swear a lot or that I post things that aren't exactly lifted from Christian Life Magazine. And sometimes it makes me a tad nostalgic, when I realize just how different our lives have become. Their lives seem so safe and happy, secure…full of Yankee scented candles and Christian acoustic music and peaceful posts about family devotional time with their preppy spouses and smiling kids. I know that my life and the way I live it - single, childless, full of swears, the proud author of a book with a sex scene in it - makes me seem beyond the pale to some of them. And sometimes I want to stay friends with them because I want to hold on to the good parts of that past…the sunshiny stuff, like when I got to see Adam roll his eyes every day and watch Jason act too cool for school and listen to Joe make inappropriate comments during campfire and dance around with Ashley and Kristin during chapel and have late night talks with Nate in the kitchen. When I could look around at the people around me and know that every single person there cared about being a good person, cared about doing the best by other people. There was a part of it that still feels so…safe. Good. Warm. Like wrapping your heart up in a white down comforter.

So sometimes I miss that, but it's not my life anymore. And I left it behind for a lot of really good reasons: The judgement, the close-mindedness, the disdain for the secular world, the refusal to question and explore. I'm still the same basic person - still loud, still obnoxious, still kind of boy-crazy, still inappropriate, still daring, still all about the underdog, and still stupidly emotional - and I still like a lot of those people that I used to know. But I also know that some of them feel like they don't know me anymore, and that if the way I act doesn't align with their idea of faith, then they can't like me anymore, either. And I've decided to stop giving a fuck about that...or letting it hurt me. Their way is no longer my way, and that's okay. To each their own.

6. The idea of wild, passionate, crazy love. 
I have a larger piece that I wrote a handful of months ago about this (that I'll probably post tomorrow, now that it relates to this), but for now I'll just say: I don't want crazy love anymore. I used to think I did. But then this year I realized…crazy love is just that: Crazy. When I'm ready, I'd rather have the peaceful, secure, intimate kind. Based on mutual respect and admiration and other totally boring stuff like that. Passion can be useful and wonderful and totally fucking awesome in the right measure, but…I've grown beyond the epic dramatic movie stuff.

We'll talk about it more tomorrow.

7. The weight scale. 
Fuck that thing. Do you know how much power I've given to that little computerized plastic square throughout my life? How much I've let it control whether I felt good or bad every morning for years? And it's still not even the one that I want, where every time I step on the scale the voice of a sassy gay best friend tells me how I'm doing ("Honey, you get any hotter and Al Gore's gonna do a documentary on you!" or "You betta shake it or you're gonna break it!", or "You're not fat, you're FABULOUS!")

So in 2014, I refuse to give a fuck about what it says. My mission is to love my body regardless of how much body I'm rockin', and I can do that so much better if I let that little glass platform collect some dust.

8. Exes. 
2013, I think, was the year of learning to cut the chord. Of trying to forgive, of resolving to move on, of Focusing Within Instead of on The Hims (Trademark: Amber L. Carter). I got hit over the head pretty hard this past year when it came to the lesson that I had to stop reserving feelings and keeping the door open for people who have chosen through their actions and words to no longer be a part of my life.

Last night, in fact, I ended up lying in bed and running through all the possible scenarios of what could happen when and if I ran into (one of) the men I dated last summer. It had started to feel like an insurance policy…things ended on a good note, I still have fond feelings for him, and we'll be in the same geographical location again in a handful of months. So there has been this lingering, "Well…maybe…" in the back of my mind (mostly every time I read about some couple who broke up and then ended up getting back together and "see, now they're getting married so maybe it ISN'T always called a break-up because it's broken, Greg Behrendt!"), and last night I finally decided to face it and decide what I would want to happen if the Maybe became Hello Again. And the thing is…I would want something completely different. I would want slower, more formal, more reserved, more open…more different. And then I had to ask myself what it was that I actually really liked about him…what was it that I still wanted? The answer was surprising, and actually really good, but…I suddenly realized that if I wanted to become something new…if I ever wanted us to become something new, then I had to entirely let go of the Old. Any expectations, any anticipations, any still lingering ties to our previous relationship.

So I have to cut the chord on that, too. Even if I ever do want something again with him in the future, I still have to release him and our past relationship from my mind and heart. I have to stop giving a fuck about the way I felt about him then and the way that I feel about him now, and I have to stop giving a fuck about what happens in the future. And I have to do this for all the guys in my past - I have to stop giving any fucks about what happened or why it happened or how they're doing or how much I might wish that this or that would've or could still be different. It's over. Beyond the lessons that I've learned and can take with me, I have no more fucks to give for the Ghosts of Relationship Pasts.

9. Greeting cards.
I don't buying and sending them, and while the gesture of receiving them is nice, I kind of feel like they're just a waste of paper and money, and will usually just end up in the trash after five minutes of receiving it (unless you're a hoarder or it's a really, super, super cool one like the T. Hanks and grey felt squirrel one that my friend Dave has given me or the really pretty Thank You card from Erica that I have on my alter). So friends, family, and future-lovers-if-I-ever-end-up-having-any-again: You don't have to send me a card for my birthday, and please don't get salty if I don't send you one. Texts, phone calls, emails, presents…those I will and want to do. And you can do them, too, if you want! But I no longer have any fucks to give about guilt that comes with sending/not sending greeting cards.

10. Fitting in with the Marrieds.
There's a big crew of people that I really like up here in the Northwoods, and most of them hang out in a very particular sort of clique…all married, and most, if not all, have kids. The interesting thing is that we're all pretty much the same age and a lot of the people in that crowd and I really like each other as people. Yet when I first moved up here and started to get to know this group, I felt really hurt and more than a little angry by the veiled assertion made by a couple of the women-types that a Single shouldn't be hanging out with a pack of Marrieds.

Women, stop doing this shit. It hurts your fellow female community as a whole and it makes you look small. Just because you have a husband does not mean that every single woman within a 50 mile radius is gunning for him.

Also, don't flatter yourself (or your husband).

It's true that we don't have a lot in common and that I'll probably never be invited to their happy hours or weekend outings, even when and if I have a +1 to even things out. And that used to bother me, and it actually kind of hurt my feelings, to be honest. But now I've decided to just not give a fuck. I know who I am, and I know that I'm pretty fun to have around, whether we're talking about my dates or your kids. I also know that I am so lucky to already have a core group of friends up here that I love, and I've only just begun to develop all the friendships that are on the horizon for me here. Maybe this thing will change…maybe it never will. Maybe I'll just focus on just getting to know some of the people in that group on a one-on-one basis.

AND THEN GET CLOSE ENOUGH TO THEM TO RUIN ALL THEIR MARRIAGES!!!!

(See how silly that sounds? I couldn't even do that if I tried. Have you even met me? 99.99% of the world's population would describe me as weirdly awkward vs. cunningly seductive)

11. (Like I said last week) Whether or not my size has anything to do with a someone's attraction/lack of.
Because again, fuck that noise. I like someone or I don't. People like me or they don't. I'm no longer to going to use my weight as a shield, an excuse, an obstacle, or an apology for why someone shouldn't want to be with me. Don't like my body? Would probably date me if my body were (even just a little bit!) different? Please refer to the above GIF regarding how many fucks I now give.

12. On that same note, what you think I should be doing/eating/hating/loving/quitting/starting in order to be the size you think I should be. 
I know you might think you're being helpful. Or that you simply care about my health, and just want me to be happy. But what you're really saying to me is, "You're not good enough exactly how you are right now, so let me show you how to be what I think you should be." Did'ya just read a new study that told you that the food I'm reaching for that very second is actually bad for me? Heard on TV that if I want to get in better shape, I should really be doing XYZ? Who the fuck do you think you are?! I do not give a fuck about someone else's unsolicited nutrition/fitness advice, no matter how well intended you think the delivery might be. If I want further knowledge or clarity on those two subjects, I'll ask for it (though I'll likely ask this guy first, and then probably NOT. YOU).

13. Whether or not people *get* why I love Real Housewives, The Bachelor, US Weekly Magazine, Twilight, bubble gum pop music, or majestical wolficorns.

I used to care about defending these things, because I consider myself a relatively intelligent person who is not often given over to cheesy vapidness. Therefore, it bothered me that people didn't automatically know that most of these loves were either irony-based or dork-out fun. And then I realized…why do I care what someone else thinks about what I like? I don't like Fifty Shades of Gray, but I definitely don't think that any woman who does is stupid or shallow. And anyone who makes character judgements based on the fact that someone likes something they don't? That's pretty fucking shallow, if you ask me. To a lot of people, it's pretty cool to hate on stuff that other people love, especially without offering up a little curiosity as to why a person loves it. And those people? Are not my people. Sometimes I love stupid shit because it's stupid. And I really like that part of myself. And if you don't…?

Well. You probably get it by now.

14. Sports.
But then, this is really nothing new. I'm just continuing on with a thing for which no fucks have been given for a long, long time, and that has yet to fail to make me happy, so. Hooray for continued reinforcement! 

The two exceptions to this, however, are the Winter Olympics and anything pertaining to Erin Andrews.

Because that chick is DOPE.

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So how about you? 

What fucks do you refuse to give 2014? 

Share 'em up in the comments...and let's revel together in the saving of all of our fucks! 

(Or something like that)
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Catch up, half-pint: 

I Am the One I Am Waiting For

In Which RuPaul Becomes My Spirit Guide

The End Game

(Very Damn Important Law #1) Be (Unapologetically) Amber

(Very Damn Important Law #2) #BodyLove
(Very Damn Important Law #3) Learn From the Masters
(Very Damn Important Law #4) Meditation Is Like Making Out With Yourself
(Very Damn Important Law #5) Journaling Is Like a Daily Date With Yourself
(Very Damn Important Law #6) Release The Kraken!

(Very Damn Important Law #7, #8, and #9) The Trifecta
(Very Damn Important Law #10) Check Yo'self Before You Wreck Yo'self
(Very Damn Important Law #11) Treat Yo'self
(Very Damn Important Law #12) Do It Now

I do these thing for you guys, you know. And you probably don't even appreciate it.

In an attempt to defend truth and righteousness, I got myself into a bit of a Twitta Battle last night. 
So around January 2nd, this happened: From HappyPlaceThen, I noticed that some dude had decided to replicate the hoax with a Freaks & Geeks revival, and that some of my Twitter buds were falling for it. 
Which, I mean, I get. Freaks & Geeks is pretty much one of the best shows EVER. I would totally back a Kickstarter on that shit. 
But since I knew it was a hoax, I called it out: 



And then I offered them proof based on the above:


And then the best thing ever happened: The guy behind the hoax tried to tell me it was real.

So then I was like, 
And then he was like, 
and I was like, 

And then I found this on his feed, proof that he engages in "insanely fucking epic twitter stunts"...probably, you know, to impress his imaginary girlfriend. 
The End. 

It's JUAN-UARY, Betch! [The Pre-Season Prediction Edition]

We are a mere 3 days from the new season of The Bachelor !



Which means…we are a mere 3 days away from going on a journey. 

A journey of hot tubs wishes and champagne dreams… A journey of roses, limos, and tears... A journey of perfectly styled date outfits and serenades from just-signed bands singing second-rate songs...

It is a journey, my friends. A journey that you and I will take together, with the power of the internet and my ridiculously long and not-totally-accurate episode recaps.

After taking last season off due to The Bachelorette: Des Was Poor being incredibly insufferable, I'm actually pretty damn excited to start blog recaps of The Bachelor again.

Mostly because this season's Bachelor?

Is Juan Pablo.

Juaaaaan Paaaablooooo.

Professional soccer player from South America.

Whose publicly-proclaimed likes include "good-sized breasts women" and dislikes include "reading."

Basically, he's the only good thing to come out of Des' season, and I was rooting for him to be the next Bachelor from the beginning, so this season is mostly just a sign from the Gods that they hear my prayers.

Or that the Bachelor producers finally started reading the copious amounts of harassing tweets and Pulitizer-Prize-worthy recaps that I've been sending them. (and if so…welcome. Welcome to your new home, friends. You are loved here.)

Check out this Lifetime-Movie-esque copy telling us all about Juan Pablo:

Born in Ithaca, New York and raised in Barquisimeto, Venezuela, Juan Pablo is truly a citizen of the world. Growing up in Venezuela, he developed his passion for soccer and set his sights on one day playing professionally. Juan Pablo decided to return to his native United States to attend college and to keep pursuing playing soccer. Upon graduation, Juan Pablo fulfilled a life-long dream and became a professional soccer player in both Venezuela and America. While playing for Miami FC, Juan Pablo received some life changing news when he learned that his girlfriend, Carla, was pregnant. Refusing to be an absentee father, Juan Pablo put his dream of soccer aside to focus on a more important goal, raising his daughter. Born on Valentine’s Day in 2009, Camila Valentina Galavis will always and forever be Juan Pablo’s Valentine.  Juan Pablo took his responsibility as a new father seriously and began a new career in sports and entertainment consulting. Despite the success at his new career, Juan Pablo and Carla came to a realization that after two years, sadly, they were not meant to stay together. Ever since, Juan Pablo’s been looking for love. It hasn’t been easy for him as a single father trying to date but that is why he signed up for “The Bachelorette.” Now, he is confident that he will find his soul mate and a lasting, love-filled relationship on “The Bachelor.”
"Camila Valentina Galavis will always and forever be Juan Pablo's Valentine."

That's great. That's really, really great stuff. I don't know any woman who wouldn't breath a sigh of grateful relief that Valentine's Day can now finally be all about someone else - especially a stepdaughter, whom everyone knows offers no competition for attention or affection! -  instead of her.

I kind of want to write a Lifetime Movie now, based on this and all the movies out there about stepmothers trying to kill their stepkids so she can have their dads all to themselves.

Anyway! According to the producers, this is THE MOST DIDN'T-SEE-IT-COMING-SEASON YET!
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(I don't believe them, by the way. Wanna know why? Because Elan is a producer, and while I love him, HE HAS TRICKED US BEFORE. You broke my trust with that little stunt, Elan. YOU BROKE MY TRUST. And my heart, but we can tweet about that later, kay?)

By looking at this calendar,



...you may have noticed that The Bachelor is on twice a week. I'm not sure yet if I'm going to recap each episode, or just do one big blog recap a week, though. Some recaps take all day to write, and I don't know how I'm going to squeeze two recaps into my incredibly glamorous and fast-paced life. Plus, there's a part of me that just knows that the "Sunday" episodes are just going to be filler, like the way they try to draw everything out toward the end of the season with 20-minute recaps of the Bachelor's "individual journey" with every girl. I *am* kind of psyched for the Bachelor Love Stories, and I'm really, really jazzed about Sean & Catherine's Wedding. I freaking adore those two, and I'm actually genuinely happy that they've made it to the wedding day. And I gotta say…even though I love/hate this show so much, I'll hand it to the producers - with the exception of Des and Ben, they've really done a rad job in recent years of finding people who are extremely likable (Jason & Molly, Emily, Sean & Catherine, and now Juan Pablo).

To get in fighting shape for this season, though, I've given my Friday morning over to checking out all the girls and giving you my predictions of who I will love and loathe, sight unseen. I'm going with first instinct this time, because before Sean's season I read Lesley M's and Catherine's bios and knew instantly that I would probably like them, and read AshLee's bio and felt instantly that I probably would loathe her. But I was like, "Nooo, Amber! Don't judge them until you've seen them in action! Withhold favor, benevolent one. Let them prove themselves to you, first." But then I ended up being right. So I'm just going to go with it.

First up, before anyone else, is Alexis.


Ugh. I already know she's going to bug me - you don't put that your favorite book is "The Bible" if you have a winning personality (and I ain't go nothin' against the Good Lord's Book, but COME ON. I will go on record right now, right here, and say that I've even read the entire Bible (back in my Bible Camp days, we all did this book club where we read a portion a day from a Bible that was specifically designed and divided to help you read the entire Bible in 365 days) and I gotta say: God isn't exactly winning any prizes for his fast-paced, action-packed, excitement-galore writing skills, okay? We're all good at different things. God is good at creating stuff and raising a kickass son, so he doesn't really have to be good at being a best-selling author. Besides, have you even READ any other books, Alexis?!). She is originally from Cuba, though, so I suspect that she'll have a connection with Juan Pablo because of that.

Also, just from the first two Bachelorettes - including Alexis - I've noticed that either their bio facts or their questionnaire answers mention that they're Catholic. Hmmm…I wonder if that's going to be something that Juan Pablo talks about as a requirement later on…

There's something about Amy L. that makes me think that she'll maybe last a while.

Nope. No way.

Look at what she's wearing! Her favorite author is Dr. Seuss, for god's sake. If this were online dating, I would assume from reading her questionnaire answers that she was one of those mock profiles that Match.com makes up to collect data:

If you were stranded on a desert island what 3 things would you bring with you and why?My soulmate, a machine that turns salt water into drinking water, and an unlimited amount of flint. All I would need...my love, water, and the ability to make fire to cook.
What is your favorite holiday and why?Thanksgiving, I love Fall and it just kicks off the holiday season! Plus, I really enjoy a Pumpkin Spice Latte from Starbucks! Sweater dresses, scarves, leggings, boots... Fall fashion!!
Do you enjoy camping?Depends on the definition of camping. Yes, I can camp 2-4 days max! That's why girls have dry shampoo!
Do you like to dress up or do you prefer casual attire as a rule?Oscar Wilde puts this perfectly: "You can never be overdressed or overeducated." So, I like to dress up, especially for my man, but don't get me wrong, I can rock a pair of jeans and a t-shirt like a pro!
I love it when my date:Makes me feel like I'm the only woman in the world and no one else has ever made him feel the way I make him feel.

Am I right? It's as if someone went, "Hmm, what would I write if I were the perfect marriageable girl? I know! *types on keyboard* Something about cooking…something about Pumpkin Spice Lattes….something about how I can be a sport about guys-guy stuff like camping…and something about how I love to dress up but can also dress down. Perfect!"

Poor Cassandra. You played right into the producer's hands…if you make it anywhere past the first episode, you can pretty much guarantee that the producers are going to send you out on the roof of some skyscraper and make you rapell down or something in their classic ploy to make you "face your fears" and thus create a superficial bond with Juan Pablo. It's practically basic Bachelor science at this point.



Also, my favorite part of her questionnaire:

I love it when my date:Holds my hand
I hate it when my date:Doesn't hold my hand

So holding hands, then? Pretty big deal to you? Cool.

I like Chelsie.


Christy seems like she's either going to be super fun or start most of the drama (or, hopefully, both):

Meet the new AshLee!

What is the best trip you have ever been on and why?I have never taken a vacation. I've always worked my buns off and never made time.  Plus, I was never in a relationship that I could go on a vacation with.
Do you consider yourself a romantic if so why?I've never been one to be romantic.  It's hard for me because I've never experienced romance.  I wish I was.

The children are our future and her favorite book is The Secret. The End.

There's just something I like about Lauren and Renee. Can't tell what it is, yet, though.


Really? Your occupation is "Free Spirit"?! BARF.

Also, nice name-drop on the Kate Upton thing:

Who do you admire most in the world and why?I admire my best friend Kate Upton for her thick skin, my mother for her patience with me, and Steve Jobs for always believing in himself.
Do you like being the center of attention or do you prefer being more mysterious and why?I like to be the center of attention because I think I deserve to be. I have a commanding presence. I am charming, charismatic and entertaining.
If you could be anyone else for a day, who would it be and why?Why would I ever want to be anyone but myself?
What's the most outrageous thing you've ever done?Once I organized a 50-person, fully nude dance party on a beach in Mexico.
What do you hope to get out of participating in this television show?A husband, a daughter, new friends, amazing experiences, a better understanding of myself and a new exciting chapter in my life.

I AM GOING TO HATE THIS GIRL. I can feel it in my bones. Just by reading her questionnaire answers, I already feel hot, red, burning hate coursing and pulsing through my veins. The only way I'm not going to hate her is if I can tell from the first few episodes that the producers picked her as this season's Courtney…and then I'm just going to be merely entertained by my hate for her.

Nikki's profile, on the other hand, made me laugh with glee:

Also, who the fuck cares what these girl's favorite flowers are? I have never once in my entire life cared what someone's favorite flower was.

Victoria's going to the end. Unless she ends up being totally ugly and obnoxious in real life/on the premiere, she's my advance Top 4 pick.


So that's IT. There is a good chance that Sunday's episode - which is reportedly supposed to be a look into the lives of the Bachelorettes and Juan Pablo - could shatter all of my first impressions and predictions to shredded rose petals and shattered champagne flute shards (with the exception of how much I already hate Lucy, of course), but I'm feeling pretty good about this season so far.

In the meantime, you can prepare yourselves by checking out The Bachelor Facebook Page, which has actually been pretty fun this past month, and by following The Bachelor Master List on Twitter: It's full of all the best Bachelor live-tweeters, including lots of faces from past seasons.

Until Sunday, Bachelor babies…wishing you all one-on-one date wishes and Final Rose dreams...

Men of Merit.

"I would never want to tell any woman that her self-worth should correlate with what a man thinks, but I also won't lie and pretend it's not amazing to have a partner who makes you feel beautiful and sexy and loved on a daily basis. At the time Paddy and I met, I was still under the false impression that not many men liked voluptuous women (I have since discovered how wrong I was). But he loved every curve and every wobbly bit and every jiggle. And honestly, he helped me see my fat as an attractive thing, and not as the curse I once thought it was." - I love it when we hear stories like this. Not because, like Marie said, we should correlate our self-worth with whether or not a guy finds us attractive, but because I honestly think that we don't give men enough credit in this department. I think a lot of it has to do with the messages that girls get bombarded with in magazines and movies and frat guys who consider "No Fat Chicks" t-shirts their personal manifestos. The idea that men only lust after women who look like Victoria Secret models gets hammered in, until some of us start to regard the whole gender as shallow, modelizing, perfect-body-obsessed jerks.

I felt like this for a long time: That no guy could possibly find me desirable if I clocked in anywhere above a size 10. Sometimes this felt affirmed by some of the men in my life, but it was also gleaned by everyday comments and observations made by others. I remember once attending a burlesque show with a new acquaintance: The show was chock-full of gorgeous, confident zaftig chicks, and after each performance, men in the audience would roar in appreciation. This seemed to bewilder my show-going partner. "They're probably all just chubby chasers," she sneered. It was so tragic, to hear that come out of her mouth. Like it was so unbelievable that any guys could find those stunning, sexy women attractive, unless it was due to some - obviously gross, according to her - sexual fetish.

The worst of it was, it sunk in. Every time I felt heavier, I just automatically assumed that no man would possibly want to date me…and if a guy acted as if he did, then I assumed that either he was making fun of me behind my back or he thought I was easy and/or desperate because I was heavier. A lot of this, frankly, was simply fear. For instance, I wouldn't accept an online dating request if I felt a little bit over my mark, because I never wanted to show up only to see a look of disappointment and/or disgust in that guy's eyes.

Gradually, though, that feeling began to change. At first it was a couple of friends who gave me some really beautiful words when I expressed the above insecurities to them. The pronouncements they made about how I should never take that into account when judging my self-worth or desirability to others is are ones that I will never forget and will always hold close to my heart. Next, it was noticing, in some unspecific ways, that the only girls I knew who were disgusted and condescending about "bigger" girls were one who were incredibly insecure about their own weight (no matter how fit they themselves were). Then, it was befriending a totally bodacious babe who has guys salivating over her everywhere she goes. And it was when I started to observe and study the men who were crazy about her that I began to realize that I don't give guys enough credit. They didn't *just* like her because she was curvy, or like her *even though* she was curvy…they simply thought she was the full package, just how she was, because of all she was.

But, even with all that, it was probably this summer that changed me, and the way I think about this, the most.

Jordan was gorgeous. Stunningly so, in fact. I have rarely met - much less dated - a guy who was as effortlessly handsome as he was. When I first met him, I really didn't think anything of it…the idea of #BodyLove and #IamtheOne had just started percolating, and I had already set my mind to concentrating on those concepts instead of dating. But one summer Sunday, TAAAAHHHH-DAAAHHHH: There he was.

You know that saying about how it doesn't matter what you said or did, it only matters how you made people feel? That was the best part. There's a certain sense that you get from certain people where…no matter what, you just feel beautiful when you're around them. That's how he made me feel. He called me a "super babe" a lot, and I never thought I would like having anyone call me "babe", but from him, it was totally awesome. And I knew, when I was with him, that he didn't think I was pretty in spite of my size or that he only thought I was pretty because of it…he just thought I was pretty. Just how I was, right then, right there. Aside from a few choice male friends, I've haven't had many men in my life, much less dated one, who made me feel that way. And the fact that I was around or close to the curviest I had ever been before…it was all pretty tremendous and bewildering to me.

And that was the thing, I think…I realized, toward the end of the summer, that the fact that I was with someone who loved my body and how I looked way more than I did...it confirmed my desire to embark on the #IamtheOne and #BodyLove thing. And I knew I had to do those things on my own. While it was miraculous to date someone who showed me that my body was lovable and desirable and something to be grateful for, I knew that depending on someone else's love for my body to help me build up my own body love kind of went against everything I was intent on exploring. So with that - along with a few other timing/logistic issues - our romance ended with the summer. And I don't regret that decision, but I'm also supremely grateful that I got to have that summer with him. It changed everything…how I see myself, how I see men, how I can now see and identify the false perception that to be loved and truly desired, I gotta get at those six-pack abs. It's kind of like how, back when I lived in Minneapolis and went to a lot of social events, if I felt awkward or out of place, I would just kind of shrug to myself, think of my super cool friend Matt, and say inwardly, "Well, Matt Slawson thinks I'm awesome, so fuck you guys." And boom: Huge instant boost of confidence...because if a totally rad guy like Matt wants to be my friend, then who cares if that kid doesn't, right? And that's how I think of Jordan, now, too. Whenever those old thoughts and weight-related insecurities come up, I remind myself that a super babe like Jordan was totally into me just how I was, so any guy who isn't can go fuck himself.

And this isn't to say that this aspect of my thinking has been totally solved…like I said before, I'm now working against a whole lifetime of ingrained thoughts, negative ideas and insecurities. But I want more stories like the one above, and I want to know (and date) more guys like Jordan. And I want them for all of us. I want more women to know - to not just read it and hear it and nod their heads and go, "yeah, okay, cool", but to know - that their weight is not an automatic indicator of whether or not they can or deserve to be loved or desired (and loved and desired by someone you want to be loved and desired by. That's the biggest thing - we're not talking about the concept of "women can have sex anytime they want" followed by the unspoken provision of "yeah, as long as she doesn't care what he looks like." We're talking straight-up, holy shit check this guy out, fuck-yes loved and desired by Mr. Hotness. Fucking hello, Pierce Brosnan and Patrick Wilson), and I want us to give men more credit. There's always going to be that chubby, cocky guy who states that he only wants girls with a "tight ass and flat stomach" on his online profile (STILL cannot get over that guy, Katy. It's been 10 years and I STILL get mad when I remember you telling me that story over the phone)…but to balance him out, there's men like Pierce and Patrick and Jordan. Men who just love women, and see them as beautiful creatures, just how they are. They can't replace nor should they correlate with our own self-worth, but it makes it easier to know they're out there, doesn't it?

It's Butterfly-Turning-Into-Time, Bitches.

Zac Efron in Liberal Arts
- Liberal Arts  
It's funny how things come at you right when they need to. 
Sunk down into the center of the leather couch, I stared up at my TV screen as Nat (played exceedingly well by Zac Efron…I know! I was surprised, too) explained this scientific phenomenon to Jesse. When the scene was over, I whipped out my laptop and typed "imaginal cells" into my Google browser. 
Turns out, imaginal cells are totally a thing. 
And I think they kind of exist in us, too. 
The way I kind of wanted to work this whole #IamtheOne thing was to write about the Very Damn Important Laws, and then take you guys through the day-to-day "journey" (I can never say "journey" now without immediately thinking about The Bachelor, which is horrible but also awesome…it's JUAN-UARY, everybody!). And then it would all just be a matter of letting you sit back and watch how my life is changing in totally miraculous and amazing ways!

But it didn't really work like that.

At least, not yet.

It kind of feels like, after posting and publishing the past few posts dedicated to this whole theme and then attempting to put it all into action, my body and mind decided to totally rebel.

There's this thing I've talked about before in meditation where, at certain points, the deeper you attempt to go into strengthening your spiritual practice, the more you'll see stuff come up for you. Meaning: You're cleaning house. Only, right off, it doesn't feel like the good kind of cleaning…it's not the "YAY, more space in my newly-organized closet for new clothes!"

It's the "Oh my god, how did I never notice how completely GROSS the back of this corner cabinet was? And this WHOLE TIME I was living with this?!"

And you're tempted to slam that cabinet door closed and ignore it for another 5 years, because cleaning it all out? Makes you wanna throw up.

That's what the past few weeks have kind of felt like: Like my subconscious was trying to slam that cabinet door closed again. 

And then distract me from it by offering me a cupcake.

Out of nowhere, I was engaging in behaviors that haven't shown up for me in a really long time. It was as if all the things that I declared that I didn't want to do anymore? Let's do all of them x 100! And then add in a few extra that I had long thought were beat. 

And the thing of it was, it wasn't so much that I was stuffing my face or sleeping in until noon or having one glass of wine too many…it was that I was hating myself for all of it afterward. Which, in a roundabout way, only encouraged me to keep doing those things. Like I was holding myself hostage, forcing my inner Jeremy London to do drugs.

That feeling of letting ourselves down, of disappointing ourselves, is the grossest feeling. But you know what's even worse? That tiny little voice inside our heads that keeps whispering to us that if we don't want to disappoint ourselves, then stop trying. Go back to the way things were. That way was easy! It was comfortable.

We are used to this.

We were happy being the caterpillar.

(even though we know that we were not happy being the freaking caterpillar)

But then I saw this scene from Liberal Arts and - in proper geek fashion - started devouring everything I could about imaginal cells. And this is what hit me the most:

"[Imaginal cells] resonate at a different frequency. They are so totally different from the caterpillar cells that his immune system thinks they are enemies…and gobbles them up--Chomp! Gulp! But these new imaginal cells continue to appear. More and more of them! Pretty soon, the caterpillar's immune system cannot destroy them fast enough. More and more of the imaginal cells survive. And then an amazing thing happens! The little tiny lonely imaginal cells start to...all resonate together at the same frequency, passing information from one to another. The clumps of imaginal cells start to cluster together! A long string of clumping and clustering, all resonating at the same frequency, all passing information from one to another there inside the chrysalis."
"Then at some point, the entire long string of imaginal cells suddenly realizes all together that it is Something Different from the caterpillar. Something New! Something Wonderfull!
"Since the butterfly now "knows" that it is a butterfly, the little tiny imaginal cells no longer have to do all those things individual cells must do...And each cell begins to do just that very thing it is most drawn to do. And every other cell encourages it to do just that."

- From Butterfly Mysteries (emphasis mine)

Here's the thing that imaginal cells can teach us: Instead of getting down on ourselves for not turning into a beautiful fucking butterfly all at once, we can look at the discovery of those gross hidden corners as a sign of something radical happening.

In fact, "it's the caterpillar's job to resist the butterfly and the butterfly's job to become stronger because of the opposition to the its advance." So, instead of looking at "one step back" habits (a.k.a., stuffing your face with cookies, skipping your yoga class, etc) as signs that you're never going to change - sorry, maybe this whole clean living thing just isn't for us! - it is actual, tangible proof that the knob on the metamorphosis board has already been turned to the "Let's Fucking Do This" setting.

Think of every small step, each great choice you make, as an an imaginal cell. The more great choices you make, the bigger the cluster gets. 

And soon, that cluster will start to crowd out the old caterpillar life. Before you know it, the caterpillar in you is gonna recognize that it's fighting a losing battle. It's a new fucking day. The old way of life is no longer sustainable.

Your butterfly self is fucking taking this joint over.

So whether you're doing this #BodyLove thing with me or you're embarking on some new resolutions today, tuck the imaginal cell thing into your back pocket. When you wake up one morning later this month, wondering what the fuck happened to your new resolutions, realize that your progress hasn't been destroyed. Expect, even, that there's going to be a fight: You're trying to operate at a new frequency, and there's going to be a part of you that's not gonna wanna hear it.

But keep advancing. Keep building those imaginal cells. Cluster that old caterpillar shit out, kid. Concentrate on resonating at the frequency of something new, something wonderfully rad...until you find yourself shattering that old cocoon, rising up on those beautiful fucking gossamer wings, and announcing, "BEHOLD! THE BUTTERFLY REIGN IS NIGH!"

And after this, we can agree not to use caterpillar or butterfly symbolism for anything ever again.  

-----------------------------------Catch up, half-pint: 

I Am the One I Am Waiting For

In Which RuPaul Becomes My Spirit Guide

The End Game

(Very Damn Important Law #1) Be (Unapologetically) Amber
(Very Damn Important Law #2) #BodyLove
(Very Damn Important Law #3) Learn From the Masters
(Very Damn Important Law #4) Meditation Is Like Making Out With Yourself
(Very Damn Important Law #5) Journaling Is Like a Daily Date With Yourself
(Very Damn Important Law #6) Release The Kraken!

(Very Damn Important Law #7, #8, and #9) The Trifecta
(Very Damn Important Law #10) Check Yo'self Before You Wreck Yo'self
(Very Damn Important Law #11) Treat Yo'self
(Very Damn Important Law #12) Do It Now

Winter Walk.

I don't wanna get ahead of myself, but I think it's pretty safe to say that Amber's French Roast is probably the best tasting French Roast in America right now.

Girl from the Northwoods was recently commissioned to do a story for Backroads Coffee and Tea on their new Roastery…and while doing so, I got to achieve one of my lifelong dreams: Trying my hand at roasting a batch of coffee beans.



Of course, I had to open my big mouth about being able to recognize a French Roast anywhere, so which one did I get to roast? Oh, yeah: FRENCH ROAST, THE HARDEST ONE TO PERFECT WITHOUT STARTING A FIRE AND BURNING THE JOINT DOWN.

I managed to do it (with a lot of help from the owner and master roaster, Rod), and at the end, they gave me a personalized bag of my very own roast!


I knew starting Girl from the Northwoods would pay off eventually!

"there was a current and then there was Nothing."

On the drive home from the first bad appointment, I lean my head back and cry into my own mouth. I tell you that I can’t bear to know our kiddo is struggling and failing right inside of me. The safest house on earth, right?, and I can’t do anything to recover it or reassure it to fight. I just carry it around, talking to it, and begging it not to fade away. Please don’t give up, I say every hour. Until it’s clear it will. It must. And now: We wait for it to still completely and leave me and I am burned to the ground in grief by the mere idea of being so full and then, suddenly, so empty. Here is what I keep trying to explain to my mother with her soft hands and to you, as you cry with your head bent into my back: There was a current of utter magic inside of me, and then there was Nothing. 

We have waited so long for you, dear. Since we found out you were you, and that you had finally made it here, every night for weeks I yelled at God to protect you. I demanded it of him. Don’t let there be a world in which you arrive and depart before we can actually know you. In which you are not our family but a comet and I am left running after you, grabbing at the elusive tail of you. 

Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. Even now, when we see your heart through the outer space of ultrasound, which started so slow and then rose and fought and now, drags back down to an uneven, occasional thump, I think: Don’t leave me. Can’t there be a way in which I don’t have to give you up?

 For days, it is all I can do to not turn my back on the whole world. I love all of you and I hate all of you and I begrudge you so fiercely. So sincerely. The coldest, smallest heart of me clenches up my fists like walnuts and rages at your good luck. At your abundance and your casualness. For days, I scorn your happiness and snarl at your complaints. What do you know of grief, I scream to you from the balcony of this harshest, bluest night we just can’t seem to pull ourselves through. This night in which I am lost, wild and shrieking for this child I won’t ever find.

- been thinking...
There are no words for when one of your most beloved friends writes something like this. Or when her husband writes something like this. Nothing to do but cry big, fat, ploppy tears throughout the night and long into the day, your heart broken in half for two of the very best people you know.