Amber L. Carter's Blog, page 29
December 17, 2013
Moving on up.
Radio show this a.m. to talk about the Dapper Dozen. Came in after "Dancing In the Dark" by Springsteen. I was like, "That's right, Bruce. You're opening for ME now."
December 16, 2013
Dear Writers of Revenge:
How I feel when I think of what we once had...We used to have fun together, you and me.Remember? Those delicious late Sunday nights when I would sit, mesmerized, hanging on to your every brilliant word…studying every covert gesture, analyzing every meaningful sideways glance…and always, in the end, crying out in equal parts pleasure and shock at the genius surprise that you had laid in wait for me.
And then Season 2 happened.
Every love affair has its share of struggle and tragedy…and ours? Ours almost finished us. I almost left you, you know. There were long nights and hard days when I wondered what had happened to you…I barely even recognized the show that I had so loved just a season ago.
You were different.
You had changed.
And not in ways that were good for either of us.
I can't even really talk about it, you know. It's just still so traumatic to even remember.
But then you came back! Or at least, it seemed that you had…you stopped rambling about that ridiculous Initiative, and started to focus once again on what really mattered: Taking down those damnable Graysons, once and for all. And I was so, so happy…it wasn't like the early days (can we really ever go back to the Honeymoon?) but it was close. There were welcome new discoveries, as well: Charlotte stopped being so freaking boring and annoying. Patrick and Nolan's chemistry? Wowza! Sarah was maybe a questionable casting choice, but her storyline brought full-circle the Daniel that we wanted to love in season one. That French chick who runs the magazine? She's pretty cool, too.
Oh, yes...I could tell that the last season had worn on you: You had let yourself go a bit. Jack was still acting like a crazed emotional idiot…Emily's outfits were still not on par with season one…and goddamn it, that crusty old Conrad would not. just. DIE. ALREADY. But I figured…give it some time. Go easy, I told myself. Let you get back into fighting shape.
And then, with the midseason finale.
I wanted to believe that you had something big in store. I knew better than to hope that you would take the storyline to the place you wanted us to believe it was going - the Graysons finally ruined, Emily and Aiden finally together and happy, on a beach somewhere far away. But with the same kind of set up as season one (remember? Remember how from that very first episode, you had us all convinced that Daniel was the one shot, only to find out midseason that he was the SHOOTER! How freaking brilliant that was!), I was hopeful, you know? That there would be some grand twist…a grand twist that would finally work out in Emily's favor.
Here's the thing, though, lover…taunting and teasing has its place, but after a while it becomes tiresome, then infuriating. Thus, it is only so long that we can stand to watch Emily be foiled again and again in her quest to take down the Graysons.
Just let her do it.
Let it be spectacular.
And then take the story from there.
There's so many places you can go! Have her reclaim her true identity: How will people treat her now that they know she's the real Amanda Clark? Have her struggle with what to do now that she's gotten what she wanted (heard of post-wedding blues? How about post-revenge blues! What does one do with oneself now that they have achieved their lifelong goals for vengeance? Start a charity? Maybe go back to school!). Have her and Aiden fall apart now that they no longer have anything in common…because Aiden is delicious, but none of us really believe that they'll be together forever. Have Jack figure out how to get himself back from Crazyland. Wanna know why? Because WE ALL LOVED JACK IN SEASON ONE. And more than that, we loved the idea of Jack and Emily together in the end. It's the plot point you set up in the first episode of season one, and most of us haven't lost hope for it yet. Bring him back to when he was strong and hot and full of townie integrity.
JUST DO SOMETHING DIFFERENT FOR ONCE.
Please understand...I want nothing more than to keep loving you. I don't want to have to let you go.
But you're making it hard for me.
And not in the good way, either. Not in the Patrick and Nolan way.
Yours, etc,
- Amber L. Carter
December 3, 2013
"I been work-work-work-work workin' on my shiiiit…"
So between last night and this afternoon, I've probably watched this video, oh, about twenty-five times already.
She's Australian, and she's amazing.
She's Australian, and she's amazing.
December 2, 2013
LEGO, why are you so bad?
When it comes to the socialization of girls and boys, I know some stuff (because college). Because of this, my friends know that I make it a point to praise my niece-by-proxy, Mae, more for being smart and funny and brave instead of just telling her how cute she is all the time (even though she is SUPER cute, and all the time).
For the most part, though, I don't get all uppity about the whole pink and princess stuff, because I feel like…girls should be able to have all choices available to them. And the more we vilify the pink princess stuff, the more we inadvertently reinforce the idea that girls can't just like what they like: They need to like what WE think they should like.
(Also, I distinctly remember being 3 and absolutely refusing to wear anything but dresses, because in my formative quest to understand the differences between girls and boys, I was convinced that if a girl wore pants, she wasn't a real girl. And I cared very, very much about being a real girl. (for the record, these were preferences that I came into on my very own. Pretty sure my dad would have much preferred a rough and tumble girl, and a grudging acceptance of pants would have saved my mom many a nightmarish morning).
But what I'm not okay with is blatant sexism.
Like this:
vs. this:
Like, I said, I want girls to have all choices available to them, but this is just straight up bullshit, LEGO. And until you stop making stuff like this, you bet your pink ass that I won't be buying LEGO stuff for any of my kid pals. Because you can do better. And you should do better.
The End.
WAIT! I almost forgot to give this to you:
----------------
Editor's Note: This was brought to my attention by the awesome @emoeby. Follow him.
For the most part, though, I don't get all uppity about the whole pink and princess stuff, because I feel like…girls should be able to have all choices available to them. And the more we vilify the pink princess stuff, the more we inadvertently reinforce the idea that girls can't just like what they like: They need to like what WE think they should like.
(Also, I distinctly remember being 3 and absolutely refusing to wear anything but dresses, because in my formative quest to understand the differences between girls and boys, I was convinced that if a girl wore pants, she wasn't a real girl. And I cared very, very much about being a real girl. (for the record, these were preferences that I came into on my very own. Pretty sure my dad would have much preferred a rough and tumble girl, and a grudging acceptance of pants would have saved my mom many a nightmarish morning).
But what I'm not okay with is blatant sexism.
Like this:
vs. this:
Like, I said, I want girls to have all choices available to them, but this is just straight up bullshit, LEGO. And until you stop making stuff like this, you bet your pink ass that I won't be buying LEGO stuff for any of my kid pals. Because you can do better. And you should do better.
The End.
WAIT! I almost forgot to give this to you:
----------------
Editor's Note: This was brought to my attention by the awesome @emoeby. Follow him.
This is annoying. http://t.co/1tbPNsOMdC vs http://t.co/8vlbwH5Scg
— Brian Moen (@emoeby) December 2, 2013
The Oracle
stage 2: yearning and searching
On the journey homeward, I recline back in my seat, close my eyes, and think about how it used to be, when we would see each other again after even a brief separation...smiles and exclamations and long hugs and your mouth on mine. I arrive home to find you already asleep, and in the morning I wake to an empty bed. I know that you are busy and must have things to do, so I don't know why this hurts me so much. Maybe because it's the first morning we've had in a long time that is just us. Maybe because, more than anything, I miss the mornings when we would lie in bed together for hours, curled up as we drifted in and out of sleep. And maybe it's because it feels, lately, as if you can't wait to get out of bed, which I take personally, even when I know it's not, which just makes me feel even worse. Why do I have to take everything so personally all the goddamn time? I lie in bed for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, and I repeat the promise I made to myself the night before: I'll pretend to be happy and charming and upbeat, all the time, even when I don't feel like it (especially when I don't feel like it). I'll concentrate on being easy to be around, remind myself that I've never gotten love when I complained for more. The Relationship Lessons of Oliver Twist. And if I feel like crying, I'll only do it quickly, and privately - a sharp swift burst of it to get it all out, and then I'll just stand back up again, swipe the proof away from my cheeks, and get on with it. So I jump out of bed, call out a breezy hello to you as I stroll into the kitchen and set about making myself a cup of coffee. Try not to think about the way you used to always bring me coffee in bed, and how, one morning not long ago, out of an effort to be more reinforcing of the things I did want instead of nagging about the things I didn't, I told you how much I loved it when you brought me coffee in bed, how it made me feel so loved by you... And how it seemed that after I told you that, you just didn't do it anymore. It probably wasn't on purpose, I swiftly correct myself, as I grab a mug from the cupboard. He's been really busy, remember? He probably doesn't even have time to make himself coffee. “Do you want some coffee?” I ask you. “No, thank you. I already made myself some.” Nodding, I take my hot mug full of coffee and carry it back to our bedroom. Placing it on the sink in the adjoining bathroom, I set about getting ready for the day. You follow me in, plop down on the bed, and play with your phone as I put on my makeup. I ask how your day was yesterday. You mention that your original plans were canceled, so instead you circled back and had coffee with Sarah. Sarah, I repeat silently to myself. I have never heard you mention her before. Who. THE FUCK. Is Sarah?! “Have I met Sarah?” I ask casually, as I swipe blush onto the apples of my cheeks. “No,” you reply. “I don't think so? She's a girl from work.” “Ah.” I catch my own eyes in the mirror for just a beat. Just a split second. Don't, I warn myself. “Tell me about her.” I listen as you ramble off her duties at work: she works in PR, she went to a big annual gala with all the other PR girls this past weekend, etc. And the whole time I am dying to ask if she's pretty. I am dying to ask if you think she's funny. Dying to ask why you are so busy that you can't even find time to send a meaningful text to your girlfriend when she's away for a week, but you have plenty of time to meet up with a girl from work on a Saturday afternoon for fucking coffee. But I don't, because I know I am just being irrational and that you are often friends with the girls you work with and that you would never, ever cheat. I don't, because maybe I don't want an answer to that certain kind of fatal wonder: would it be better to know you are interested in someone else and so that's why things are so hard and strange between us now, or to know that you are not and to have to still be mystified as to how we got so far from where we used to be? I don't, because I'm supposed to be easy, breezy, and light. I swallow the hope that has been sitting, perched, at the back of my throat – the kind I have every weekend morning now, when I wake up and wonder if, today, maybe todaaay! you'll want to spend the day together - and ask what you want to do today. You put your phone in your pocket and tell me you're meeting a friend this morning. I smile again, dig my own phone out of my pocket, and tell you that I'm meeting a friend for breakfast. It's a lie, and I feel awful for telling it, but in the split second between hoping that you'll answer that you want to spend the day with me and hearing you say that you already made plans, I know that I simply cannot stand one more morning of watching you leave while I wait here for you to come back. You ask if I want to walk out together. I smile as I swallow down the last of my coffee and then say, “Sure.” My walk is purposefully jaunty, and I call back a goodbye as we arrive at our cars. No kiss, no hug. Just a “See ya” as we both unlock our cars and get in. I allow myself one great gulping cry - a swift sharp burst of it, hard and guttural - as I pull out of the parking lot and onto the main road. It occurs to me as I make my turn to nowhere that it is exactly the way I've always cried when it came to death.
- from the story "As We Lay Dying", from the book all the things you never knew
-------------------------
"Who. THE FUCK. Is Sarah?!"
For the rest of my life, I will never, ever forget thinking that. Standing at the bathroom vanity, the lights reflecting bright in my eyes as I swished the rough bristles of my makeup brush against my cheeks, I felt my heart race for just a moment. Was this really fucking happening? It all felt so ludicrous. I barely became jealous, had never really been faced with the reality that a boyfriend could betray me in that manner. I’ve never suspected anything untoward from any of my partners...except for then, except for that moment. But everything else between us felt so crazy, so unbelievable, I remember telling myself. Why would I think that this wouldn't be happening?
"I bet you a million dollars that they'll start dating," I told Katy through my tears, the night I left him. And, later, Karah and Chelsea. And Erica. "That's the worst part. I know him so well that I can already tell who his next girlfriend will be."
I knew because Sarah had adopted a rescue, a pit bull mix, just like Chris. I knew because I had seen a picture of her, and knew, just by looking at her, that she was his type. I knew because, after the morning that I wrote about in the above, he kept slipping her into conversations, as if daring me to ask about her again. Until I finally did, and he tried to make me feel crazy for doing so. Which only made me suspect even more that there was more to his "professional" relationship to her than he was admitting.
And I was right.
-------------------------
One sunny afternoon this past summer, I joked with a group of friends that I wasn’t the type to stay friends with my exes...that the term The Bitter End always perfectly fit because I would fight so hard for our relationship right up to the end, and so when I finally did give up? It - and I - was bitter.
With Chris, I hadn't wanted it to be like that. I had this thing in me where I just wanted to be Good. Even after - and maybe because - he showed me that he had it in him to be unnecessarily cold and cruel, I still just wanted to make sure that I did what I could to live on in peace. To do The Right Thing, even if I wasn’t going to get that back. I didn't fuck him over by messing up the apartment or taking his things when I moved out (I even left him with a bunch of stuff of mine that I knew he liked and would use...which I later came to regret, but whatever). I didn’t rip on him in public forums. I didn’t trash talk him to friends. I accepted my mistakes and I tried to accept his, and concentrated on salvaging whatever forgiveness and goodwill I had left.
And every once in a while, something would come across my doorstep that I'd recommend him for. I did this because I'd like to believe that I'm not a vindictive person, and I try hard not to hold onto hard feelings. So when I was chatting online with my friend Jeremy, who was organizing a dope event in the TC and recruiting potential presenters for it, I recommended Chris and offered to dig up links to his social media accounts so Jeremy could check him out. Fulfilling this was harder than I expected…I had long gone radio silent on Chris, defriending, unfollowing, and generally hiding away any online reminders of him or. Searching for his Twitter profile, I clicked on a match and skimmed the first few tweets before I copied the link. In doing so, I noticed a particular Twitter handle.
Sarah. I felt my face grow hot, and then I shook my head to myself. They work together, I reminded myself. Don't click on it. Don't be the crazy ex. Just copy the link to his profile and move on.
But, feeling my gut churn in the same way it does when you walk into your boss' office and you already can tell you're in trouble, I clicked on the handle and skimmed her Twitter profile. The first evidence was an Instagram photo of her dog and Chris' dog Ella. I could tell by the carpet and the couch in the photo that they were in Chris' apartment. So what? I tried to tell myself. Maybe they were just hanging out there, having a dog playdate or something. But deep down, I knew what I would find if I went to her Instagram feed. So I drew a deep breath and clicked the link.
The caption to this read, "breakfast in bed from my fav lil' dude."
THAT'S MY FUCKING WHALE MUG! I found myself thinking wildly. That’s the mug that Chris and his son bought for ME, to surprise ME after a trip to Target one ordinary day, because they knew how much I loved whales. Chris used to bring me coffee in it almost every single morning. When I moved my stuff out that one awful Friday, I thought about taking it with me, but didn’t, because I knew it would be too hard to look at it every day and remember that. So I left it, figuring that he would just trash it later when he got home. And now he was using it to surprise his new girlfriend with having his son bring her “breakfast in bed”?!
Gross.
The best (read: worst) part were the timestamps. The one above was from January or February, which means that she had both met his son and was sleeping over (if not living there already, which is, in fact, evidenced by later photos) about 4 months after we broke up. Which, if you take into account Chris' average for relationship pacing, it means that they had to have started dating maybe one, two months after we broke up.
--------------------------
The thing about it is…I broke up with him. I left him. Sometimes I still have to remind myself of that. He had every right to move on, I tried to tell myself, right before I broke down into torrential tears. And I should have expected it. With everything I had learned about him, it should not have been a surprise in the least.
Almost a year ago, I was floored when I received a Facebook message from a girl named Danielle. A tenative message, it sounded so familar...and then I realized that it was the exact same thing that I probably would have written if I had been in her place. For weeks I had been praying for peace…just something, anything, to help me believe that I done the right thing, that I hadn't mistakenly destroyed what I had once thought was the best thing to ever come into my life. And, with her message, it looked like it had finally arrived. But I was also flabbergasted because, up until that point, I had no idea that she had even existed.
When Chris and I were together, both he and his friends made it sound like he had been single forever. I can still remember a conversation with one of his female friends at Bryant Lake Bowl a few weeks after we started dating: She had gushed over and over about how, for so long, Chris had waited to meet someone special. "He even said that to me when we met for coffee a couple months ago…"All I want is to meet someone special."And now here I was! seemed to be the unspoken end to that story. I had absolutely no idea that he had recently been in a serious relationship with Danielle less than three months before we met….a relationship so serious that she had been ready to renovate her house to make more space for him and his son when they all moved in together.
She helped me put the pieces together by relating her own experience, which was so eerily similar that it reminded me of two friends of mine who share the same shitty ex, and how, after finally getting together over a happy hour, they found out that he had sent them each the same text after their respective break-ups - "Standing in the middle of the grocery store right now, crying. God, this is so hard." It would have been hilarious, the way Chris had pulled the same bait and switch act on both of us, if it hadn't all been so incredibly sad.
For the past year, I've struggled with figuring out how I was going to trust myself again. After being tricked so badly by someone I had loved, how was I ever going to be in another relationship and not be suspicious of every single thing they said or did? The answer, I told myself at one point, was that I had to believe that, at some level, there was a part of him that was decent and good, that did really love me at one point. I really wanted to believe that. I wanted to believe that the person I had loved so much had, at some point, been worthy of so much devotion. That all of it hadn't been just some mirage.
Finding out about Sarah, though, dissolved that entirely. And not because he got a new girlfriend…because his being with Sarah so soon after we died confirms what I had long suspected but also dreaded: That the man I had believed to be good and decent and worthy of grace was really just a selfish coward.
To put it succinctly: The guy's a total dick.
And my goodwill? Has officially been spent.
--------------------------
I'm sure Sarah is an absolutely lovely person. That's the ironic thing about Chris - knowing Danielle as well as I do now, I can confidently say that the one thing Chris has going for him is his excellent taste in women. I'm sure she's blissfully happy with Chris and his son and their dogs, and I would not wish to strip her of that bliss. It's pretty amazing, when you're in it.
But that's for her. Not for him.
For a short time after I found out about Sarah, there was this deep, down and dirty part of me that wanted to rage and rail against him, that wanted to release every ounce of Hulk Rage I felt and do anything I could to ruin his life. Because I hadn't done that before. I know you don't deserve a medal when and if you act like a grown-up after a break-up, but goddamn it…he went out of his way to hurt me in various petty, cruel, and juvenile ways, and I didn't do any of that stuff to him, and now this. I wanted to out him. I even wrote this incredibly satisfying, brilliantly passive-aggressive, completely sarcastic and hilarious part about how I'm sure Sarah makes Chris happy in certain ways because (insert dirty laundry here that I'm sure she takes of now that I no longer have to, etc). And that shit? Felt GOOD when I was writing it.
But the thing is, even though I no longer feel any duty or obligation to be kind or gracious, I'm still better than that.
And despite all my faults and mistakes, I'm still better than him.
The least of which?
I wouldn't have kept the whale mug around after I got a new boyfriend.
On the journey homeward, I recline back in my seat, close my eyes, and think about how it used to be, when we would see each other again after even a brief separation...smiles and exclamations and long hugs and your mouth on mine. I arrive home to find you already asleep, and in the morning I wake to an empty bed. I know that you are busy and must have things to do, so I don't know why this hurts me so much. Maybe because it's the first morning we've had in a long time that is just us. Maybe because, more than anything, I miss the mornings when we would lie in bed together for hours, curled up as we drifted in and out of sleep. And maybe it's because it feels, lately, as if you can't wait to get out of bed, which I take personally, even when I know it's not, which just makes me feel even worse. Why do I have to take everything so personally all the goddamn time? I lie in bed for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, and I repeat the promise I made to myself the night before: I'll pretend to be happy and charming and upbeat, all the time, even when I don't feel like it (especially when I don't feel like it). I'll concentrate on being easy to be around, remind myself that I've never gotten love when I complained for more. The Relationship Lessons of Oliver Twist. And if I feel like crying, I'll only do it quickly, and privately - a sharp swift burst of it to get it all out, and then I'll just stand back up again, swipe the proof away from my cheeks, and get on with it. So I jump out of bed, call out a breezy hello to you as I stroll into the kitchen and set about making myself a cup of coffee. Try not to think about the way you used to always bring me coffee in bed, and how, one morning not long ago, out of an effort to be more reinforcing of the things I did want instead of nagging about the things I didn't, I told you how much I loved it when you brought me coffee in bed, how it made me feel so loved by you... And how it seemed that after I told you that, you just didn't do it anymore. It probably wasn't on purpose, I swiftly correct myself, as I grab a mug from the cupboard. He's been really busy, remember? He probably doesn't even have time to make himself coffee. “Do you want some coffee?” I ask you. “No, thank you. I already made myself some.” Nodding, I take my hot mug full of coffee and carry it back to our bedroom. Placing it on the sink in the adjoining bathroom, I set about getting ready for the day. You follow me in, plop down on the bed, and play with your phone as I put on my makeup. I ask how your day was yesterday. You mention that your original plans were canceled, so instead you circled back and had coffee with Sarah. Sarah, I repeat silently to myself. I have never heard you mention her before. Who. THE FUCK. Is Sarah?! “Have I met Sarah?” I ask casually, as I swipe blush onto the apples of my cheeks. “No,” you reply. “I don't think so? She's a girl from work.” “Ah.” I catch my own eyes in the mirror for just a beat. Just a split second. Don't, I warn myself. “Tell me about her.” I listen as you ramble off her duties at work: she works in PR, she went to a big annual gala with all the other PR girls this past weekend, etc. And the whole time I am dying to ask if she's pretty. I am dying to ask if you think she's funny. Dying to ask why you are so busy that you can't even find time to send a meaningful text to your girlfriend when she's away for a week, but you have plenty of time to meet up with a girl from work on a Saturday afternoon for fucking coffee. But I don't, because I know I am just being irrational and that you are often friends with the girls you work with and that you would never, ever cheat. I don't, because maybe I don't want an answer to that certain kind of fatal wonder: would it be better to know you are interested in someone else and so that's why things are so hard and strange between us now, or to know that you are not and to have to still be mystified as to how we got so far from where we used to be? I don't, because I'm supposed to be easy, breezy, and light. I swallow the hope that has been sitting, perched, at the back of my throat – the kind I have every weekend morning now, when I wake up and wonder if, today, maybe todaaay! you'll want to spend the day together - and ask what you want to do today. You put your phone in your pocket and tell me you're meeting a friend this morning. I smile again, dig my own phone out of my pocket, and tell you that I'm meeting a friend for breakfast. It's a lie, and I feel awful for telling it, but in the split second between hoping that you'll answer that you want to spend the day with me and hearing you say that you already made plans, I know that I simply cannot stand one more morning of watching you leave while I wait here for you to come back. You ask if I want to walk out together. I smile as I swallow down the last of my coffee and then say, “Sure.” My walk is purposefully jaunty, and I call back a goodbye as we arrive at our cars. No kiss, no hug. Just a “See ya” as we both unlock our cars and get in. I allow myself one great gulping cry - a swift sharp burst of it, hard and guttural - as I pull out of the parking lot and onto the main road. It occurs to me as I make my turn to nowhere that it is exactly the way I've always cried when it came to death.
- from the story "As We Lay Dying", from the book all the things you never knew
-------------------------
"Who. THE FUCK. Is Sarah?!"
For the rest of my life, I will never, ever forget thinking that. Standing at the bathroom vanity, the lights reflecting bright in my eyes as I swished the rough bristles of my makeup brush against my cheeks, I felt my heart race for just a moment. Was this really fucking happening? It all felt so ludicrous. I barely became jealous, had never really been faced with the reality that a boyfriend could betray me in that manner. I’ve never suspected anything untoward from any of my partners...except for then, except for that moment. But everything else between us felt so crazy, so unbelievable, I remember telling myself. Why would I think that this wouldn't be happening?
"I bet you a million dollars that they'll start dating," I told Katy through my tears, the night I left him. And, later, Karah and Chelsea. And Erica. "That's the worst part. I know him so well that I can already tell who his next girlfriend will be."
I knew because Sarah had adopted a rescue, a pit bull mix, just like Chris. I knew because I had seen a picture of her, and knew, just by looking at her, that she was his type. I knew because, after the morning that I wrote about in the above, he kept slipping her into conversations, as if daring me to ask about her again. Until I finally did, and he tried to make me feel crazy for doing so. Which only made me suspect even more that there was more to his "professional" relationship to her than he was admitting.
And I was right.
-------------------------
One sunny afternoon this past summer, I joked with a group of friends that I wasn’t the type to stay friends with my exes...that the term The Bitter End always perfectly fit because I would fight so hard for our relationship right up to the end, and so when I finally did give up? It - and I - was bitter.
With Chris, I hadn't wanted it to be like that. I had this thing in me where I just wanted to be Good. Even after - and maybe because - he showed me that he had it in him to be unnecessarily cold and cruel, I still just wanted to make sure that I did what I could to live on in peace. To do The Right Thing, even if I wasn’t going to get that back. I didn't fuck him over by messing up the apartment or taking his things when I moved out (I even left him with a bunch of stuff of mine that I knew he liked and would use...which I later came to regret, but whatever). I didn’t rip on him in public forums. I didn’t trash talk him to friends. I accepted my mistakes and I tried to accept his, and concentrated on salvaging whatever forgiveness and goodwill I had left.
And every once in a while, something would come across my doorstep that I'd recommend him for. I did this because I'd like to believe that I'm not a vindictive person, and I try hard not to hold onto hard feelings. So when I was chatting online with my friend Jeremy, who was organizing a dope event in the TC and recruiting potential presenters for it, I recommended Chris and offered to dig up links to his social media accounts so Jeremy could check him out. Fulfilling this was harder than I expected…I had long gone radio silent on Chris, defriending, unfollowing, and generally hiding away any online reminders of him or. Searching for his Twitter profile, I clicked on a match and skimmed the first few tweets before I copied the link. In doing so, I noticed a particular Twitter handle.
Sarah. I felt my face grow hot, and then I shook my head to myself. They work together, I reminded myself. Don't click on it. Don't be the crazy ex. Just copy the link to his profile and move on.
But, feeling my gut churn in the same way it does when you walk into your boss' office and you already can tell you're in trouble, I clicked on the handle and skimmed her Twitter profile. The first evidence was an Instagram photo of her dog and Chris' dog Ella. I could tell by the carpet and the couch in the photo that they were in Chris' apartment. So what? I tried to tell myself. Maybe they were just hanging out there, having a dog playdate or something. But deep down, I knew what I would find if I went to her Instagram feed. So I drew a deep breath and clicked the link.
The caption to this read, "breakfast in bed from my fav lil' dude."THAT'S MY FUCKING WHALE MUG! I found myself thinking wildly. That’s the mug that Chris and his son bought for ME, to surprise ME after a trip to Target one ordinary day, because they knew how much I loved whales. Chris used to bring me coffee in it almost every single morning. When I moved my stuff out that one awful Friday, I thought about taking it with me, but didn’t, because I knew it would be too hard to look at it every day and remember that. So I left it, figuring that he would just trash it later when he got home. And now he was using it to surprise his new girlfriend with having his son bring her “breakfast in bed”?!
Gross.
The best (read: worst) part were the timestamps. The one above was from January or February, which means that she had both met his son and was sleeping over (if not living there already, which is, in fact, evidenced by later photos) about 4 months after we broke up. Which, if you take into account Chris' average for relationship pacing, it means that they had to have started dating maybe one, two months after we broke up.
--------------------------
The thing about it is…I broke up with him. I left him. Sometimes I still have to remind myself of that. He had every right to move on, I tried to tell myself, right before I broke down into torrential tears. And I should have expected it. With everything I had learned about him, it should not have been a surprise in the least.
Almost a year ago, I was floored when I received a Facebook message from a girl named Danielle. A tenative message, it sounded so familar...and then I realized that it was the exact same thing that I probably would have written if I had been in her place. For weeks I had been praying for peace…just something, anything, to help me believe that I done the right thing, that I hadn't mistakenly destroyed what I had once thought was the best thing to ever come into my life. And, with her message, it looked like it had finally arrived. But I was also flabbergasted because, up until that point, I had no idea that she had even existed.
When Chris and I were together, both he and his friends made it sound like he had been single forever. I can still remember a conversation with one of his female friends at Bryant Lake Bowl a few weeks after we started dating: She had gushed over and over about how, for so long, Chris had waited to meet someone special. "He even said that to me when we met for coffee a couple months ago…"All I want is to meet someone special."And now here I was! seemed to be the unspoken end to that story. I had absolutely no idea that he had recently been in a serious relationship with Danielle less than three months before we met….a relationship so serious that she had been ready to renovate her house to make more space for him and his son when they all moved in together.
She helped me put the pieces together by relating her own experience, which was so eerily similar that it reminded me of two friends of mine who share the same shitty ex, and how, after finally getting together over a happy hour, they found out that he had sent them each the same text after their respective break-ups - "Standing in the middle of the grocery store right now, crying. God, this is so hard." It would have been hilarious, the way Chris had pulled the same bait and switch act on both of us, if it hadn't all been so incredibly sad.
For the past year, I've struggled with figuring out how I was going to trust myself again. After being tricked so badly by someone I had loved, how was I ever going to be in another relationship and not be suspicious of every single thing they said or did? The answer, I told myself at one point, was that I had to believe that, at some level, there was a part of him that was decent and good, that did really love me at one point. I really wanted to believe that. I wanted to believe that the person I had loved so much had, at some point, been worthy of so much devotion. That all of it hadn't been just some mirage.
Finding out about Sarah, though, dissolved that entirely. And not because he got a new girlfriend…because his being with Sarah so soon after we died confirms what I had long suspected but also dreaded: That the man I had believed to be good and decent and worthy of grace was really just a selfish coward.
To put it succinctly: The guy's a total dick.
And my goodwill? Has officially been spent.
--------------------------
I'm sure Sarah is an absolutely lovely person. That's the ironic thing about Chris - knowing Danielle as well as I do now, I can confidently say that the one thing Chris has going for him is his excellent taste in women. I'm sure she's blissfully happy with Chris and his son and their dogs, and I would not wish to strip her of that bliss. It's pretty amazing, when you're in it.
But that's for her. Not for him.
For a short time after I found out about Sarah, there was this deep, down and dirty part of me that wanted to rage and rail against him, that wanted to release every ounce of Hulk Rage I felt and do anything I could to ruin his life. Because I hadn't done that before. I know you don't deserve a medal when and if you act like a grown-up after a break-up, but goddamn it…he went out of his way to hurt me in various petty, cruel, and juvenile ways, and I didn't do any of that stuff to him, and now this. I wanted to out him. I even wrote this incredibly satisfying, brilliantly passive-aggressive, completely sarcastic and hilarious part about how I'm sure Sarah makes Chris happy in certain ways because (insert dirty laundry here that I'm sure she takes of now that I no longer have to, etc). And that shit? Felt GOOD when I was writing it.
But the thing is, even though I no longer feel any duty or obligation to be kind or gracious, I'm still better than that.
And despite all my faults and mistakes, I'm still better than him.
The least of which?
I wouldn't have kept the whale mug around after I got a new boyfriend.
December 1, 2013
And yes, I'll sign your books. You don't get to choose how I sign them, though. MYSTERY! SURPRISE! POTENTIAL OUTRAGE!
Today and tomorrow, enjoy free shipping on all merch at the Amber L. Carter Bookshop (including The Dapper Dozen: Sawyer County Edition Men's Calendar) with the code LASTCHRISTMAS (guess why)...AND, my new book(s) "all the things you never knew / certain things you ought to know" can also be had at a real, real deep discount - $4 off the paperback, $9 bones off the hardcover.
Those prices will probably never be that low ever again.
Unless I pick up a drug habit or something and really, really need the money.
I mean…never say never, right?
November 26, 2013
"Can't be hateful, gotta be grateful, mashed potatoes on my table!"
Tonight, when the clock strikes 8, my Thanksgiving vacation will officially begin.
I will spend three days with my family…more importantly, I will spend three days with my baby niece, LC, who resembles me not only in adorable cuteness, but also in bewildering intelligence, delightful sense of humor, and an innate ability to cause all who come into the briefest contact with her to not only love her, but declare that they would be willing to lay down their lives - and more importantly, their fortunes - for her.
It has yet to be confirmed whether or not she has my laugh. Hopefully this will not cause her too much pain if she grows and realizes that she did not inherit the true power of my magnetism. Let us not speak of it to her… Let us allow her to grow up as innocently and blissfully unaware of this potential tragedy as we can.
Anyway! Even though I just spent multiple days with my entire family and my baby brother will not be in attendance this holiday, I'm still pretty damn excited. I don't really have a favorite holiday - Halloween would be up there, I also really love Christmas, Thanksgiving is like a preview of Christmas, I feel like President's Day just does not get its due, and Fourth of July is always fun, too…mainly I really don't like to favor one holiday over the other because I don't want to hurt another holiday's feelings. If I'm really honest, though, I guess I would have to say that my birthday is my favorite holiday, because it's like Christmas, only everyone is worshipping me instead of that boring baby (he just lies there, year after year, in some animal trough. It's like, big deal. You were born. In a barn. Welcome to Olden Tymes, everyone.)
But back to the point: Even though it's not my "favorite" holiday, I still like Thanksgiving because it's a chance to hang out at my family's house and drink lots of wine with my sister-in-law Becky and watch epic movies like Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit and Hunger Games. I once had a boyfriend come to my house for Thanksgiving, and I remember warning him that, when it came to holidays, we were a pretty laid back family…basically all we do is eat, drink, and lay around watching movies (but we're doing it together, which makes it meaningful, see?). We don't really do the thing where we go out and toss the football around, or play games together (okay. The rest of my family will occasionally play games or cards together. I choose to sit this out as a declaration of my independence, and also because I find that stuff super boring). But it's fun, and it's relaxing, and now with a little baby in the mix, it will be even more entertaining.
I also feel the need to make the yearly declaration that, starting tonight at 8:00, it will officially be the season of me playing this, over and over.
That's right, kids. Welcome to an Amber Colored Holiday Season.
"Can't be hateful, gotta be grateful, mashed potatoes on my table."
Tonight, when the clock strikes 8, my Thanksgiving vacation will officially begin.
I will spend three days with my family…more importantly, I will spend three days with my baby niece, LC, who resembles me not only in adorable cuteness, but also in bewildering intelligence, delightful sense of humor, and an innate ability to cause all who come into the briefest contact with her to not only love her, but declare that they would be willing to lay down their lives - and more importantly, their fortunes - for her.
She has Kris' laugh, though. Hopefully this will not cause her too much pain when she grows and realizes that she did not inherit the true power of my magnetism. Let us not speak of it to her… Let us allow her to grow up as innocently and blissfully unaware of this tragedy as we can.
Anyway! Even though I just spent multiple days with my entire family and my baby brother will not be in attendance this holiday, I'm still pretty damn excited. I don't really have a favorite holiday - Halloween would be up there, I also really love Christmas, and Thanksgiving is like a preview of Christmas, and I feel like President's Day just does not get its due, and Fourth of July is always fun, so I don't like to favor one holiday over the other because I don't want to hurt another holiday's feelings. If I'm really honest, though, I guess I would have to say that my birthday is my favorite holiday, because it's like Christmas, only everyone is worshipping me instead of that boring baby (he just lies there, year after year, in some animal trough. It's like, big deal. You were born. In a barn. Welcome to Olden Tymes, everyone.)
But back to the point: Even though it's not my "favorite" holiday, I still like Thanksgiving because it's a chance to hang out at my family's house and drink lots of wine with my sister-in-law Becky and watch epic movies like Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit and Hunger Games. I once had a boyfriend come to my house for Thanksgiving, and I remember warning him that, when it came to holidays, we were a pretty laid back family…basically all we do is eat, drink, and lay around watching movies (but we're doing it together, which makes it meaningful, see?). We don't really do the thing where we go out and toss the football around, or play games together (okay. The rest of my family will occasionally play games or cards together. I choose to sit this out as a declaration of my independence, and also because I find that stuff super boring). But it's fun, and it's relaxing, and now with a little baby in the mix, it will be even more entertaining.
I also feel the need to make the yearly declaration that, starting tonight at 8:00, it will officially be the season of me playing this, over and over.
That's right, kids. Welcome to an Amber Colored Holiday Season.
(Very Damn Important Law #12) Do It Now
Even though the Very Damn Important Laws are really not in any particular order, I felt that this - borrowed from “The Happiness Project” - was an apt one for Very Damn Important Law #12.
Because (at least for me) planning is procrastination.
“We’ll start tomorrow” is no longer an option. Our lives are today.
Every time I’m tempted to put something off until tomorrow, I will call on the Power of Greyskull and enact Very Damn Important Law #12 and I will fucking do it right now.
Right fucking now.
Fucking right NOW.
As in, now NOW.
Seriously, I’m doing this shit now.
Starting...NOW!
-----------------------------------
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
November 25, 2013
(Very Damn Important Law #11) Treat Yo' Self
This Very Damn Important Law means something a little different than the very radical purpose it has for Donna and Tom on Parks and Rec.
Even though we can all agree that their purpose for it is very, very damn radical.
Dr. Wayne Dyer's quote above is basically the platform for this whole process. Instead of trying to attract what we (or who) we want into our lives, the real key is becoming that ourselves.
#11: Treat Yo' Self brings home a premise similar to Very Damn Important Law #8. #11 is about refocusing the energy we'd would normally channel into either attracting or maintaining a relationship with someone else and turning it back onto our relationship with ourselves. In a very basic sense, think of all the times we've turned something down or decided to "wait" until we had someone else in our lives to enjoy or appreciate something. Like…I don't know…carriage rides in the park or something. Who knows? Maybe taking a carriage ride in the park by yourself could be the best thing ever, and this whole time we've been waiting for some guy to do it with, when doing it by ourself makes us feel like Queen Elizabeth, just riding around in the park in our horse-drawn carriage, like, "Hello, everybody, I own this park and all of you, please wave to me and express your deference to my fucking awesome self who RIDES IN A CARRIAGE AROUND THE PARK BY HERSELF BECAUSE SHE'S OBVIOUSLY A BOSS."
Right?
Basically, let's start treating ourselves the way we would want a lover (used intentionally there. Please imagine Nick Offerman saying "lover" every time it's written here) to. Let's start giving ourselves sweet things, treating ourselves super nicely, basically wooing ourselves in all the ways that we would ordinarily wait and wish for someone else to do. Get dressed in your A-List clothes every day, because you're going to run into yourself at some point in the day and you want to look amazing for yourself when you do it. Bring yourself coffee in bed every morning, because you are the type of super adorable person who does and deserves that kind of thing. Give yourself little presents and surprises every once in a while, just to show yourself that you enjoy your own company and value the time spent with yourself.
We're not going crazy here. It's not about being a loon bat hermit. It's mostly just a mental switch - what are the things that you pour attention and energy to for romantic partners that you don't actually take the time to give to yourself? Start doing those for yourself.
Say it with me, friends:
Treat Yo'self.
TREAT. YO. SELF!
-----------------------------------
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
