Amber L. Carter's Blog, page 79
October 18, 2011
Life Lessons, by Amber L. Carter
Yesterday I learned that maybe not everyone always has to follow my timeline for stuff.
This lesson felt similar to the times when I learned A. that I was not, in fact, the center of the universe, and B. that people's lives could still be okay and fulfilling even if they did not know who I am. I guess what I'm trying to say is, it really, really sucks when people just don't automatically know to do everything that you want them to do when you want them to do it, but maybe don't get mad at them for it because sometimes they just don't know or they have other stuff going on besides you, which is kind of impossible when you think about it, but then again sometimes it's better to just accept that explanation and move on with your day. So yeah. I'm not really happy about these lessons, but I'm learning them...
This lesson felt similar to the times when I learned A. that I was not, in fact, the center of the universe, and B. that people's lives could still be okay and fulfilling even if they did not know who I am. I guess what I'm trying to say is, it really, really sucks when people just don't automatically know to do everything that you want them to do when you want them to do it, but maybe don't get mad at them for it because sometimes they just don't know or they have other stuff going on besides you, which is kind of impossible when you think about it, but then again sometimes it's better to just accept that explanation and move on with your day. So yeah. I'm not really happy about these lessons, but I'm learning them...
October 16, 2011
Repost, rerun, reread.
So this week I started working on a piece for the blog but about halfway through I started to realize that everything I wanted to say in it I had already said about a year ago when I wrote Fools Work. It feels odd, to re-read a piece I wrote last year and have so much of it still resonate and hold true. Whether that's good or bad...I guess it doesn't matter. But it's also one of the pieces from last year that I'm most happy with writing, so. Instead I guess I'll use the time that I would have spent on an original piece and direct it toward perfecting my dodge ball skills or something.
Read:
Fools Work, Part One
Fools Work, Part Two
Fools Work, Part Three
Read:
Fools Work, Part One
Fools Work, Part Two
Fools Work, Part Three
October 12, 2011
Also, I feel like I could really pull off that uniform. I look great in a nice pair of slacks.
So as part of my Emergency Dispatch training, my supervisor and trainer suggested that I try to see all aspects of the Sheriff's Department in order to be able to fully grasp what's truly important in dispatch situations and what is not. One of these aspects included a ride-along with a Deputy.
Let me say this: The department I work for is awesome. From the Chief to the Dispatch Supervisor to the guys on the road (with the slim exception of the guy who thinks that because I'm a girl, I must be an idiot and therefore need the definition of "armed and dangerous" explained to me, as well as the difference between a boat and an ATV), everyone is great. The job is great. Totally overwhelming at first - I had that small week-long window of panic where I felt completely out of my element and totally not smart and felt pretty much like I was going to be the worst dispatcher in the entire world, until my supervisor took me aside and told me that even the Armed & Dangerous guy told her that I was exceeding expectations (I don't know how much of a compliment that is from someone who obviously thinks you're a moron, but I must have impressed him with my effortless skill of being able to walk and talk at the same time). So I was pretty psyched for a shift on the road with one of our deputies. I was prepared for it to be kind of boring - me just sitting there while the guy ran a lot of traffic stops (granted, that's what I was there for, so I could understand why it was imperative to get the information back quickly. Nobody likes getting pulled over and having to wait 15 minutes while the cop sits in his vehicle and writes you a ticket. I mean, I have no idea how that feels, since my driving record is absolutely stellar and I've never been in trouble with the law, ever).
But within five minutes of our shift, we were flying down the road, lights and sirens blaring. Major drama followed. I was pretty excited to be the one to spot the suspect trying to make his way to what was obviously his getaway driver (hint: it looks a little suspicious when you back into a parking spot for no apparent reason, and only halfway so you can keep a full view on the squad cars across the lot). Which now means the A in Amber obviously stands for A-1 Crackerjack Detective.
After that, the night continued on with two arrests, two jail bookings, mediating between two bickering moms who "just can't handle the stupid drama any more", a couple traffic stops, some life lessons in DNR jurisdiction and fire regulations, and and a illegal fire that turned out to be a giant pumpkin. It was pretty fun. I doubt that a career as a sheriff is in my future (I would have a hard time being the guy who was completely ruining your day by pulling you over), but I still fully enjoyed singing this song under my breath during my alone time in the squad car.
Let me say this: The department I work for is awesome. From the Chief to the Dispatch Supervisor to the guys on the road (with the slim exception of the guy who thinks that because I'm a girl, I must be an idiot and therefore need the definition of "armed and dangerous" explained to me, as well as the difference between a boat and an ATV), everyone is great. The job is great. Totally overwhelming at first - I had that small week-long window of panic where I felt completely out of my element and totally not smart and felt pretty much like I was going to be the worst dispatcher in the entire world, until my supervisor took me aside and told me that even the Armed & Dangerous guy told her that I was exceeding expectations (I don't know how much of a compliment that is from someone who obviously thinks you're a moron, but I must have impressed him with my effortless skill of being able to walk and talk at the same time). So I was pretty psyched for a shift on the road with one of our deputies. I was prepared for it to be kind of boring - me just sitting there while the guy ran a lot of traffic stops (granted, that's what I was there for, so I could understand why it was imperative to get the information back quickly. Nobody likes getting pulled over and having to wait 15 minutes while the cop sits in his vehicle and writes you a ticket. I mean, I have no idea how that feels, since my driving record is absolutely stellar and I've never been in trouble with the law, ever).
But within five minutes of our shift, we were flying down the road, lights and sirens blaring. Major drama followed. I was pretty excited to be the one to spot the suspect trying to make his way to what was obviously his getaway driver (hint: it looks a little suspicious when you back into a parking spot for no apparent reason, and only halfway so you can keep a full view on the squad cars across the lot). Which now means the A in Amber obviously stands for A-1 Crackerjack Detective.
After that, the night continued on with two arrests, two jail bookings, mediating between two bickering moms who "just can't handle the stupid drama any more", a couple traffic stops, some life lessons in DNR jurisdiction and fire regulations, and and a illegal fire that turned out to be a giant pumpkin. It was pretty fun. I doubt that a career as a sheriff is in my future (I would have a hard time being the guy who was completely ruining your day by pulling you over), but I still fully enjoyed singing this song under my breath during my alone time in the squad car.
October 11, 2011
And this is how I feel about it.
Origin of graphic could not be found - if you know where this image originated from, please let me know so I can give proper credit. So, I started posting this on Facebook and then realized that I had a lot to say about it. So we're takin' it to the streets/blog.This is what we're "protecting" - a beautiful, sacred union whose initial purpose was to expand the sexual rights and property value of men, while ultimately stripping women of any rights and autonomy. Wedding rings were essentially cattle branding. Veils were worn so the guy couldn't back out of the contract until the deal was sealed. Fathers walked their daughters down the aisle because they were literally giving away a piece of their property. And even today, studies have shown that men greatly benefit from marriage - married men live longer, lead more socially fulfilling lives, and are mentally and physically healthier - while women still get the short end of the stick by losing momentum in their careers while gaining awesome stuff like high blood pressure and weight gain. Ironic, right? You would think, by knowing these statistics, that every movie in the entire world would stop having a plot line where a guy hilariously panics and balks when his "ball and chain" tries to "rope him in" with that pesky commitment thing. Instead, you'd think they have the guy go, "Hey! You know, if I get married, I'll be healthier and happier and I'll have someone to cook and clean up and take care of my kids for me every night even though she probably puts in more hours at work than I do. This marriage idea is tops!" And you'd have the girl running down the street in her stilettos, throwing garbage cans in his path and scaling buildings to get away from his scheme to trap her into something that will essentially end her right to free time, personal pursuits, and a good sex life.
I'm not against marriage. I'm mostly against weddings, because A. It's hard to escape the lame quotient B. a lot of the "traditions" are actually super archaic and I'm not into that noise. But I do believe in marriage. The medical and legal right of Next of Kin is extremely important to me (there is nothing more devastating than not having any rights to be with the person you love when something happens to them, and not all families are as generous during that time as people would like to believe) and it's also the main reason why I fight so hard for marriage equality. The legal and judicial protections that marriage offers is also pretty swell. I grew up with a model of what a great marriage can look like, and watching Chels and Matt and Kris and Becky navigate Marriage Land has also provided me with a certain awe for how that type of relationship, instead of making life stagnant, can make it exponentially more joyful and exciting. But the marriage equality issue has also made me feel like maybe I should put my money where my mouth is: We're not protecting the sanctity of a union. We're protecting a privilege. And for me to take advantage of that privilege while others that I love and care about cannot? That's not really the kind of thing I want my life to be about. So while there are surely many men out there right now who have been dying to offer their hand in marriage to a girl whose hobbies include practicing the video choreography of "Beat It" and defending the awesomeness of mystical wolves, you're just gonna have to take a chill pill, guys. This girl has political ideals, so we're all just gonna have to wait until we get this marriage equality mess all sorted out.
So anyway. Next up on the blog will be a video of hot dudes with kittens.
October 5, 2011
Coffee's for closers only.
Men of the universe...
If I could impart one piece of advice, one nugget of wisdom gained through observation, empirical research, and personal experience, it would be this:
Learn how to close.
In a shorter time span than six months, I mean.
As the Cyber Dating Sidekick, I get a lot of questions about what the biggest mistake is that people make when it comes to dating, etc. And it's always about closing. It takes 15 emails to get him to ask me to coffee...I've been flirting with this guy for 3 months and he still hasn't asked me out...we've hung out five times and he still hasn't kissed me...I hear this over and over. And you wanna know what it all adds up to? Missed opportunities.
And before we go any further, let me say this: Snyde, I know you're going to try to come on here and get all up in my grill about "why can't girls close" and "guys love it when girls seal the deal" and all that other bullshit that you try to pull with me when I'm talking about dating. Save it. We're not talking about what's fair in the battle of the sexes today. We've already established on this blog many times that women have to deal with periods and men have to deal with being the one who asks for the date. THAT'S JUST HOW IT IS, SNYDE. It is the lot that we are dealt with - I did not choose this. I did not create it. I am merely here to take your hand and guide you along the path to righteousness.
Alright? Good. Now that that's out of the way...
See, the thing is, guys, we're not always that patient. And you're kind of being dicks for thinking that the girl you like is going to wait around forever for you to make your move. Here's the way the universe works: If you like a girl, chances are there's at least two other guys hanging around, dying for a chance to get her attention, too. Two other guys who might be faster and smoother than you. Two other guys who aren't going to let that night pass without sealing the deal. And then you lose. Because the other thing you don't know is this: 90% of the time, the first one to the plate wins.
In my own personal experience, even if I barely like the guy, if he has the balls to ask me out on a damn date, I'm going to say yes. Because it does take balls, and it does take courage, and I like to reward that (the second date is another story. I am a little bit more selective on that one). On the other hand, if I really like someone and they take forever to do anything about it...they're off the list. Because that shit is freaking exhausting. If you don't want to ask me out, totally fine. Onto the next. But if I can tell that you kind of do...are maaaybeee thinking about it...are dropping hints left and right...and then you don't? Done. Because that's when my Like for you turns into confusion, and then insecurity, and then resentment, and I don't like being that girl. And you won't like me being her, either.
Because that's the whole thing, guys. And that's what makes this kind of thing so sad to see...when you take forever to close the deal, you're actually kind of hurting her feelings. We start to think that maybe...you don't really like us. That you probably actually find us hideous or super annoying or just totally not cool enough for you and all those hints that you've been dropping were totally not hints at all, but you trying to nicely say, "Hey. Loser. Hit the bricks." And then someone hands us a copy of "He's Just Not That Into You" and we read it and then are like, "This is totally THAT guy!", even if it's not (that book can be verrrry persuasive). So we start to stay away, and then you start to think that we don't like you, and then it becomes this whole circular mess where everyone is miserable and no one is getting laid.
Like everything else, men, talk is cheap. And if you don't actually follow up your attraction with action - in a reasonable enough time span - your words are going to start looking like the jewelry at Forever 21 - kind of cute when you first see it, but after a while it just starts to remind you of all the people you can't stand.
That wasn't a super great analogy. I guess what I'm trying to say is: The jewelry at Forever 21 is fucking junk.
So how do you close? There are many, many ways that you can do this, gentleman. Let's set up the scenario:
You like a girl. You think that she might like you (and if you think that she "might" like you, then chances are that she really, really likes you, since you guys aren't the awesomest with subtle hints and so she's probably been laying it on suuuuuper thick this whole time and you only now just caught on). You're in the same room together. You might even be talking to each other. There are a variety of options for this particular moment.*
You can:
1. Ask her if she likes Chinese food. Mention that you like Chinese food. Suffer through a really long pause where she stares at you and nods her head, and then say, really really fast, "MaybesometimeweshouldgogetChinesefoodtogetherIknowareallygreatplaceIcouldtakeyouto." Hold your breath until she says yes, and then exhale slowly.
2. Ask her about herself. Act like you're listening...better yet, actually listen. Then, tell her that you think she's really interesting and you'd like to get to know her better...like, say, over coffee this Saturday afternoon.
3. Slam down your beer, turn to her, and ask, "Can we fucking start holding hands yet or WHAT?!"
4. Ask her for her number. Use it a couple hours later to text/call her that it was nice to see her tonight and that you'd love it if you could see her again soon. (Caution: Asking for her number and then just telling her it was nice to see her tonight is not closing. That's flirting. Super sweet flirting, but you have to follow it up with concrete action for it to be considered closing. You may think this goes without saying. It does not.)
5. Completely ignore her. Don't even look at her. No eye contact, do not even acknowledge anything she says. Then, the moment she gets up from the table, throw her a meaningful look and say, "I had a really great time hanging out with you tonight. We should do it again sometime."
6. Chat her up for a few hours. Get her into a really long, involved conversation, to the point where she's ignoring her friends so she can talk to you. Then, after you've spent almost all night talking to her, sigh, say, "Well, see ya around" and then hit her on the arm as you walk away.
7. Ask her if she'd like to get some air. Take her out on the deck/patio/sidewalk/behind the building and just go in for the kill. Kiss her. Just like that, right there, right then.
8. Ask her if she likes boats. When she nods, tell her you have a boat. Wait for her to ask you if you'll take her out on it. When she doesn't, repeat to her again that you have a boat. (Also see: Motorcycles)
9. Tell her about your favorite hobby. When she smiles and says that she's always wanted to try/learn how/practice that particular hobby, ask her if she wants to tag along with you next time.
GOD. SEE HOW EASY THIS SHIT IS? SHE PROBABLY HAS ABSOLUTELY NO GENUINE INTEREST IN YOUR DUMB FUCKING HOBBY, BUT SHE'S STILL BEING ENTHUSIASTIC AND SWEET ABOUT IT. THAT'S HER ESSENTIALLY SAYING, "I DON'T KNOW HOW MUCH EASIER I COULD POSSIBLY MAKE THIS FOR YOU, SO ASK ME OUT NOW, JACKASS, OR I WILL BE WRITING YOU OFF FOREVER FOR BEING A MORON WHO CAN'T INITIATE ANYTHING WHICH ALSO MEANS THAT YOU PROBABLY WILL NEVER INITIATE SEX, EITHER, WHICH MEANS THAT I'M GOING TO HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING AROUND HERE AND I AM TOO FUCKING OLD TO KEEP DOING THAT ANYMORE!"
The point is, guys, that when you think about it, she could walk out of that room and be hit by a bus or something, and then she'll always be the girl you were going to ask out before she died and stuff. That's a drag, right? Or, more realistically, she'll walk out of that room and get asked out by some other guy, and she'll be so excited that someone is actually asking her out that she'll say yes even if he's a douchebag, and he'll be so happy that she actually gave him a chance that he'll do everything in his power to make sure that she stays completely off the market for the rest of your natural born life. And then all those things that keep running through your head every time you see her? You'll never get a chance to do them.
At least when you make a point to close, you have a chance. So close it. Whether you actually want to date this girl or just want to make out with her, close it. Ask her out on an actual date. Set up the scenario to get her alone so you can finally kiss her. The longer you wait, the less she'll want to. Even if you like the thrill of the chase and the excitement of the flirt-fest, you should still always be taking one step closer to closing, every single time.
And yes, I know most of you movie nerds have probably been bouncing around this entire post, dying for me to mention this scene. Because the ABC's are true, in sales or in life. It's fuck or walk. You close or you hit the bricks.
*See if you can distinguish the good ideas from the bad ones. Bonus points: See if you can select the ones that actually happened to me (hint: All of them).
If I could impart one piece of advice, one nugget of wisdom gained through observation, empirical research, and personal experience, it would be this:
Learn how to close.
In a shorter time span than six months, I mean.
As the Cyber Dating Sidekick, I get a lot of questions about what the biggest mistake is that people make when it comes to dating, etc. And it's always about closing. It takes 15 emails to get him to ask me to coffee...I've been flirting with this guy for 3 months and he still hasn't asked me out...we've hung out five times and he still hasn't kissed me...I hear this over and over. And you wanna know what it all adds up to? Missed opportunities.
And before we go any further, let me say this: Snyde, I know you're going to try to come on here and get all up in my grill about "why can't girls close" and "guys love it when girls seal the deal" and all that other bullshit that you try to pull with me when I'm talking about dating. Save it. We're not talking about what's fair in the battle of the sexes today. We've already established on this blog many times that women have to deal with periods and men have to deal with being the one who asks for the date. THAT'S JUST HOW IT IS, SNYDE. It is the lot that we are dealt with - I did not choose this. I did not create it. I am merely here to take your hand and guide you along the path to righteousness.
Alright? Good. Now that that's out of the way...
See, the thing is, guys, we're not always that patient. And you're kind of being dicks for thinking that the girl you like is going to wait around forever for you to make your move. Here's the way the universe works: If you like a girl, chances are there's at least two other guys hanging around, dying for a chance to get her attention, too. Two other guys who might be faster and smoother than you. Two other guys who aren't going to let that night pass without sealing the deal. And then you lose. Because the other thing you don't know is this: 90% of the time, the first one to the plate wins.
In my own personal experience, even if I barely like the guy, if he has the balls to ask me out on a damn date, I'm going to say yes. Because it does take balls, and it does take courage, and I like to reward that (the second date is another story. I am a little bit more selective on that one). On the other hand, if I really like someone and they take forever to do anything about it...they're off the list. Because that shit is freaking exhausting. If you don't want to ask me out, totally fine. Onto the next. But if I can tell that you kind of do...are maaaybeee thinking about it...are dropping hints left and right...and then you don't? Done. Because that's when my Like for you turns into confusion, and then insecurity, and then resentment, and I don't like being that girl. And you won't like me being her, either.
Because that's the whole thing, guys. And that's what makes this kind of thing so sad to see...when you take forever to close the deal, you're actually kind of hurting her feelings. We start to think that maybe...you don't really like us. That you probably actually find us hideous or super annoying or just totally not cool enough for you and all those hints that you've been dropping were totally not hints at all, but you trying to nicely say, "Hey. Loser. Hit the bricks." And then someone hands us a copy of "He's Just Not That Into You" and we read it and then are like, "This is totally THAT guy!", even if it's not (that book can be verrrry persuasive). So we start to stay away, and then you start to think that we don't like you, and then it becomes this whole circular mess where everyone is miserable and no one is getting laid.
Like everything else, men, talk is cheap. And if you don't actually follow up your attraction with action - in a reasonable enough time span - your words are going to start looking like the jewelry at Forever 21 - kind of cute when you first see it, but after a while it just starts to remind you of all the people you can't stand.
That wasn't a super great analogy. I guess what I'm trying to say is: The jewelry at Forever 21 is fucking junk.
So how do you close? There are many, many ways that you can do this, gentleman. Let's set up the scenario:
You like a girl. You think that she might like you (and if you think that she "might" like you, then chances are that she really, really likes you, since you guys aren't the awesomest with subtle hints and so she's probably been laying it on suuuuuper thick this whole time and you only now just caught on). You're in the same room together. You might even be talking to each other. There are a variety of options for this particular moment.*
You can:
1. Ask her if she likes Chinese food. Mention that you like Chinese food. Suffer through a really long pause where she stares at you and nods her head, and then say, really really fast, "MaybesometimeweshouldgogetChinesefoodtogetherIknowareallygreatplaceIcouldtakeyouto." Hold your breath until she says yes, and then exhale slowly.
2. Ask her about herself. Act like you're listening...better yet, actually listen. Then, tell her that you think she's really interesting and you'd like to get to know her better...like, say, over coffee this Saturday afternoon.
3. Slam down your beer, turn to her, and ask, "Can we fucking start holding hands yet or WHAT?!"
4. Ask her for her number. Use it a couple hours later to text/call her that it was nice to see her tonight and that you'd love it if you could see her again soon. (Caution: Asking for her number and then just telling her it was nice to see her tonight is not closing. That's flirting. Super sweet flirting, but you have to follow it up with concrete action for it to be considered closing. You may think this goes without saying. It does not.)
5. Completely ignore her. Don't even look at her. No eye contact, do not even acknowledge anything she says. Then, the moment she gets up from the table, throw her a meaningful look and say, "I had a really great time hanging out with you tonight. We should do it again sometime."
6. Chat her up for a few hours. Get her into a really long, involved conversation, to the point where she's ignoring her friends so she can talk to you. Then, after you've spent almost all night talking to her, sigh, say, "Well, see ya around" and then hit her on the arm as you walk away.
7. Ask her if she'd like to get some air. Take her out on the deck/patio/sidewalk/behind the building and just go in for the kill. Kiss her. Just like that, right there, right then.
8. Ask her if she likes boats. When she nods, tell her you have a boat. Wait for her to ask you if you'll take her out on it. When she doesn't, repeat to her again that you have a boat. (Also see: Motorcycles)
9. Tell her about your favorite hobby. When she smiles and says that she's always wanted to try/learn how/practice that particular hobby, ask her if she wants to tag along with you next time.
GOD. SEE HOW EASY THIS SHIT IS? SHE PROBABLY HAS ABSOLUTELY NO GENUINE INTEREST IN YOUR DUMB FUCKING HOBBY, BUT SHE'S STILL BEING ENTHUSIASTIC AND SWEET ABOUT IT. THAT'S HER ESSENTIALLY SAYING, "I DON'T KNOW HOW MUCH EASIER I COULD POSSIBLY MAKE THIS FOR YOU, SO ASK ME OUT NOW, JACKASS, OR I WILL BE WRITING YOU OFF FOREVER FOR BEING A MORON WHO CAN'T INITIATE ANYTHING WHICH ALSO MEANS THAT YOU PROBABLY WILL NEVER INITIATE SEX, EITHER, WHICH MEANS THAT I'M GOING TO HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING AROUND HERE AND I AM TOO FUCKING OLD TO KEEP DOING THAT ANYMORE!"
The point is, guys, that when you think about it, she could walk out of that room and be hit by a bus or something, and then she'll always be the girl you were going to ask out before she died and stuff. That's a drag, right? Or, more realistically, she'll walk out of that room and get asked out by some other guy, and she'll be so excited that someone is actually asking her out that she'll say yes even if he's a douchebag, and he'll be so happy that she actually gave him a chance that he'll do everything in his power to make sure that she stays completely off the market for the rest of your natural born life. And then all those things that keep running through your head every time you see her? You'll never get a chance to do them.
At least when you make a point to close, you have a chance. So close it. Whether you actually want to date this girl or just want to make out with her, close it. Ask her out on an actual date. Set up the scenario to get her alone so you can finally kiss her. The longer you wait, the less she'll want to. Even if you like the thrill of the chase and the excitement of the flirt-fest, you should still always be taking one step closer to closing, every single time.
And yes, I know most of you movie nerds have probably been bouncing around this entire post, dying for me to mention this scene. Because the ABC's are true, in sales or in life. It's fuck or walk. You close or you hit the bricks.
*See if you can distinguish the good ideas from the bad ones. Bonus points: See if you can select the ones that actually happened to me (hint: All of them).
October 3, 2011
Fall Flashback.
Tonight my friend Kevin posted this picture on Facebook, which brought back some memories of my first fall in Minneapolis.
Like this one.
This was taken during my during my second week at the behavioral clinic. Because most of our clients were elementary-school aged and were attending the clinic instead of mainstream school, we usually brought in a photographer every fall to take school photos for the clients. Therapists got their portraits taken for free, which I decided to take full advantage of. Luckily for me and my professional future, my supervisor was present at this photo shoot. She was very impressed with my maturity.
It's also the fall that I fell in love with My Chemical Romance, and this song/video especially. I was especially happy when my new friend Brook posted a picture of Gerard Way with the video director - I think he was one of her new friends...and she posted it because I couldn't stop talking about Gerard...but maybe not...it's hard to remember...ENOUGH! STOP ASKING ME ABOUT IT!... - on her blog, and so it's hard for me to let fall nights pass without playing the song on repeat.
Ah...Robbinsdale American Legion and My Chem-inspired slutty goth girl Halloween costume...I hardly knew ye...
Like this one.
This was taken during my during my second week at the behavioral clinic. Because most of our clients were elementary-school aged and were attending the clinic instead of mainstream school, we usually brought in a photographer every fall to take school photos for the clients. Therapists got their portraits taken for free, which I decided to take full advantage of. Luckily for me and my professional future, my supervisor was present at this photo shoot. She was very impressed with my maturity.
It's also the fall that I fell in love with My Chemical Romance, and this song/video especially. I was especially happy when my new friend Brook posted a picture of Gerard Way with the video director - I think he was one of her new friends...and she posted it because I couldn't stop talking about Gerard...but maybe not...it's hard to remember...ENOUGH! STOP ASKING ME ABOUT IT!... - on her blog, and so it's hard for me to let fall nights pass without playing the song on repeat.
Ah...Robbinsdale American Legion and My Chem-inspired slutty goth girl Halloween costume...I hardly knew ye...
September 24, 2011
Possibilities.
It was Deloris who woke us up. I moaned a little and turned over onto my side as I heard Adam banging around downstairs. The incessant meowing...this is why I renamed her Deloris. It is impossible to her that we could want to sleep instead of getting up with the sun to play with her. "Did we drink last night?" I joked as I sat up in bed and looked down at Adam wandering through the living room. Last night had started out as impossibly boring, and I texted Adam that we were going out later. "Let's go to Trails End tonight! They've got a good band.""Perhaps," he texted back. "Let me see how the night shapes up here.""No. We're going.""Glad you decided I should get a vote.""I did. And you voted wrong."
Of course, as it tends to happen, the moment I'm done with work, he walks in. "He" is a rugged outdoorsman that I met through Adam. We know and like the same people, and before I know it, I find myself standing next to him, holding a glass of wine and immersed in conversation with him and said people. He has an unnerving stare, which I told him. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "It's okay. You don't have to apologize for it. It just makes me a little nervous." He nods, and continues to stare. I don't know what to think about him, I decide, after I finally leave and head into Hayward to meet up with Adam. He's extremely attractive. I think he might like me. Adam says that his flakiness is part of his charm. I think it could get tiresome. And he makes me nervous, which makes me feel insecure, which can make me defensive, which can make me into the girl who will engage with you on certain levels but not on others. He's also leaving on a cross-country sojorn at the first sight of the winter freeze...which could either be miserable or perfect, depending on how you look at it. I can have the casual. I'm actually really good at the casual...enjoying someone's company and companionship without feeling the need to hang my hat on the possibility of a future together...but do I want that anymore. And it is worth it.
And this, if you haven't already caught on to it, is how my mind works: Developing every possible scenario and my response to it inside my head before I even decide if I actually like someone or not.
So I pick up Adam and we head out. The night at Trails End contained a drag queen, old men who still knew how to shake it on the dance floor, the difference between calling people skanks vs. dirties, lots and lots of middle-aged women who were having the time of their life, and the constant psychoanalysis of the girl that I refer to as (her name) Blue Balls, whom Adam previously liked and is now just annoyed with (for good reason. I thought I was a tease back in the day...this girl takes the game to a whooooole new level. Aka, when I asked a guy for a backrub, I meant it. I knew what was going to happen. That's why I asked for a backrub in the first place).
So we drank last night. Not a lot, but just enough to cause me to let out a series of dramatic sighs as I throw the covers back, climb down the loft ladder, and throw on a pair of dark jeans, a tank top and a black thermal, my Hunter Wellingtons, and my down puff vest. "Who's excited for Fall Festival?" I yell to Adam. "No one but you," is his smart-ass reply, right before he shuts the bathroom door to take a shower.
We leave and walk over to his place of work, where he makes me coffee and bids me goodbye as I set out to see what there is to see of Fall Festival. There's two this weekend - one in Cable and one in Hayward, with a bus traveling in between, because apparently we love Fall Festivals up here and the demand for effortless transportation between them is great. Main Street is decorated with hay bales and corn stalks, and my friend Sean is set up on the stage, playing his guitar and singing for the early crowds. Wandering along the rows of craft booths with my coffee in hand, I feel like I'm supposed to be in a kicky new hour-long sitcom about a small town, playing the irrepressible single girl who becomes romantically involved with an animal doctor who also owns a local fly fishing store or something. Passing a stack of haybales, I feel a small twinge of disappointment. This weekend could be cursed. I was originally going to have my friend Jess come up, but then had to cancel because of work, but then too late found out I wouldn't have to cancel for work, and then was going to be visited by someone I...like? Barely know but still think is awesome? Someone to whom, on the very first night we met, I apparently drunkenly (I don't remember this part...charmingly enough, it was one of the only two nights in my life in which I don't remember things happening) and without solicitation told them that they weren't my type (aka, not a tortured emotional soul who likes to manipulate girls before disappearing altogether out of an ill-placed need to appear "mysterious") and yet he still continued to be nice to me?...but plans were canceled due to a football scheduling conflict. I tried to play it off by being all "ha ha I hate football" lighthearted about it, but deep down I was pretty bummed. We had talked all summer about the possibility of him coming up, and finally it was happening, and then it wasn't. It was kind of like the climatic ending of a Laura Weissberger book that never actually happens: You keep reading, so psyched to get to the part where the main character finally tells the uber-bitch off, only to have it end with them being all, "Okay, well, I guess I'll see you later" and then walking off to some lame reconciliation with her dorky boyfriend and kind-of-bitchy best friend.
But it's fine. He's going to have a super fun weekend, which is great, and I am obviously meant to work this weekend for some reason. And I can catch up on my writing, too, I told myself, as I waved goodbye to Sean and headed back to my place. Like working on the book, and writing posts that are more about things that could mean something instead of things that are already figured out. It's nice, to still have that in my life.
Of course, as it tends to happen, the moment I'm done with work, he walks in. "He" is a rugged outdoorsman that I met through Adam. We know and like the same people, and before I know it, I find myself standing next to him, holding a glass of wine and immersed in conversation with him and said people. He has an unnerving stare, which I told him. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "It's okay. You don't have to apologize for it. It just makes me a little nervous." He nods, and continues to stare. I don't know what to think about him, I decide, after I finally leave and head into Hayward to meet up with Adam. He's extremely attractive. I think he might like me. Adam says that his flakiness is part of his charm. I think it could get tiresome. And he makes me nervous, which makes me feel insecure, which can make me defensive, which can make me into the girl who will engage with you on certain levels but not on others. He's also leaving on a cross-country sojorn at the first sight of the winter freeze...which could either be miserable or perfect, depending on how you look at it. I can have the casual. I'm actually really good at the casual...enjoying someone's company and companionship without feeling the need to hang my hat on the possibility of a future together...but do I want that anymore. And it is worth it.
And this, if you haven't already caught on to it, is how my mind works: Developing every possible scenario and my response to it inside my head before I even decide if I actually like someone or not.
So I pick up Adam and we head out. The night at Trails End contained a drag queen, old men who still knew how to shake it on the dance floor, the difference between calling people skanks vs. dirties, lots and lots of middle-aged women who were having the time of their life, and the constant psychoanalysis of the girl that I refer to as (her name) Blue Balls, whom Adam previously liked and is now just annoyed with (for good reason. I thought I was a tease back in the day...this girl takes the game to a whooooole new level. Aka, when I asked a guy for a backrub, I meant it. I knew what was going to happen. That's why I asked for a backrub in the first place).
So we drank last night. Not a lot, but just enough to cause me to let out a series of dramatic sighs as I throw the covers back, climb down the loft ladder, and throw on a pair of dark jeans, a tank top and a black thermal, my Hunter Wellingtons, and my down puff vest. "Who's excited for Fall Festival?" I yell to Adam. "No one but you," is his smart-ass reply, right before he shuts the bathroom door to take a shower.
We leave and walk over to his place of work, where he makes me coffee and bids me goodbye as I set out to see what there is to see of Fall Festival. There's two this weekend - one in Cable and one in Hayward, with a bus traveling in between, because apparently we love Fall Festivals up here and the demand for effortless transportation between them is great. Main Street is decorated with hay bales and corn stalks, and my friend Sean is set up on the stage, playing his guitar and singing for the early crowds. Wandering along the rows of craft booths with my coffee in hand, I feel like I'm supposed to be in a kicky new hour-long sitcom about a small town, playing the irrepressible single girl who becomes romantically involved with an animal doctor who also owns a local fly fishing store or something. Passing a stack of haybales, I feel a small twinge of disappointment. This weekend could be cursed. I was originally going to have my friend Jess come up, but then had to cancel because of work, but then too late found out I wouldn't have to cancel for work, and then was going to be visited by someone I...like? Barely know but still think is awesome? Someone to whom, on the very first night we met, I apparently drunkenly (I don't remember this part...charmingly enough, it was one of the only two nights in my life in which I don't remember things happening) and without solicitation told them that they weren't my type (aka, not a tortured emotional soul who likes to manipulate girls before disappearing altogether out of an ill-placed need to appear "mysterious") and yet he still continued to be nice to me?...but plans were canceled due to a football scheduling conflict. I tried to play it off by being all "ha ha I hate football" lighthearted about it, but deep down I was pretty bummed. We had talked all summer about the possibility of him coming up, and finally it was happening, and then it wasn't. It was kind of like the climatic ending of a Laura Weissberger book that never actually happens: You keep reading, so psyched to get to the part where the main character finally tells the uber-bitch off, only to have it end with them being all, "Okay, well, I guess I'll see you later" and then walking off to some lame reconciliation with her dorky boyfriend and kind-of-bitchy best friend.
But it's fine. He's going to have a super fun weekend, which is great, and I am obviously meant to work this weekend for some reason. And I can catch up on my writing, too, I told myself, as I waved goodbye to Sean and headed back to my place. Like working on the book, and writing posts that are more about things that could mean something instead of things that are already figured out. It's nice, to still have that in my life.
been thinking..., The diamond invention—the creation of the idea...
been thinking..., The diamond invention—the creation of the idea...:
And I've barely cared for rings enough to even know what the difference is between a princess cut and those other cuts (though, thinking about it now, I really couldn't tell you what shape a princess cut is. Pear-shaped...I got that. All the other ones, nope). So once I started learning more about the diamond trade, it was an easy decision for me. There is this weak psychological impulse that still goes with it - but an antique diamond could be romantic! How will people know that he loves and cherishes me if he doesn't get me diamonds for my birthday? - but it's like coming out of a recent brainwashing...your mind still has that automatic impulse, that reflexive drive, even though you know where those thoughts are coming from (i.e., absolutely brilliant marketing and advertising). But this is exactly the sort of thing that makes me so sad about our society: We will willfully ignore human suffering and strife if it directly conflicts with our ideas of entitlement and luxury. With tradition. And worse, we'll actually get angry about it, like how dare these people get captured and killed and maimed and tortured, because now we have to think about it, and now we might have to change our minds about something we want.
And it doesn't make me a better person than them, the fact that I don't want a diamond ring or a diamond anything. I already have one, locked away in my grandma's old hope chest, that I'll probably have for the rest of my life because I just can't think of anything else to do with it. So you win on that one, DeBeers. But I won't be adding to that collection. Give me a nice little braided ring of twine string instead, or maybe an agate smoothed into the shape of a mystical triangle. I really don't care. Rings aren't going to fuck you in the middle of the night.
You didn't think I was going to go there with that, did you? Well. I did.
My arguments against diamonds and the diamond industry probably could be fairly launched against hundreds of other retail markets. But this one is my peeve to pet.I am not a diamond girl. I am not much of a jewelry girl at all, to tell you the truth. I have a lot of old-fashioned ideas about courtship and engagement (i.e., I don't want to go with you to pick out my ring. I don't even want to know you're doing it. I want it all to come from you, because I'll love it more if I know that that's the ring that you picked out for me...not the ring that I picked out for myself for you to buy for me, which I think is so totally lame) but also some nontraditional ones. I won't be taking your name. I might hyphenate it, but I look at changing my name as akin to losing every single thing that I've done as Amber Carter, both good and bad, and I don't want that. And you shouldn't want that for me, either.
We were in a string of jewelry stores this winter. As I told each sales person that I did not wear diamonds and was in the market for only a modest gem stone, their response was uniformly consistent and always accompanied by a physical move toward the locked aquariums that held these favored bobbles: No worries! Their diamonds were conflict free!
Problem solved! As if that platitude 1.) Was unquestionbly fail-safe and 2.) Addressed the only possible objection a human woman could have to the concept of diamond as reflection of self worth and worth of partner. Of societal rank. Of romantic achievement. Of global superiority. Of security.
Let me humbly admit that I love the sparkle and glimmer, rocking your hand and catching the whole world's light.
But not as much as I hate the idea of personally buying into one of the biggest, cruelest schemes the world has ever known.
And I've barely cared for rings enough to even know what the difference is between a princess cut and those other cuts (though, thinking about it now, I really couldn't tell you what shape a princess cut is. Pear-shaped...I got that. All the other ones, nope). So once I started learning more about the diamond trade, it was an easy decision for me. There is this weak psychological impulse that still goes with it - but an antique diamond could be romantic! How will people know that he loves and cherishes me if he doesn't get me diamonds for my birthday? - but it's like coming out of a recent brainwashing...your mind still has that automatic impulse, that reflexive drive, even though you know where those thoughts are coming from (i.e., absolutely brilliant marketing and advertising). But this is exactly the sort of thing that makes me so sad about our society: We will willfully ignore human suffering and strife if it directly conflicts with our ideas of entitlement and luxury. With tradition. And worse, we'll actually get angry about it, like how dare these people get captured and killed and maimed and tortured, because now we have to think about it, and now we might have to change our minds about something we want.
And it doesn't make me a better person than them, the fact that I don't want a diamond ring or a diamond anything. I already have one, locked away in my grandma's old hope chest, that I'll probably have for the rest of my life because I just can't think of anything else to do with it. So you win on that one, DeBeers. But I won't be adding to that collection. Give me a nice little braided ring of twine string instead, or maybe an agate smoothed into the shape of a mystical triangle. I really don't care. Rings aren't going to fuck you in the middle of the night.
You didn't think I was going to go there with that, did you? Well. I did.
September 23, 2011
Dreams.
Sometimes I wish I were in the food production business. Because if I were, I would make a breakfast food called The Ron Swanson Johnson. And then everyone would eat it, and then everyone would be happy. 
