ghosts of christmas past

The best gift I ever gave……was probably something I made when I was little and gave to my mommy out of pure love and not the materialistic shit I purchase with my maxxed out credit card nowadays.

My most inspiring holiday moment…..was getting really stoned with all of my cousins on Christmas Eve and revelling in the snowy world, the glowy lights and the sense of togetherness we had from trying to conceal how high we really were when we got home to our drunken parents.

The worst gift I ever got…..came from Santa and was wrapped in the same Christmas paper I had previously discovered while snooping in my Grandparents closet. That’s the year I discovered Santa wasn’t real.

If I could sit on Santa’s lap I’d ask for……What? I still can’t sit on Santa’s lap? Bump that. Last time I sat on Santa’s lap, I was eighteen and I asked him for a texas mickey of Rye. This time I’d ask him for a car that has no broken signal lights and where I can lift the hood so I can actually use windshield washer fluid and get an oil change. For fantasy’s sakes, it’d be a very cool 78’ oldsmobile pimped out snoop doggy style. Then I could wear my furs and fedora with it and rep like I’m already an eccentric old lady. Cane required.

One time I stood under the mistletoe……and wished that the first boy I loved still loved me. It took me a long long time to realize that even if I got that kiss, it didn’t mean what it used to. And, that no kiss would ever come from that place when you love someone with so much naïveté, you can’t ever imagine that they would do anything to hurt you or you them. And, you look back and can’t believe you didn’t enjoy it more at the time.

One time, when I drank spiked egg nog……one time? Come on now, many times during the holidays when I drink spiked and straight anything, my family likes to play inappropriate games where you realize your grandma might still be getting lucky and the form response to most questions is ‘hookers and booze’. Obviously being drunk is required.

weekend jekyll

When I get asked at work how my weekend was, my response usually ranges from a vague ‘good’ to the ever ambiguous ‘busy’. I wonder if they notice the little twinkle in my eye when I think back on the snapshots of my weekend, suppressing giggles just thinking about all of the naughty/fun/rawkus/ weird things I got into:

cozy at home with my friend eating goat cheese pizza and drinking winter spice.

sliding into the side of a cab boxing my ears between the door and the cab….requisite drinking injury.

outside a club, way too early, bouncer refuses to card us, we realize we’re the only ones there over the age of 19.

drinking shots of wild turkey, dancing at the next spot, lesbian grabs my waist and whispers something in my ear, I’m pretty sure I’ve seen enough for one night.

wake up feeling not as rough as anticipated meeting some friends for greasy breakfast and deciding a course of caesars is required. When it’s -26 degrees Celsius, the only thing to do during the day is drink. No wonder Canadians invented caesars.

deciding that the prescribed course of action should also involve naked dancing girls, we head to the peelers.

realize that it’s so cold that guys won’t even come out to ogle strippers and we are the only people watching the show. Creepy.

generously two of us decide to spend ten dollars worth of loonies on the dancer. My visiting friend is shocked that launching the coins at the dancer is ‘normal’ in Alberta.

on to the next spot, we rack up a $200 drinking tab before 4 pm.

friend drives us home in the frigid cold. Kisses me goodbye on the lips?

12 hours of drinking later, back at my place, friend asks me if I want to Hawaiian hot box my bathroom. Ummmm, yes. Then he proceeds to get naked. Obviously the next portion is x rated.

drinking port and eating gingerbread cookies on a Sunday night, dreading the cold and the fact that tomorrow is Monday, but cozy and warm together in my humble adobe.

xmas wish list

Dear Santa,
If having fun constitutes as naughty, I fully admit to being a bad girl. Although this admission predicates coal in my stocking, you would think that a 24 year old girl’s belief in Santa alone would be rewarded with at least a little sumthin’ sumthin’. And not the ’bow chick a wow wow’ sumthin’ you’re probably thinking. Although that would be nice. On a regular basis. If you deem me to be really really good, maybe you can remember that. Anyways, if after observing my behaviour since last Christmas , you think I might be worthy of something in your fat sack of presents and want to come down my chimney, here’s a list- filled with some things definitely fantasy, but most, definitely do-able. Especially if you’re really as magical as they say you are.

1. A beer tap beside my water tap. At this time of year, filled with Winter Spice, but changeable with the season, and for my taste, slightly (just a touch) flat.
2. A teleporter. So I never have to drive, or think about catching a flight ever again-and see my sister just for the weekend whenever I’d like. If they can do it in that T.V. show- Star Trek- you can definitely do it.
3. A maid. No, no, not one that’s around all the time and comes to my beck and call. Just a once a month, deep cleaning, fanatically detail oriented cleaning lady who has big arms with which to scrub and laser eyes with which to see those microscopic dirt mites.
4. Access to borrow basically any item of clothing I would like. Then I could dress as fantastically as I’d like, and never wear the same thing twice-unless I want to.
5. Tall, dark, handsome, nice, accomplished, likes to sit around with the newspaper and not speak with me all morning while cuddling in front of the fire. Likes to drive and travel, reads real books, dresses not like a slob-perhaps even a bit fashionably, nice to my family and friends, able to be social, but set his own boundaries and respect mine- Man. Not boy. Not man-boy.
6. A weed plant that grows in my house, but I don’t have to water it or take care of it, and it produces grade-A ganja.

I just want to remind you that, over the years, I’m the one who leaves you some really nice over 15 year aged single malt scotch, as well as a beer and some yummy cookies and carrots for your reindeer. Hope you’re having fun ramping up to the big day. Thanks again for giving me what I asked for last year—six packs of Winter Spice. It was a little late, but gratefully received nonetheless. Do you like cigars? Maybe I’ll leave you a Cuban I got while in Mexico this year. Also wondering, do you have x ray vision to see what we’re all doing? You must get a good show.

Hope your yearly endeavour goes off without a hitch this year.

Best Wishes,
Amber

xoxoxo

swoon

four words: James Franco. General Hospital.
Cheesy at times, but wait till he starts the kissing and suddenly you'd give your right leg to be Maxi and have the horrid job to be on a soap opera and make out with JAMES FRANCO.




Best lines:
"More than a one night commitment makes be break out in a rash."
"Your pants are already halfway down your thighs."
**Le Sigh.

de de de

Does humming make people happy or do happy people hum?

Sent from my iPhone

creating solitude in the 21st century

As someone who doesn't even have a remote control and who gives many people the impression I don't have cable, I have become my worst nightmare: an anti-social, smart phone obsessed girl.

In fact, I just figured out how to blog from my phone and have added a total of 5 applications since I acquired this beast less than 48 hours ago. The reprecussions to my social life are binary in nature and my new appendage is most certainly becoming life-changing.

Yesterday morning, in place of my usual Saturday workout, I sat on my couch for 4 hours giving my thumbs a workout uploading the phone with songs and all my contacts. Instead of actually speaking to anyone on the phone, with the advantage of a plan that has unlimting texting, I can now inhabit a world where face-to-face socialization is scarcely necessary. And when it is occuring, I can be socializing with scores of alternate people at the same time. What happens to monogamous friend-time in this new world?

Instead of enjoying downtime in a relaxing fashion, I can constanly be occupied with the thousands, if not millions is activities available to me through this phone. Bye bye to sitting down with a book. Paper versions are so antiquated. I can upload any book or newspaper on here and read it on my 3 by 2 inch sceen!

And if my real-life plans with friends fall through, and i'm left alone at home? Not alone! Virtually connected to everything with my phone.

And a possible loss of my device?(As many people are aware of my loser tendancies).

I'd most certainly shrivel up and die.

Sent from my iPhone (ie. 21st century crack)

lessons in spanish

Ola! As I have just returned from Mexico, I thought I'd share some lessons I learned while south of the border, indulging in some much needed relaxation, sun & lots of tequila.

1. Eat where the mexicans eat. It's the best food around. Hands down. Wherever the 'gringos' (ie. us white tourists) are, it's likely to have hamburgers on the menu. And hamburgers taste like shit in Mexico.
2. Apparently some men think that showing you pictures of their children will make you swoon over them and possible even make you horny(!?!) and want to hook up with them. This is completely untrue, and the need to run away intensifies after they tell you that their kid was concieved in Alaska. EW.
3. Chillin' in a cougar bar and watching the action go down can be one of the most entertaining activities ever. The barracudas can be a liablity, but once you let them know you're not interested, they will turn to the heavy scent of desperation coming from the rest of the bar patrons and be all over those ladies like a cat on tuna.
4. Happy hour is quite backwards and can get confusing pretty quickly. Instead of 2 for 1 it's 1 for 2 or 2 for 4 and 6 for 12 and before you know it you have a table of drinks in front of you and all you really know is you're probably only paying for half. But you're paying double the next day.
5. Garlic tastes really good when it's cooked. Almost like a baby potato. Easy to mistake the two, especially after a couple of salty dogs. The mistake is quickly revealed the next day, when 7 cloves of garlic emanating from your pores have people feeling from nostalgia for their local pizzaria back home.
6. When you're playing volleyball on the beach in Mexico, right around happy hour, no one wants to play with you when you start dictating rules and formation (hint hint Mr. Hardcore Califonia). Hitting the ball over the net and in the court in any way shape or form should be sufficient. Extra points for the more tequila you've had.
7. Salsa is the best invention ever. It's pretty much a food group unto itself, or it should be. You can eat it in a million ways and at every meal. Picante!
   

Hopefully the tequila still emanating through my veins will provide me with enough zen (sedation) as I re-adjust to reality. If not, it's only a plane ride away.