Misadventure at the Flea Market

Roaming through the flea market is always interesting. Sometimes you discover treasures that you would never stumble upon anywhere else and other times you find a big, fat nothing.

I have a thing for incense, candles and other smelly goods, so I always make sure to stock up while I am there.

This past weekend, my boyfriend and I took his 9 year old son and 7 year old daughter with us to on our trip to Pecan Park Flea Market.

One of the tobacco shops has a wall lining the outside with over 100 types of incense. At ten for a dollar, I give everyone in the family two bags and tell them to fill them with their favorite scents. We spend at least 30 minutes perusing and testing the varieties. The kids are having fun smelling all of the smells and practicing sounding out labels like Lavender, Honeydew, Frankincense, or Night-time Jasmine Garden.

“Try that one.”


“Definitely not this. Shoo-wee…

“I like the Raspberry one! Here! Try!”

We are all buzzing back and forth filling our bags with little, smelly wooden sticks when a tiny voice fills the air, “This one is weird…Ms. Amber, smell the p-p-pu-pussy”


I almost died.

“Ahhh.. a cat scented one!?”



– Am


What was once a glorious celebration of my little sister’s life is now a black hole on my calendar.

Chuck E. Cheese, roller skating rinks, and the zoo all hold memories of days gone by where loved ones surrounded my skinny, blonde haired and blue-eyed sister, singing “Happy Birthday” and showering her in kisses, laughter and gifts. There was always at least one gift tucked away in Brooke’s mountain of toys just for me.  “The good ole days” they call them.

On this particular day, similar to the last 7 years, I am throwing a pity party all for myself. I called out of work. I have been drunk(ish) since noon.  I told my professor that I was sick and wouldn’t make it to class.

That wasn’t a lie. I am sick… of this day, of this feeling, in the head, to my stomach…

My sister was 18 months younger than me.


She was the most beautiful person that I have ever known in real life. She brought light into a room when she entered it. She went out of her way to befriend the friendless. She had inside jokes with everyone. She was a cheerleading captain and the reigning Miss Junior at the local high school (not that beauty pageants mean shit to me, but so you understand how gorgeous this girl was).

In public, she was a lady. She woke up early every morning to make sure that every hair on her head was in place and that her make-up was flawless. She smiled and waved to all, like the queen she was. 👑

When we were alone though, she would secretly puff on one of my menthol cigarettes, cursing like a sailor as she babbled on about her latest grown-up adventure. That raw side of her was only meant for those of us from whom she never feared judgement, and there weren’t very many of us.

She was not born with rhythm so she practiced over and over in a mirror until she understood and conquered that. She had more determination in her pinky finger than I have in my whole body. She could have changed the world. 🌎

She died in a car accident on March 24th, 2008, about a month after her 17th birthday (Feb. 22).

Most days I accept it. I now love more freely, speak more honestly and live more happily. I don’t take moments for granted. I forgive quicker. It has made me a better person in some strange way.

But not today.

On the day she was born and on the day she died, I don’t have to pretend I am ok with it or hold back my tears. I allow myself these two days a year to mourn, cry, mope, and feel sorry for myself like I want to so often (while I hermit myself in my house with some liquor). I look at old pictures. I simultaneously want company and can’t handle the judgement. My anxiety is at its peak.

Cheers to another round! 🍻


Missing my Brookie forever ✨👼🏼👑 #MBD #143


– Am

In all of my naked glory

Can I bear my soul to you?

I don’t really care what you do with the information once you have it.

I just want to have my pain, my dreams and my short-comings revealed through someone else’s eyes and in the context of the internet forevermore. I want my thoughts to scroll through your mind, in your voice. I want your own pain and experiences to weave and intertwine with mine to give it new life and meaning and therefore more existence.

(Apparently, tonight’s glass of wine is opening my wounds instead of tickling that funny bone.)


So I have no clue what I am going to school for. If you have read my shit, then you are aware that I am a community college freshman… a late bloomer, if you will.

I had a great career in customer service for a large insurance broker for nearly six years.  The pay was great. I had tons of friends within the organization. I felt very appreciated by the owners and the company in general. And I busted ass for them. But when it came down to it… I was not living my dream.

(Not like I know what that is, really)

If there were such things as genies in bottles, my honest-to-God dream job would be to run an orphanage, animal shelter, and horse ranch while simultaneously moonlighting as Tony-winning actor and a regular on the cast of SNL. (Not to mention the great fucking body I would be rocking… Thanks Genie!)


The only thing that I honestly know is that I want to help the world (somehow). I mean, I want to be happy. But even more than that, I want to leave my mark on this earth… one that says that I have lived and lived well (thanks R.W.E.).

I want to impact lives. I just wish I had more direction…

Steve Harvey once said that most people don’t realize what their natural gift is because it is something that they love and have done their whole lives. They don’t even realize that they can get paid for it and make a career out of it.

(I don’t think eating puffy cheetos in a tee shirt and undies while watching Cartoon Network counts. -\_(ツ)_/-  Oh well.)

Until another day…


– Am


P.S. I will be back soon. And I will open up more. I am just the type of girl who gets in the pool toes first… I know that I seem like a jumper, but I’m really a wuss.





That one poem

I have always preferred to write poetry in the style of Walt Whitman- free, full of feeling and noises. But Emily Dickinson’s gentle cynicism has always been dear to my heart. She was so different and yet still similar to myself.

There is a poem that I was taught in 11th grade when learning about American Literature from Ms. Pulliam- one of my all-time favorite teachers- and it became my immediate goal to memorize it. A short, sweet and utterly brilliant poem, it brought wonder and awe to my young, contentious mind.

I now feel the need to share it and document in blood (kinda since the internet is forever) how meaningful it is to me and to share it with you.


Apparently with no surprise

By: Emily Dickinson


Apparently with no surprise

To any happy Flower

The Frost beheads it at its play—

In accidental power—


The blonde Assassin passes on—

The Sun proceeds unmoved

To measure off another Day

For an Approving God.



Ponder that.


– Am

That is really shitty…

Maybe I am being overly sensitive, but someone shit in the bathroom of my personal office less than five minutes before I arrived back from lunch…

There are only three employees other than myself here today and there are five bathrooms in this office.  Other restrooms (whose offices are not occupied) are vacant for the entire day to air out. But mine was chosen…

And right before I return? So that I can be punched in the face execpectedly on a full stomach? Fucking Yuck.

Could you take that stink elsewhere?

The older I get, the more that I try to purposefully weed out the negativity from my life.

I don’t want to be surrounded with people who droll on about the same issue over and over again and never do anything to alleviate it. I don’t like those who are constantly spewing other people’s business like it’s their own. I can’t stand girls who whine on about how their boyfriend (who has proved over and over again what a bag of shit he is) has been treating her shittily again but she never leaves the fucker..

wah wah wah…

How you react to a situation is everything. Your attitude determines more than your aptitude. (I think I read that on a poster in middle-school somewhere) And bad attitudes can be so infectious. In fact, I have come to a rather brilliant conclusion (if I do say so myself).

A bad attitude is like a large brown fart cloud that continuously follows you around. It is obvious and unpleasant for everyone near.

So tone that shit down. (see what I did there?)


– Am



Bust it wide open.

While sitting at the Comedy Zone last night Ty & I overheard this guy say to his friend “Please…it’s a sure thing; I am about to bust this bitch wide open.”

Ty and I look at each other in shock.

“Well he is awfully confident.” I whisper in Ty’s direction.

“Must be on a date with a hooker,” he replies.

It turned out that he was the opening act…and he did in fact bust that bitch wide open. ShaneIsFunny.com <- (This is the guy!)


– Am

The Thing About My Lover…

Our love story is far from a fairy tale. But he is still my knight in worn-out denim & steel-toed boots, & always will be. 💕

Tyrell and I started dating three years ago.  Unbeknownst to me at the time, he was a hardcore drug addict.

He stole from me, lied to me and used me for about six months while hiding his addiction. Then we separated for three months (upon my finding out). He begged and pleaded on how he would get sober if I would give him another chance. So I gave in.

When what my mother warned me of finally did happen, I was in over my head. She told me that it would be easier for him to drag me down than it would be for me to lift him up. I was the most miserable that I have ever been following our reconnection. Momma warned me that she had many seedy friends (like I need reminding) but she had never known any as heavy into the crap as he was to come off of it…

It took nine months of him pretending to get sober for me to open my eyes. I was not living the life that I wanted or deserved. I packed my bags and headed 600 miles away to my best friends house in Nashville. I didn’t even bother to tell him that I was leaving because I knew at the time, he was somewhere on the westside of Jacksonville blowing his entire week’s pay on a single day’s high.

I was over 300 miles away on the other side of Atlanta before I told him what my plan was. It was pretty simple… to get away from all the bullshit.

I knew that I did not want drugs to be part of my daily life. He flipped back and forth from angry to remorseful in milliseconds, as drug addicts so often do. Ty had been on opiates for over six years. He was taking up to 300 milligrams of Roxicontin a day if he could get his hands on them. He begged me to come home. I knew that I couldn’t do it anymore.

He called me the next morning once he calmed down and regained his wits. He said that he would check into a rehabilitation center if I would consider giving him another chance. I agreed. I have always loved him and knew that I was not ready to give up.

Ty checked into Promise of Hope in Cochran, GA on May 29, 2014. He attended for 8 weeks.  He has been sober for one year and eight months now, still going strong.

Now that you have heard a lot of negative awful shit about him,

Onto why I love him:

  • He agrees that I am the boss. (probably the most important reason)
  • He knows neat things like the makes, models, body styles, details and engines of most antique cars
  • He thinks I am a genius (I really don’t know why)
  • He can fix anything
  • He totally would cry as much as I do (on the regular) if his tear ducts weren’t broken
  • He reminds me regularly that I am his backbone & driving force behind his sobriety
  • He holds door & still uses worn out phrases like “yes ma’am” or “no sir”
  • He always sees the same shapes in the clouds as I do
  • He remembers the smallest, sweetest details about events and places
  • He is a fantastic storyteller
  • He buys me flowers regularly even though he thinks they are a waste of money
  • He wants to be a good father to his children more than anything
  • He is a momma’s boy and wants her to know it
  • He admits when he is being stubborn (sometimes…)
  • He calls me on my bullshit (also sometimes…)
  • He helps me with the dishes (even less often, but i’ll still give it a “sometimes”…)
  • He works hard and loves even harder



– Am


How do I know if I am doing this right?

What is the purpose of life?

Is it to be happy? Or to be useful? Is it to love?

I am actually asking you…

Maybe it’s a happy medium somewhere in between? I don’t fucking know.

I struggle with this constantly.

Some people believe that it is to be “comfortable” or well-known or well-liked. Some people think that it is to “spread the gospel” or live a certain way to heed to a certain dogma.

I am none of the above…. but I just can’t figure it out.

It is all so selfish to me.

What I mean is, everything that is good is good because it is good to me, you see? My opinion is the only gauge or moral compass that I have to base it upon. What about what is good to you? We have different opinions and therefore will occasionally disagree. Who is right? It isn’t always the majority… So who is to decide?

Just thinking.


– Am


Why I Shouldn’t Drink🍷: Reason #2128397219

So when I checked my bank account earlier this morning, I was confused by a $31.97 charge by mochithings.com…

In the fashion of many drunken nights before, a haze of questions and re-tracking steps occurs.

Then something of a light 💡 bulb came to me…

When I was drinking 🍷 I ordered over $30 of sticky notes in the shape of 🐈 cats.

(palm to forehead)


Hello, my name is Amber & I’m trying to become an alcoholic (but not on purpose).

Let me start out by letting you know that I am going to get way inappropriate in the duration of this blog.

Like way, wayyyy too deep.

Like my sex life, personal problems, political opinions (not really), family issues, and even the stupid, selfish, whiny moments that should not be spoken of will be written down in the context of the internet forever. Because I am an overshare-er, that’s why.

Plus, I am on my second bottle of San Sebastian’s Vintners Red, so that helps. It’s a local wine that is honestly way too sweet to be called a Red wine but it has an 11% alcohol content and the fancy name makes me feel classier about consuming two bottles in their entirety during one sitting.

What a great place to start…


– Am