Are there any real people left or have we sold our souls for plastic? Visa or Mastercard?

Honest. I want to be honest, respectfully. I want to live a life of sincerity able to stand in front of any and all unashamed of what I am and what I’ve done.

I am not ashamed. I can be honest… but… no one who loves me wants me to be. “Please Amber. I know you love to write but please protect yourself first. Image is everything. You need to think about that. You own a business….”

Yes! Yes, I do own a business and it is growing quickly now that I FINALLY have a studio again. Yay! :) :)

Let’s talk about image because I agree about the importance. My ex- boyfriend, Joshua Nicholas, called me up a few days back to ask me to remove any blogs that may have mentioned him. It turns out that the chick he is trying to sleep with reads my blog and she was more than concerned about the last blog I wrote. She should be and that’s what I told him.

“Good. I hope she runs the other way screaming.”

“Amber… that’s not fair” was his plea “I want to find love and I am really sorry that you are not the one but I deserve to be happy. Please do not take that chance away from me with your writing. She thinks I beat you…”

Josh never beat me. He was far worse than that. What he did was far worse than anything anyone has ever done to me. That is the truth about Josh. Maybe I should warn her and I bet you are wondering what he did.

I wouldn’t worry about what he did. I would focus on my choice in him because it was the worst choice I have ever made in my entire life. He is the only person I have ever met that I will never ever forgive and I am not worried about the toxicity of holding on to hate because I don’t hate him. I hate knowing that he is going to severely damage people with his selfishness and they will let him just like I did.

His image is sweet and sensitive, caring and handsome. That image is not real. He is a nice surface but the rest I imagined. It was false. The decisions I made in regards to seeing him were based on the person he presented (image) and not the truth of what and who he is. “This is my life too Amber. I don’t want to be written about and I warned you.”

Yes, he warned me about himself. He did. He warned me in the beginning but all I could see was what I thought was a fabulous person who just needed a chance and someone to love him unconditionally. His last wife left him shortly after their dream wedding in Cabo and when I met him he was still devastated. He loved her very, very much. I remember feeling so bad for him. I related because I am still aching over the end of my marriage and I have been divorced for… two years now?

This blog that I am writing… “I don’t want to be written about Amber.”

No one in my life should be written about especially in a way that could potentially damage. I understand that you no longer want to be written about Josh but just as you warned me in the beginning about you- you also knew that I write. I don’t care about what you want anymore. I have to live with the damage that you created and you can live with mine.


I am your fourth wife. King Henry who kills all.


I would not date Josh Nicholas nor would I trust him as someone capable of good. I see the good in everyone. It’s proven by my reputation which is far different than image. My good-bye to him included the stone cold face of, “I hope you spend the rest of your life alone without love. You shouldn’t have what you will kill.”

“That’s evil Amber..” he said showing pain for the sorry of self. “How can you say that to me and call yourself a good person. You are not as nice as everyone thinks you are.”

“I don’t need to be nice to you Josh. I owe you nothing close to that courtesy. I’d treat my worst enemy better that I would treat you considering that is how you treated me. Fair? You won’t ever hear from me again nor will I acknowledged your ghost. No… I won’t write about you. “


I am not a perfect person and the blog above isn’t fair. I don’t have the right to be disparaging to a person’s moment in time, weakness, in a way that does not encourage growth with room for forgiveness. A person without hope is dead and I was nearly that last night. I was hopeless. Josh took that from me. Hope. I called my family one by one and I told them good-bye and then I drove to the store. To my mom I said, “Don’t you get it. I don’t care about you. You failed. This is your fault. To my brother…. he said it first…”Go ahead and do it. I am tired of waiting for you to die of hurt.” I hung up on him. Dad number two called before dad number one. To him I said, “F*ck you. I called you last week to ask for help and you told me not in a million years.” I hung up on him too. Ricardo was the first person I called shattered. Ex husband. Ex life. “You were supposed to keep me safe. You promised for life. I wasn’t safe and he destroyed me.” My dad called while the sirens blared. I could hear the police outside my apartment. I went to hide in the bathroom. The floor was cold so I held myself round, a little ball in the corner whispering to my dad. “I can’t….”

“You are having a hard time kiddo. I know..” he was the gentle of never and first. “We are not a lot the was dealt easy Amber but you are too strong to be taken by anything. Tough as nails with heart. You have what can not be taught and it is special. You were the little girl I couldn’t drag away from homeless people. I was always screaming at you because I swear you’d trust anyone to go with them. Not all people are good. I am sorry that life has to teach you that but that is what I’ve been trying to tell you. There are people who will kill you just because they can and some enjoy watching the ending.”

“I feel like I am choking on misery dad because everyone tells me that and I can’t help myself. I am open like a book spilled with red ink and a page torn on two endings. Belief of death. Don’t you understand that I need to believe that people can do the right thing. I expect them to and why should it be shocking that there is a hurt that distinguishes or a strain that includes a crushing blow. Enough… I have had enough.”

“One more day Amber. Tomorrow will be better and there is so much joy separate from what you see yourself stuck with. I understand honey. Trust me. I understand that it is crap and I am sorry but this is nothing. You can’t be anything less than powerful. You are force and I understand you think that Josh did something great to harm you but he didn’t. He was never close enough to touch the happy that you are when life is rolling and for you it does. This is you climbing and that business of yours is going to have you up and rockin’ with everything you want because we are the kind that makes it. You want it more than anybody and I understand that you frustrated but stop acting like a spoiled brat. You don’t like me to sugar coat things and the way I see it you and Josh are better off parting off friends…”

“He is not my friend.”

“Fine.. but remember your dear old dad is wise. I am thinking about you not him.”

“You are wise dad and that’s why I should have listened to you when I came to talk to you about Josh in the beginning. You told me and I didn’t listen. My friend Gina loves you. She told me that I should follow all of your advice.”

“Tell Gina that I said thank you for loving me because she is right and you never do.”

True love is the advice of dad.


I spoke with my dad, my friend Gina, and Heidi Livingston about the blog and the new success of too many ventures. My dad… “The first thing you need to do is prioritize. You will succeed where you are focused. Your business is the prize. You are so close. Why would you want to give up so close to the finish? Josh… The two of you were running side by side in a race and he stuck his foot to trip you. You fell. You have blood in your teeth. You can’t see from a gash on your head and the air is no longer there but we are there on all sides pointing you to the finish. People are booking sessions with you aren’t they…. aren’t they!” My dad was laughing with glee.

“Yes dad. Yes they are.”

“SEE!” he was ecstatic.

Gina sat across from me just about an hour before I went into the store. I told her that I was going home to sleep but then I was back in the race with Josh and I started to panic. He was winning at love and I would never have it. My conversation with her came before and after this epilogue and if you are confused let me be clear. Gina and I were also talking about business and strength triangulated by the pressures of so much life and “Can I see you more friend and we should collaborate on marketing. Wanna grab a glass of wine?”

Heidi Livingston was one I called to say good-bye to, another out of order, but then the message is what I want clear. I have friends, and many, many, many, many people who love me and would they all do anything should I ask…. I never do. I never ask but Heidi shows up anyway, day or night, in the middle of every pressure or any crisis that could be her life but it’s not nor is mine. Gina is that exact kind of friend.


Simple as that. My tantrum was that with the stomp of….


I called the police.

I had to. I had to call them back to tell them I was OK because I wasn’t coming out and they couldn’t come get me. “Are you a danger to yourself?”


“We need you to come in so that we can see that you are OK.”

“That’s fine but I don’t need to listen. If you want to help me quit pulling over my red mustang.”


My life is private from this day forth. I will not have anymore episodes like the one that changed my life and it is different now much like the character’s in my first book. Chad’s The Dad.

The book is fiction.

My truth.

I have only been pregnant once.

I lived for her… Sapphire Rain.

The girl who commits suicide is the main character of Chad’s The Dad. I’ve written chapter one and chapter two already. The second has her pregnant and contemplating abortion….

The novel will end with her death. I do hope you read it when I publish.

Until then.

My life is private by preference, peace, and with forgiveness. I am sorry Josh. Maybe they will think the first part is fiction

Thank you for your business. It is the world to me.
Life beyond plastic
and Yes…
I take Visa and Mastercard

My best with smiles,
Amber Garibay


For a second opinion about Josh… ask his first wife. She believes in his good. I don’t need to.



“Ok, girl….dish: I drove by this ADORABLE woman the other day running on Division with a darling young man, and as a fellow runner, all I could think was…”how in the hell doesn’t that chick have the dreaded sports bra uniboob!” Then I looked up from said impressive boobage to see your beautiful face. Teach me the ways of the boob-separating-jog bra…. Oh wise one.”
I don’t run in jogging bras because I don’t need to… besides…they make me look flat which I am not. I have beautiful-perky B cups which I argue as A’s but the fitting staff insists…
“Nope. You are a B cup.”

Amber Garibay
The Adventures Of




It is often difficult for me to focus and the symptom starts in my middle. I was doing great today until around three thirty this afternoon. I looked at my clock while I was sitting at a stop light. The light refused to turn green until time was frozen: forever late to the extent of impossible.

“F*ck!” My mind was screaming for something to move. I could feel the heat moving to my face, bristles rising.

I hadn’t spoken but my daughter could feel the shift in my mood. “Are you mad?” she asked.


I was too short.

“You seem mad..” she said to the stone of my scowl. “Look at your face.”

I was ugly. I could see it in my rear view mirror. “I’m not mad” was all I could muster to explain. Her shoulders were sagging to the weight of my soul which had suddenly turned to canker. I felt acidic, rancid to the waste of time. The light had still not changed.

“I’m sorry Sapphire…”

It was too late. My mood had sullied hers.

What came next was guilt. I felt guilty for feeling anxious. I felt guilty for being stressed. I felt guilty for all I haven’t done and guilty for not creating more to do. I felt guilty for wanting to slam my car into…

Tick… Tick… Tick…

The light was still not green. I sat in my car feeling crushed from the inside out. I wanted to rip the skin off of my face, “How many people do there need to be in this world and why are they all driving right now and WHY WON’T THE LIGHT TURN GREEN!”

Sapphire challenged my reason as to why it should matter “We haven’t been sitting here that long and do you have somewhere you need to be?”

“Yes Sapphire! I have work to do!”

“You always have work to do.” she countered “Nothing has changed except your attitude.”


She is my success. I love her constant. She is most often even which means that we have served her well. Her father and I. Our daughter is bright and level headed, not easily swayed emotionally. She’s had a nurturing shelter to grow… little tree… more than a branch by what she means to the world of my family. She is wise like an owl because I’ve raised her that way and easy going like her dad because I can’t be.

I am so many wonderful things. I’m creative, talented, smart, compassionate, considerate…

I am not carefree.

I smirk inwardly when people call me a free spirit while imaging souls tethered by chains.

Caring is not freedom. It is a shackle.

So is aspiration and consequence.

I am tethered to my dreams and the results of one life with so much I want to do before….

“Mom.. the light… GO… It’s green!”







5707 Lacey Blvd. SE 98503
(located in The Clear Brook Business Park)
bunny promo
Holy Stinkola… Yes… I really talk like a dork.
I’m dorky and there you go. Let the fun begin

Many of you know that I have been hunting for the perfect space to open up shop and downtown Oly was a feast by all it has to offer by charm and character but at the end of the day I am pissed I have parking tickets. I put money in the meter… not enough apparently. I’m not willing to subject my clients to the additional extraction but if you want a really good breakfast The Spar is worth the risk of additional fees by tickets. It is also delightfully entertaining to watch the cars try to parallel themselves into front row parking. Three cars will drive off in frustration before one finally makes it in to park. Hysterical and the reason I park three thousand miles from my destination when I frequent downtown which I do. I love our local businesses but mine…

Mine is in Lacey and it has parking…. as in… a parking lot INCLUDED WITHOUT FEAR!!!

Yay :)

It is an AMAZING SPACE for both photography AND personal training.

STUDIO 200- a space to create a choice life.

Braden Hamilton just booked another personal training client today!! Another YAY :)

Who is Braden Hamilton?

(photo NOT taken by A Smile Like Yours)

He is my business partner, personal trainer extraordinaire and the owner of My Cubicle Coach- of separate affiliation with mutual interest in the success of this venture which boasts a rubber chicken and so much more….

BUNNIES!!! PICTURES!!! Gosh… this one is booking fast. If you are interested give me a call or send me a text I do believe my voice mail is full… I should fix that tonight.— feeling happy.

Amber Garibay
The Adventures Of


There are a great many reasons I generally avoid church. The easiest being that I’m not good at it. Today I managed to botch sacrament because I failed to consume the body of Christ in a timely manner.

“YOU MUST EAT IT NOW!!!!!!!!!” the nun stepped out of line to catch up to me. Her tone quite urgent as I had palmed the wafer instead of swallowing it. I felt like a psyche patient called out in pill line, “Did you swallow it? Let me see your tongue?”

There was a small part of me that wanted to throw the cracker back at her and run… “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO YOU CAN’T MAKE ME!!! I LIKE TO NIBBLE ON GOD.”

I have a terrible time with ceremony. All ceremony. Weddings, Funerals, Graduations: all things formal. Reverent people freak me out and please don’t take me to a restaurant that has four forks of distinguished place settings. “Can’t I just eat with my fingers? Is there a place for that because I’d like to eat there.”

I clean up well but I prefer to be real. This is my Sunday confession- I honestly can’t see any good reason to rush a good Jesus cracker. I would have much rather kept it as a souvenir for a morning well prayed instead of being forced to gulp it down to poop out later but who am I to argue with God’s staff…

Lesson Learned: If someone hands you the body of Christ eat him like a starving cannibal. He wants you to have him for dinner.  — with Yourfavorite Rooster.

Amber Garibay
The Adventures Of



I am told that men and women are very different. Funny thing about my life is that books have always been gifts from other people trying to get me to understand that the world has rules and nature beyond my own ideology.  ‘Men are from Mars and women are from Venus’ is an example of said favor. Men are simple and women are pissed because they wish they had the penis.

I know I certainly do. I would do anything for a big, giant…


Sorry about that, it’s been awhile. I would do anything to understand a man’s simple. I can’t relate to it on any level beyond a sorry excuse to get away with bullsh*t. It’s absolutely ridiculous and I tell you something else. I put up with it. I think we all do.

I’ve stopped thinking of the world by gender. Men and Women. These days I rank people by level of capacity.  To what depth do you ponder? What value do you place on relationships? How do you express kindness? How do you express hurt? or anger? or fear? How do you contribute? How often do you laugh?

“Do guys even have feelings?!!!” was my own plea for answers to an X boyfriend recently.

He laughed “Yes Amber… we have feelings too.”

I whimpered pathetically “I don’t believe you.”

I don’t believe him but those are the guys that I fall for. I fall for the ones who have been hurt. Not every man. Not every hurt. There is a pattern though. I’m noticing my choices while wondering why I make them. What is it? Do I find I can relate or am I simply glad to know there is proof of feeling? Maybe it is even more simple than that. Maybe we all hurt equal and there is no correlation. Maybe I think too much. Maybe that is what we all do… women… and now we are back to gender. What if he is thinking too much too?

Maybe I’ll just write without needing answers. Maybe I’ll just write for you to think if you so choose because I do. I do spend my time thinking. Imagine that.

What do you think? Maybe I should be asking that instead of meandering down my own questions except I already know the equations are infinite. People are what they are. Individually.

If I were to write mate selection from a male perspective it would read like this, “Does she look good? Does she nag? Does she smell good? Is she good in bed? Is she good with kids? Does she have a good job? Does she believe what I believe? GOOD. I’ll take her.”

If I were to write mate selection from a female perspective it would read like this, “”Does he look good? Is he controlling? Does he smell good? Is he good in bed? Is he good with kids? Does he have a good job? Does he believe what I believe? GOOD. I’ll take him.”


I wonder what Dr. Ruth thinks…


“Such stereotypes about men are bullshit. Sure, some guys are unfeeling jarheads just as some women are hyper-reactive psychos – neither means that’s how ALL are. Yet without such nonsenical B.S. pigeonholing how would “relationship experts” sell any books? Unfortunately men who feel, in most cases must suppress their urges to emote UNTIL they’ve secured their mate for that’s simply how human nature works. Most women I know SAY they want a “man w/ feelings” then are repulsed when they cross paths with a “sensitive man” whilst dating for they see him as weak. However if a man starts out dominant and cold then seemingly “warms up” later on said woman feels that perhaps it was her influence which brought that sensitive/romantic side of him to the fore. Ce la vie.”


Dear Amber,

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Mark. I am a Brilliant yet Down to earth guy. Just wanted to say that your profile piqued my interests. I would definitely love to learn more about you. I am an interested in seeking new adventures. My hobbies include The Fine Arts, Museums, and Photography.

I believe we all have been hurt in the pursuit of “forever love”, its about taking more chance..

I love the intimacy of falling in love. When a new love comes along, I use my whole heart to start wooing. I love to surprise my partners with sentimental gifts, and they love to get them, too. I easily get swept up in the romance of a relationship. I am a brilliant intelligent financial guru as well as being well rounded, looking for my new soul mate to make this journey in life so much HOTTER…… I am real and authentic, No artificial ingredient….Regards, Mark

Dear Mark,

You would “definitely love to learn more…”

about ME?

WELL! Hot Damn Mark.. Haven’t you heard the news!?

I’m the girl with a $10million plan and knowing me is as easy as Google.

Go ahead and try it, Amber Garibay.

If I were a monster I would most resemble Sulley from Walt Disney’s Monster’s Inc. I want to be giant, blue, and cuddly, but here’s the thing about me. I don’t like to cuddle with just anyone so don’t come crawling up to me thinking I’m a rug or I’ll bite your mothergf*cking head off. Check Please. Lunch today was one snugly human.

Gosh.. I’m beginning to make myself sound mean and I suppose there is a part of me that means to be. I mean to be direct and I don’t need to meet you Mark, to know you aren’t brilliant.  Your grammar for instance, you capitalize weird words “I am a Brilliant yet Down to earth guy” and  “My hobbies include The Fine Arts, Museums, and Photography.”


The… as in…

Museums with capital M’s?

FYI- photography isn’t fine art anymore. It’s an app on your ipone, but thanks for the compliment because that is what I am, an artist who specializes in fine art portraits. A Smile Like Yours Photography is attention to that detail and it merits capitalization due to yield as well as title. Please do draw the inference because I may be calling you stupid, which I would never. I am a lady of good taste and the chance you took led to flat out rejection and it is blatant. You have been added to the list of guys I’d date sometime on a Tuesday next to never. In fact I am pretty sure that every Tuesday and every day from here on out will be filled with time that does not include you but I am at least flattering you with a short diatribe with the duality of things that plug. End Stop.

Don’t get me wrong, I  did Google you and the results were quite impressive.


  • n.noun
    1. A visible trace or impression, such as a line or spot.
    2. A sign, such as a cross, made in lieu of a signature.
    3. A written or printed symbol used for punctuation; a punctuation mark.
    4. A number, letter, or symbol used to indicate various grades of academic a mark of 95 instead of 100.
    5. An appraisal; a rating. Often used in the plural.earned high marks from her superiors.
    6. An inscription, name, stamp, label, or seal placed on an article to signify ownership, quality, manufacture, or origin.
    7. A notch in an animal’s ear or hide indicating ownership.
    8. A knot or piece of material placed at various measured lengths on a sounding line to indicate the depth of the water.
    9. A Plimsoll mark.
    10. A distinctive trait or property.Good manners are the mark of a civilized person.
    11. A lasting effect.The experience had left its mark.
    12. A particular mode, brand, size, or quality of a product, especially a weapon or machine.
    13. A recognized standard of quality.schoolwork that is not up to the mark.
    14. Importance; prominence.
    15. Notice; attention.a matter unworthy of mark.
    16. A target.
    17. Something that one wishes to achieve; a goal.
    18. An object or point that serves as a guide.
    19. A person who is the intended victim of a swindler; a dupe.
    20. The place from which racers begin and sometimes end their contest.
    21. A point reached or gained.the halfway mark of the race.
    22. A record.set a new mark in the long jump.
    23. A strike or spare in bowling.
    24. A stationary ball in lawn bowling; a jack.
    25. A boundary between countries.
    26. A tract of land in medieval England and Germany held in common by a community.
    27. A character or feature in a file, record, or data stream used to locate a specific point or condition.
  • v.verb
    1. To make a visible trace or impression on, as with a spot, line, or dent.
    2. To form, make, or depict by making a mark.marked a square on the board.
    3. To supply with natural markings.gray fur that is marked with stripes.
    4. To single out or indicate by or as if by a mark.marked the spot where the treasure was buried; a career marked for glory.
    5. To distinguish or characterize.the exuberance that marks her writings; marked the occasion with celebrations.
    6. To make conspicuous.a concert marking the composer’s 60th birthday.
    7. To set off or separate by or as if by a line or boundary.marked off the limits of our property.
    8. To attach or affix identification, such as a price tag or maker’s label, to.
    9. To evaluate (academic work) according to a scale of letters or numbers; grade.
    10. To give attention to; notice.Mark her expression of discontent. Mark my words: they are asking for trouble.
    11. To take note of in writing; write down.marked the appointment on my calendar.
    12. To record (the score) in various games.
    13. To guard (an opponent), as in soccer.
    14. To make a visible impression.This pen will mark under water.
    15. To receive a visible impression.The floor marks easily.
    16. To keep score.
    17. To determine academic grades.a teacher who marks strictly.
    18. To pay attention; notice.

“I love the intimacy of falling in love. When a new love comes along, I use my whole heart to start wooing. I love to surprise my partners with sentimental gifts, and they love to get them, too. I easily get swept up in the romance of a relationship. I am a brilliant intelligent financial guru as well as being well rounded, looking for my new soul mate to make this journey in life so much HOTTER…… I am real and authentic, No artificial ingredient….”

Dear Mark,

It was brought to my attention just yesterday that men think differently that woman. I am going to translate the way my brain deciphers your words. This is my interpretation of what you wrote.

“I love the sex I get when I tell women I love them. When a new love comes along, I use my whole heart to start trying to woo her pants off. I love to surprise my partners, yes I have many, with sentimental gifts. By sentimental I mean all things that will help her feel more comfortable taking her clothes off. I am easily swept up in the romance of a relationship. Romantic like a notion, or idea. Better imagined briefly than to try to hold forever. I am a brilliant intelligent financial guru that does not stop for breath when he talks or use commas. Let’s make this love cheap and easy because I’m looking for the hot chic without fake jugs. Do you have little tits?”








Amber Garibay
The Adventures Of



It just so happens that I am available to hire as a photography tutor. This portrait of me was taken by one of my youngest students, Olivia A.

Olivia is thirteen almost. She is also an avid and quick study. Gosh… look at what she accomplished in three lessons!! We started with, “Have you ever taken a picture with an SLR before?”

She shook her head, “No.”

“Do you know what an SLR is?”

Another “No”


If you are interested in learning photography send me a text or give me a call. (360) 701.9204


The Life You Live Is A Choice- The adventures of Amber Garibay

— with Yourfavorite Rooster.



My writing career began with some controversy. Let me start that over, my writing career BEGAN great controversy… or was it the controversy that began my writing career… What came first the chicken or the egg? Maybe it would be easier to imagine a giant wall with an egg sitting precariously perched. Humpty Dumpty…

So I’m an egg on the verge of cracking and I’m looking down at the pavement. When you are up that high looking down at the world no one notices you at first. Ants and rats, people so small they could be anything, coming and going with purpose on purpose. This was a day that I chose to sit while contemplating my ability to fall because I intended to. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall…

How many of you who are reading now have been on the wall I’m describing? That place so high you are at the begining and ending of all life with the time to think about it. I am laying in bed now imagining The Lion King with baby Simba cat held up and out like Micheal Jackson dangling his toddler over the railing of a five story balacony so that the paparazi can snap a few photos off for the Enquirer. You know it’s wrong but as you are watching the footage on the news you can’t help but wish he’d drop the baby so you can see the face as he’s falling. What’s up with that anyway? Here take a picture of my baby’s dangly legs? What? Is it irony that he named the kid blanket and that it was in fact death that led to the revealing. This little piggy grew into a cute kid barbiturate orphan. Even if my facts are slightly mingled the jest is the same. You are not alone. The king died by disfigurement. His name was Prince. Prince Blanket.

and then.

and then there came Stan, and Stan is the fan I am writing to tonight. He’s the egg sitting up there on that wall thinking that if he’s bound to be brick anyway he’d might as well jump so that he’ll go out as paste for mortar. Stan is a man without many choices so he  imagines he’s the exception until he’s obsessed with his likeness. “I’m the like you that can make it but I’m not making it and you can’t hear me. I’m not making it am I…”

Stan’s not the man that he thought he was. I pushed him off the wall and he went


And all the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put him back together again.

I came over to step on the shells. They felt like bones made of porcelain but sounded like glass being shattered to dust that cuts. “Damn homey! Are you all right?” I’m asking the questions as I am bending down to pick his pockets because the shell isn’t worth being mended. The value is inside the identity. The name on his, as previously mentioned, is Stan. “At least you didn’t jump” I whisper to the potato head ear that is near and in a pool of yellow chicken yolk.

Epilogue from an egg’s widow

Dear Busy, or should I call you Slim,

As in, there is a slim chance I’ll ever get a reply because I’m the woman in the trunk. The ghost of all you can not reach: innocents. I just wanted to let you know that I didn’t die. I imagine that it must be a tremendous burden to feel like you could have helped Stan if that letter hadn’t been missed and the bouncer hadn’t pulled you away. Circumstance. Yes, I saw the video in tribute to my husband, and thank you. It happened near exactly like that except my hair is lighter and British is not my only accent. If you want to know what I saw in him- it was heart. How can a girl not fall in love with heart, never mind the fact that his was bleeding and raw. We came from the same side of the tracks. Enough to no longer need a muffle to have the screams blend into passing train wrecks. Crazy thing about these things and history, the repeating of….

I pushed him off the wall because he was already cracked, broken, with a slow seeping soul and the scramble of all things. They would have sent him to fry in a chair, to burn out the monster he had become and he was a monster. Good vs. Evil. Sometimes evil wins.

Sometimes good does too and I am writing you now because the world still needs that exception, the fame you claim has you trapped with so many reaching. Why are they reaching for you? Talent: take no pride in the gifts that he gave you because there are even more people reaching for God and how do you think he feels when he can’t reach them either. I imagine he feels like he needs to create new arms to hold it all and a world beyond for those who fall through to hell. I imagine hell is that, the souls he wanted help but couldn’t get to. The sharp knife of a short life.

Well.. I’ve had just enough time.

Send me away with the words of a love song.



Dear God,

I love that you are a comedian on facebook. You are in my heaven too and sometimes… Sometimes life tragedy is a war to find reason to smile. You keep giving me curses of isolation: allergies to nearly all that is soft to cuddle.


Where can I go? Do you even want me here in this world and now this… another curse.

This last one was one brought me to my knees to pray. The news you gave me two days back. Sh*t! Couldn’t you have just sent a nun to smack me in the face with yardstick?? You had to throw me this? Fine.

I am lower still lord but I want you to pay attention to all the people who do not believe in you because while you are holding me down they are stepping on my head building new technology with their science. Hell on earth is a celebrity on Scientology. Tom cruise is proof of that. He was adorably in love with Katie. How could he not be? She is as cute as a button. #SYNERGY

I am denouncing my Catholic faith. I decided after you handed me the last gut bomb, and this here is my facebook confessional. I’m not coming back until you send me The Pope because the ten plagues are not a religion I want to believe in but believe I do. I went to Walmart and bought me a giant can of bug spray so go ahead and bring on the locusts and I am not kidding about The Pope. That’s a man I want to talk to cause, “He’s got some ‘splaining to do Lucy.”

I’ve decided to become a Christian Buddhist practicing Lovism…. (enter Beattle’s soundtrack) With occasional bouts of Tourette’s and F*ck you very much.” (enter Eminem and who can forget about Dre?)

Is there a church for that philosophy because there should be.


Blessings. Let’s get back to gratitude lord because I am hearing you. The lessons you would have me know and you did send me a warning the first time. Thank you.

I am sorry lord. I was brazen but then you gave me that spirit. Do not tame it until I catch the world on fire. I’ve got magic to spread and hearts to heal… bodies too. I am becoming a really good personal trainer and yes, I know you just want me to focus on my career. You’ve been smacking me in the face with that dick of a whale for sometime. Moby… the novel banned for dick. Yes.. I’ll write the stories but I’m not down to sit alone on an ark. You better send me some entertainment and I would prefer it to come in the package of a glistening ab peep show.

Speaking of that. I am going to busting my chops in the gym and getting my clients in line for a June reveal and grand opening for the new business. Thank you lord for loving me and for the sight to see impossible things in what’s not real. Things like hope for those who have none, and joy when it it would be right to hate. Forgiveness is the hardest I think because my heart is so open that some enter with razors.

I fell with my arms in shackles then, chained to a post I could not undo. The village eyes watched with some already chanting for the first cut to skin me open, while others stood with eyebrows furrowed wishing to take the sting. “I’m sorry…” their eyes held.

Yes… I am sorry too. — with Yourfavorite Rooster.

Amber Garibay
The Adventures Of


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