No matter what, you’re going to mess up sometimes,

it’s a universal truth. But the good part

is you get to decide how you’re going to mess it up.

Girls will be your friends – they’ll act like it anyway.

But just remember, some come, some go.

The ones that stay with you through everything -

they’re your true best friends.

Don’t let go of them.

Also remember, sisters make the best friends in the world.

As for lovers, well, they’ll come and go too.

And baby, I hate to say it, most of them -

actually pretty much all of them are going to break your heart,

but you can’t give up because if you give up,

you’ll never find your soulmate.

You’ll never find that half who makes you whole

and that goes for everything.

Just because you fail once,

doesn’t mean you’re gonna fail at everything.

Keep trying, hold on, and always, always, always believe in yourself,

because if you don’t, then who will, sweetie?

So keep your head high, keep your chin up,

and most importantly, keep smiling,

because life’s a beautiful thing

and there’s so much to smile about.”

-Marilyn Monroe-

I was overwhelmed by how wild you two are going at it…

That’s alot cuss words… Then I went and did some gardening

and something about a bright sun on me,

my hands in the dirt pulling up weeds for my friend’s veggies…

It made me think that your Dad was lifted up greatly

by your visit and he has big pretty eyes!”

You should know that I love to plant flowers. Yes, he was indeed lifted, as it goes with unconditional love. I love my dad enough to meet him at his pace, which is on a level of relation. We understand each other. I do not speak like that to just anyone. I have to love you first.

He is quite ill, has been for months,

infected with a flesh eating bacteria,

a drug resistant, super strain of mrsa.

I don’t know if it is going to eat off his leg or kill him.

His roommate is in fact dying (COPD).

To watch a man die by waste of air

is to know the horror of starvation.

His limbs have become bone

to the ghostly hollow of powder white skin

punched with dark circles of decay.

Contagious… I’ve been warned about mrsa.

Gloves, and a mask will need do,

but how do I protect my heart from knowing their fate….

SOMETIME A FEW MONTHS BACK…

I told my dad that is he is going to die, but not before the tirade in his living room.   I walked into his house without knocking, because I believe that family is an open invitation, far more comfortable than the formality of proper etiquette, which I have in grace magnified by kindness. I know how to be a lady, because I am that woman by heart. My father has never allowed me that softness, and still, I walk right in.

He scowled at me when I entered, not rising from his chair because he can’t. These days he can barely stand due to the infection, flesh eating, MRSA a medicine resistant strain. His disapproval deepened further,  until even a welcome was denied. “HEY!” he snarled, “You need to knock before you come in my house.”

I can’t rightly say why I chose to be angry in that moment, but I went from zero to pissed in an instant, and I gave a f*ck about his invitation. That’s exactly what I told him too, “F*ck you, and your knocking. I just drove an hour to see you, spent the last of my money on gas; I can leave mother f*cker, I can go…”

My father did not invite me to stay, “Get the f*ck out then, Amber.  I am not going to let you walk into my house like a disrespectful b*tch!!” He was at the top of his lungs, and so was I.

“F*ck you and your respect! You raised me! I am your spawn father.” My words were the venom of old hurt. He came back at me with all the denial of a parent without responsibility.

“I didn’t raise you. Your mother did.” He was fuming and vulgar, swearing and raw.

I shoved my agreement down his throat. ”That’s right. I forgot that you weren’t there. You are out right lucky that I am even here to walk through your door without knocking. I should knock your f*cking head off, I should kick your teeth in, that’s what I should do.” I was the red of a bull tearing him apart, the cripple that he had become, “Who the f*ck do you think you are!!” My last question was as loud as the universe, “I should knock your f*cking head off!!!” My words could no longer hold the volume of my frustration,  I turned and threw the contents in my hand at his front window with all the force of intending to break it. My keys, and a full water ball, ricocheted like bullets with out the impact of shatter, though I did manage to knock his curtains down.

My father’s face was torment. I could feel the heartbreak of his burden, and also the fear of his fate. He was looking at me like I was his own ghost, defeated, he lowered himself to the quiet resolve of his true intention, “I was just trying to teach you Amber. I am your father…”

If I keep on saying to myself that I cannot do a certain thing,

it is possible that I may end by really becoming incapable of doing it.

On the contrary, if I have the belief that I can do it,

I shall surely acquire the capacity to do it

even if I may not have it at the beginning.”

 ― Mahatma Gandhi

 It is a great fortune to have the blessing of employment, furthered still by passion, and then love. I am absolutely in love with the creation of my own success, which is not an equal right, or liberty. It is a choice; best fueled by belief, the belief in one’s self.

 I believe that I can accomplish anything, and so I strive beyond that, because “doing,” is not enough, though it could be. It could be enough to do what is expected, but then so many expect the worst, and then give it. What if I could be the best?

 I am the best by exuberance; the sheer joy of knowing that I couldn’t have done more, because I gave it everything I had with love. I have been a small business owner for eight years. My business doubled after the first, and tripled the next. It grew quickly by word of mouth, so fast that it pulled me, while pushing me to edge of my own capabilities. I learned all too soon the humility of needing help, and the impossibility of standard. Hiring was near nightmare by how little each applicant invested in work ethic. In all that time I only knew three who were a match to my own standard. I would mention them by name, except to spare the slight of those not mentioned. I can only tell you that my best employees were the success of my business. They were the heart of it growing. The greatest heartbreak I have known in business is not being able to meet my own measure. To honor the value of my clients, and what they deserve by the gift of their business. I wanted to give them perfection, but their volume by love, had out grown my own capabilities marring help. There was too  much in the air without proper hands to catch. Until things started to drop.

I was learning…

There were too many to give proper attention. The courtesy of proper attention should be standard business practice. I stood in line to buy groceries just yesterday, and the checker did not look up to see me. I addressed him with a question, “How is your day.” He mumbled that it was “fine”, still not giving me his gaze in full acknowledgement. “Not wonderful? Or amazing?” I persisted in questioning. He paused briefly, to answer, “No, I am not amazing. I work at Safeway.” Trying to encourage him, I said, “That is a wonderful job to have. You work for a company that offers full medical benefits, with bountiful opportunities for promotion. Surely, that is something to be grateful for?” He scoffed, near sneering, “Yeah lady, that’s just great.” He then handed me my receipt, turning back to the next in line without further comment.

 We have become a people of entitlement, taking for granted what we have. A friend of mine from Brazil said it best, “American’s cry with their bellies full.” Guilty. I am guilty as charged, please note this cover letter as proof. I am not fulfilled, and so I am writing you because I would love to make your business mine. I would like photography, my current livelihood, to take second chair as a passion I pursue for the love of taking pictures, a dabbled business, not by quality, but by time. I could never give it up, but my ambitions are vast. I want to meet the standard of your business, so that you can know the pride of having that vision in completion. I understand the importance of a good fit, each role, each position within, integral to success. I would seize the opportunity of employment with gratitude, and arrive to my title knowing that I am needed, regardless of position, and beyond ego. A company is made by many roles. I will own it at such. Your business is mine. I will love it that way.

Thank you for your time and consideration,

Much Love and Many Blessings,

Amber Garibay

http://www.asmilelikeyours.com

http://www.thelifeyouliveisachoice.com

So, I had this crazy idea that it would be OK if I start this sentence with so. There are rules against this sort of thing (I  read it once in a book), but then I am a rule breaker kind of girl. For example, that rule that says “If you can’t say something nice you should shut the f*ck up…”

Well, that is not exactly how the saying goes, but then that is just how I deal with dick heads, and A-holes. “Shut the f*ck up.” I am usually laughing of course, because there is nothing more amusing then (or than) when one makes a penis of themselves. I am personally guilty of that offense. Sometimes I am a ripe *sshole, but dangit do I try to leave the world better than I found it.

So (there I go again with the so), I have another confession. I kind of like talking sh*t. Especially if it’s true. What I can’t stand is a cry baby slobbery mess, and hurt feelings. I get my own feelings hurt pretty darn easily, so I try to hold the world in an egg shell. It’s a noble concept except I am clumsy, and drop sh*t, eggs rot, and are better eaten. I don’t even like eggs, or chickens for that matter. Maybe I just need to come up with a better analogy? Nah, that one seems pretty perfect considering the rooster. People give me sh*t about that bird, but people are into roosters. Songs are written…

So (I know it’s overplayed), I have a thing for macaroons, as in, I lust for them. It’s a newer fetish, or should I say, affliction. I am not into kinky food sex, another recant. Holy crap, how did sex even get brought into this! The San Fransisco bakery that’s how!!

CLICK HERE TO SEE THEIR FOOD PORN WEBSITE

I go to bed with those damn cookies, the macaroons in question. The ones from The San Fransisco Bakery. I sleep with them like a lover, moaning and such, with pleasure. I cleared out the case the last time I was in. I was going to put them in the freezer to make them last, except I kept getting up in the middle of the night to go gnaw on them. Holy Moses those babies are good frozen. The outside is caramelized, golden to chew. The inside is like biting into a cloud, the flavor bursts to fluff. The are the lightest treat. Eating them is like falling into snow.

I was tempted to stray today, and I did. I am not even going to lie. I am single; I don’t need to be tied to one cookie. I decided to try another cookie. This cookie was made by The Blue Heron Bakery.

CLICK HERE TO SEE MY UNDERCOVER LOVER

It’s just not working for me, but I tried to get off. I figured, hell, I already shoved it in. I should at least enjoy it. I spent every bite wishing that I was lying in bed with San Fransisco. There was no contest. I will not be buying macaroons from the Blue Heron Bakery, though the apricot and nuts were a nice flavor combo. I purchased one with dark chocolate chips, and one without. I ate one frozen and one fresh. They both were like eating raw coconut in uncooked dough. The consistency was almost slimy, but more like mush. The outside has a nice shell, but the inside falls apart to organic. It is an earthy combo, as in my grandmother was buried in the earth. This cookie is buried as a “No Go”, but I will be back to sample other fare. The staff was super cool, and local businesses rock!! No foul intended. Just preference.

Coconut Macaroon Thumbprints with Raspberry Chia Seed Jam

I told him that I hadn’t, but that I had thought about it. The tide of my memory lapped at the detail of water at mooring. He had asked me to describe it as we pulled into port. I found my mind grasping, near empty, like lungs held without purpose of air. I was nearly absent under the Tacoma skyline, my lips parted to the taste of the city as I remembered surrendering to it. I was in love, had fallen, when I first drove to find my new studio within the sprawl of architecture months before. The urban aroma, once a stench, had opened to the flower of  new possibility, and the lights did dance. They were the red and green of Christmas until the memory of Bo surfaced like a seal’s head in the liquid of my consciousness,  with all that I was trying to hold under surface suddenly looking back at me, hungry, and untied by trying. He was the question mark of gifts to come through romance, the celebration of new spirit, rekindled after a long and desolate divorce. I remember that my heart lit to get his messages, the first so close to Christmas, and then on the day, even a “Hi” was magic. He drew his smileys with noses : – )  The coolest motherf*cker on the planet. I couldn’t wait to meet him, because I knew what I felt before knowing his face. I was excited about him and everything; inspired.

I blinked, and the season had past, leaving the city to concrete and the boat to float new memories.  I was nearly bitter that it had ended, until I saw July on the horizon of the sea. Santa wasn’t real, but independence surely was. I was the freedom of open waters sitting on the vessel, my mind the color of quiet. Inside, I was the detail of a hole. “They look like fireworks,” I said at last.

“Fireworks?” his question was to my obvious. The water was a reflection of show.

“Yes, fireworks, like sparklers lit all at once,” I let the description drift lazy in mediocrity, while remembering ignition inside myself by comparison.  There he was again, his memory that same seal, stealing salmon from my date.  Knowing Bo was like bursting, until I did through implosion. Falling in love with him was like swallowing light, only to have it reabsorbed by darkness. I felt put out sitting in the company of another man, but then it would always be that way, until it wasn’t, until I let him go, and damn it if I wasn’t trying. I felt like a fool sitting in the memory of nothing; I had nothing, because there wasn’t. There was never an us. I had imagined the whole thing, much like the fireworks masquerading on the water.

I studied the doctor in the twilight, wondering if I could feel for him, if I dare imagine trying again, after swallowing my own heart. He was quite handsome, tall in skin the bronze of statuesque. His eyes  were pools of clear emerald, flecked with an invitation to gaze and his smile… His smile was the carved ivory of tusks, near synthetic in appearance, while bolstering all that is genuine and also rare.  I couldn’t have written him better, Cheshire to my cat, or to the Mona Lisa by ponder. The question sat pregnant to void, consistent with every suitor since parting. Even if they were better, they were still not him. They were still not Bo. The doctor was an exception, further still, in that he was everything I had asked for. In fact, he was exactly what I had written as wanting in my dating profile, down to the mission of his travels. He visits orphans in third world countries, helping them thrive by the simplest gift, the joy of a smile, and arms open to hold in friendship.

“Maybe…” was my silent answer. Bo had taken the “Yes”.

MY PROFILE (the first of many, this one pulled as unattainable)

I have a few deal breakers, cats, smokers, and idiots. I will consider lifting my restriction on stupidity after I depreciate and turn forty  Until then I have certain standards and romance is one of them. Romance is wanting nothing more than to make someone smile, and caring to know how. I am looking for a guy that knows exactly what he wants, and is able to articulate it. He should consider himself an active participant in the outcome of his life because CHOICE is a freedom and an obligation. I make mine conservatively, though I am a free spirit by nature. My life revolves around fitness, business, and art, with family being center. I am looking for a man with equal values. Love is the easiest thing in the world. I just need to find someone that wants the same lifestyle and an incredibly ambitious and sexy blond. I am old fashioned; I prefer a man to lead, but I am also fiercely independent and strong willed. I work in dialogue, communication is everything to me, so I need to find a man who enjoys conversation. I would allow myself to be taken care of, but I believe relationships are reciprocal. I am a career woman out of necessity- I don’t want to be a liability in my relationship, so I try to match each investment, whether that be emotional or financial. I try to contribute, as much as I take. I am not a fan of the consumerism; I believe we live in a culture of excess. I intend to change the world with kindess, so the man I fall in love with will need to be a humanitarian. People tell me all the time that, “The world will never change.” I disagree, “All it takes to change is one step in a new direction.” Humanity is best served with smiles. I prefer someone around six feet tall, with a smile that dazzles, and eyes that light up in mischief. He likes to hike, run, walk on the beach, and laugh. He is confident and kind, an intellectual without being pretentious, and affluent because he understands value. Midas is a very cold king & LOVE really is the only thing of real value.

In sum: Bitter working mother. Personal journalist. Greener grad. Crochet nerd. Foreign and indie film watcher. Terrified, but tenacious. Beer drinker (especially the hubby’s homebrew). Direction-less, and without a career, but renewing promises to self. C’est la vie!

Snarky, moi?