This is a screen shot of my recent blog traffic.  It looks like that stupid show is back for another season.  I’m sure it is really, really disappointing to Google “The Amber Show” and come here to find out I’m not two blond, fake-boobied bimbos.  Sorry, yall.  But I do have big boobs!  I just grew them myself.

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I’m off to SxSW!  Come find me and say hello if you’ll be there.  I’ll be the one CELEBRATING MY BIRTHDAY!  Woo!

2. At the laundromat, when I was a quarter short.  The resulting scramble to find one lousy quarter was awkward to the point of pain, and ended with me buying a three dollar bottle of diet coke.  There is something about laundromats that sucks all of the grace out of me.

3. Going to a Christian church with a friend and having someone ask, “It’s a great day to be saved and redeemed by Jesus!  You ARE saved and redeemed, right?”

It’s a shame “bust out of a paper wall” was never on my life list.  May I suggest you add it to yours?  It is way fun.

Thanks, Dennis, for the photo.

My weekend was awesome! Dana was here from Canada, I got to see Stu! and a whole bunch of other friends, I hung out with my younger cousins, Grandma and I went shopping and she bought me birthday presents, I got to have brunch at one of my favorite brunch places, and the weather warmed up for the first time in ages which made the entire city a buzz with happiness. The parks were full of people who were soaking up sun like they were at a methadone clinic.

But seriously? One thing topped it all for me: deep fried cupcakes.

Park Slope [my 'nabe in BK] has been itching to get its collective grubby paws on some deep fried Robeicelli’s cupcakes for months. There was Cupcake Gate 2010 – a local shop was going to have them, but then they weren’t available but people thought they would be, and everyone was disappointed and grumpy and there was internet drama. (Boooooo!)

Finally we got some. On Thursday night I actually had a dream of biting into a deep fried tre leches cupcake, and on Friday I ate salad and steamed veggies all day in anticipation.

Normally when you’re that excited about eating something it’s not nearly as wonderful as you’ve dreamed, but in this case, it was better. A deep fried tre leches cupcake is like sex. Or drugs. I got a little high. Chris said to me, “I know. Everything. I know the answer to everything now.” and I nodded because totally got what he meant. That shit was life-changing.

Also, there were really, really hot guys at the event.

2 horses by Mrs. French

This week all my links are about pictures!

This Flickr set called Corporate Headshots made me laugh!

I was inspired this week by Chookooloonks. Karen has a brand-spanking-new life list and added a project to it called 1000 faces in which, obvs, she is going to take 1000 portraits.  “Brilliant!” I thought, so I started one, too. I’m hoping to finish before I’m 30, but no pressure. You can see my progress at 1000Clicks.tumblr.com

Gothamist rounded up some of the city’s finest snow people.

Sometimes artistic backgrounds for desktops can be over-busy, but here are some super minimal ones from SimpleDesktops.com. It is wonderfully curated.

17 images you won’t believe aren’t photoshopped.

Happy weekend!

I started thinking about this the other day when my friend Jerilyn posted on Facebook: “completely irked when strangers in the elevator tell me to ‘Smile!’. Bah!”

I hate it, too, because it’s not a strangers place to tell me what expression to have. What’s worse is that 99% of the time it’s an older man cajoling a smile out of me, the younger, pretty woman, as if to say, “You, young lady, are to beam happiness and light for my enjoyment”.

What I hate more, though, is that I automatically smile back. Before thorny indignation has a chance to prickle my expression into a grumpy harrumph! and offer up a zingy one-liner (or just a terse “Fuck off.”), Miss Nice, overgrown and bossy, comes bursting out with an obligatory smile. “Here you go. One syrupy sweet facial expression, just like you ordered. Have a nice day, sir, and thank you for keeping me in line.”

Damnit! Smiled again!

I’m not saying I want to be telling little old men in elevators to fuck off. If your last erection was during the Regan administration, I’ll forgive you for being anti-feminist and make do with an eye roll. It’s those creepy 50 and 60 year old guys need to be told to STFU.

Do I actually need to take Meanness lessons? How do I squash down this “nice girl” tendency that seems to have ingrained itself? How do we raise our daughters (and little sisters, and younger cousins, of which I have two that I love more than anything) to be strong enough to not smile-on-command, or worry about being a Good Girl at the expense of being a strong woman?

That, more than anything, is is what’s important.

One of Kevin and Carmen’s cats, who hopped up on the dining room chair for post-dinner conversation and fish scraps.

My girl Patrice doing “the cheesecake dance” which is the Running Man, but while holding a cheesecake.  Yes, she is wearing a New Kids on the Block tee shirt, because she is awesome.

Sunday afternoon post-brunch snoozes.

I met this lady at a housewarming party, and I can’t remember her name.  That laugh rocked my world.

This is the photo immediately before the “brave” raw fish holding photo.  It is more truthful.

Check it, people!  Bare hands, raw fish.  I was brave!  I took a few deep breaths and picked that mo fo up!  He was not so slimy and awful after a moment or two.

The three amigos.  Carmen and I went to the farmers market to see the fishmongers, but the snowstorm kept them away, so we headed to the fish market and selected one big fish and two smaller ones.  The bigger one is a red snapper and the smaller ones had an odd name that starts with a “B”.  If you know, help me out.

We cornmeal-and-floured the “B” fish and then panfried them in canola oil.  One we soaked in milk for 20 minutes first.  The cookbook said it would make a juicier fish.  It was, in fact, more moist than the other, but maybe not entirely worth the bother.  They were both tasty.

Here they are in crispy glory.

For the snapper (named “Steve” by Kevin), we made slits in on each side with a pointy knife.  Then we rubbed him with olive oil, lemon juice and salt and stuffed him with herbs.  The rest of the herbs went on top and he got baked in the oven at 500* F for about 20 minutes.

This is me and Carmen with our fish, in cute aprons.

We also made a salad with blood oranges and grapefruit, and a blood orange vinaigrette.  I got to juice the oranges for the dressing.

I made lemon squares for dessert.  I was worried they were over done, but Kevin said they were “so fucking good”.  Instead of a water+confectioner sugar icing, I juiced the leftover half a lemon I had and mixed the juice with the confectioners sugar, so it was lemony sweet.

Here are Kevin and Carmen together.  I’m on a mission to take portraits of everyone for my new life list challenge: take 1000 portraits.

Then Carmen grabbed my camera and snapped one of me and Rob.  We look happy and scruffy together.

Thank you, Carmen, for teaching me to shop for, prepare and cook the fish, and thank you, Kevin, for teaching me how to carve them! You are both too kind.

Star Wars vintage-style travel posters by Justin Van Genderen, $17 each, from ImageKind.com

A History of Obama Feigning Interest in Mundane Things from New York Magazine made me giggle.

I know this is dorky, but it’s so fun to change my Twitter background each month. I’m picking one of these for March, from Totally Severe.

Twenty funny ice skating faces.

Edited to add: Yao, don’t. Just… don’t.
The birth story of Nella Cordelia had me breathless and weeping. It is one of the most beautiful and difficult things I’ve ever read. Love me. Love me. I’m not what you expected, but oh, please love me.

GeekDad talks about racism and kids.

Japanese girls who don’t have a suitable boyfriend are renting them for the holiday to shut up their worried parents.

Cheers to your weekend!

In my Grandma’s kitchen.  I thought the lighting was so pretty, even though “Bowl of Fruit” has to be the most over-done, cliché, boring photography subject ever.  Gram fussed that the banana wasn’t pretty enough, but I think the bruises add character.  I’m spilling secrets here: that pear in the back is fake.  It’s so the bowl is never actually empty.

Cinnamon tea, honey, and girl talk while babies snooze nearby is the perfect winter afternoon.

Pastel cookies for Lydia’s half birthday party.  I bit into one and was *wham-o*ed with memories of being in grade school – I’ve been searching for this recipe for ages since tasting it two decades ago.  FINALLY.  Jen had it, and she passed it on.  I am ecstatic.

Sarah from Rescue Chocolate came through the Hey Brooklyn studio and brought this “Pick Me! Pepper” chocolate bar made with salt and spice.  It made me deeply happy.  I would have never selected this myself so I’m glad she selected it for me.  Thanks, Sarah!

Rob strikes a pose in the elevator of the studio.