"Wandering" and "Where I Was, You Now Are"

I wrote these poems awhile ago but they really capture how I feel right now.....

Wandering through this realm of emotions

Deciding which way holds clarity

Yearning to remember a time before you

Aching to forget everything you did to me

Contemplating cutting you off completely

Holding on to the friendship we shared

Questioning my decision to leave you

Wondering what made me even stay

Breaking down because love remains

Hating that you make me feel this way

Asking for just one day without tears

Crying because I feel so lost

Wishing that this would come to a close

Hoping I can finally find my way home

You couldn't handle being replaced

All of a sudden you act like you care

Pleading for my forgiveness and love

You request it but do not truly want it

Still believe I was the one in the wrong

Just cant handle my happiness

Perplexed by the smile on my face

Suddenly you decide I'm not invisible

I'm not hidden behind a wall of tears

I would have given you anything

That time has now passed

You gave up your right to me

Hope you'll benefit from your mistakes

Live and learn or you'll never keep love

You lost me and I'm never coming back

Life isn't always about second chances

Sorry it had to end this way

But you brought this pain upon yourself

I'm happy now and you're in tears

Seems like when we were together

Only it was my tears and your smiles then

Funny how life spins things around

Never thought we'd end up here

Expected me to take your abuse forever

Guess what I finally woke up to reality

Now I use the word love in the past tense

Pansy Pirates (short story)

They piloted a strange ship that seemed to hover over the water rather than cut through it. In most regards it was an ordinary ship, full of pirates and booty from the latest pillage. What made this ship stand out from the rest were the sails. Instead of white, the sails were a peculiar shade of pink. These weren't pansy pirates by any means. They were known as the most ruthless and bloodthirsty buccaneers that sailed the seven seas. Why then did they sail under soft feminine colors? All that beheld the ship or heard its tales wondered at the mysterious choice in color. No one dared ask for fear of the cruel retribution that was bound to be taken against them. A sailor once uttered "Pansy Pirates;" they cut out his tongue and shoved it down his throat.

This put an end to inquiry for many months until a new pirate, Algernon, joined the ranks. He did not insult them but merely said, "What made you choose pink sails? I've never seen such a color for sails on a ship before."

The crew laughed as if they were sharing a private joke.

"If you really want to know, go ask the Captain," said one of the crew. "He explains it best."

This had not been Algernon's intention at all. He was scared out of his knickers to see the Captain alone in his quarters. Algernon almost turned back when he got to the door but curiosity got the better of him. Before he could lose his nerve he rapped three times on the solid mahogany. Instantly the door opened and he found himself standing in the shadow of the Captain.

Despite feeling himself go weak in the knees Algernon managed to stammer, "C-can I ask you something?" The Captain stepped aside allowing him to enter. Before he knew what was happening he blurted out, "Why are the sails pink?"

The Captain stared at him and then chuckled. "Those pink sails have made this ship the most famous one to sail the seas. That fact alone might have made me keep them hoisted all this time. What started as a simple laundry error turned into the best private joke of all time."

Algernon was so confused, a laundry error? However, before he could voice his questions, the Captain continued.

"You see when the sails were being washed, one of the recently deceased from our latest rampages slipped into the water. His blood in the water dyed the sails in question pink. At first I was angry and embarrassed to be flying the pink sails, until one day the irony of it hit me. People were scoffing at me but little did they know they were laughing at the blood of their own. Now I have the sails washed in the blood of my enemies intentionally and look forward to the day when the truth gets out, when they all realize what they have been laughing at. We really are the most bloodthirsty pirates of all time, even our sails are tainted."

Flying

I still remember the first time I stepped on an airplane, I was absolutely terrified. I was too young to understand the physics and mechanics of it all, and I must say that even as an adult it still somewhat eludes me.
I know all the reasons a plane works, why it should stay in the air and how it is safer than driving in a car but that does not change my mindset. It boggles my mind that a huge chunk of a metal can stay up in the sky without crashing down to the unforgiving earth.
Now I am no stranger to flying, in fact, I thoroughly enjoy traveling by way of mechanical birds. I love the speed in which it gets me to my destination. I love being able to interact with colorful personalities, without having to deal with them cutting me off or flipping me the bird. I love being able to close my eyes without barreling into oncoming traffic.
There are many reasons why I would choose flying over driving, but they both have their advantages. For example, there is nothing I love more than driving down the road with the wind blowing through my hair, the radio cranked up and singing at the top of my lungs. It is an incredible feeling. It is almost like the rest of the world melts away, it is just you and the road. I feel safer in my car for some reason, I think it is because I feel like I am in control. In a plane, you relinquish control. The moment you set foot on that plane, you are putting your life into someones hands other than your own. That is truly terrifying, no matter what the circumstance.

It doesn't just apply to transportation, it also applies to matters of the heart. Anytime you relinquish control, it is a very scary thing. But honestly, what is life without a little danger? No risk, no reward. Think about that next time you are battling to keep control, sometimes you just have to let it go.

Hates Banking in General

I hate the bank.

Honestly, I wish that I could just stuff my money in my mattress and call it a day. Either that, or bury it in a chest on a deserted island. The only problem with that is easy access, the one positive to having your money in a bank.

The bank steals my money. It is incredibly frustrating. For some reason my check didn't clear in the time that it usually does and the bank slams me with tons of overcharge fees. I am overdrawn which is incredibly frustrating. That is what happens when the bank charges you over $100 in freaking overdraft fees.

Now, I have to go to the bank and argue with a teller(in a nice Christian manner) in the hopes that they will return the money they stole from me. I wish that I was better at arguing, I hardly ever get my way in these situations. In the end, I will probably just have to swallow the fees and passively get back at them by closing my account and switching banks.

Wish me luck.....This never would have happened if I buried my money on a deserted island....

I'm My Own Narrator....

I realized something today at work, sometimes I narrate my life.

Now, I am not speaking of talking to myself. I do that all the time. I have full conversations that can go on for quite awhile.

I am talking about "old time detective" movie style. It is rather hard to explain. I did it out loud on my last plane ride into a tape recorder. That was a rather interesting flight for the person sitting next to me. It started out something like, "It was a dark and stormy night when the young woman boarded the plane, unaware of what the touchdown of the plane would bring." It continues on in that same fashion.

I realize that this makes me strange, and maybe somewhat crazy but I'd actually really like to have a real narrator. It makes me think of that movie Stranger Than Fiction, except I really wouldn't want to know about an impending imminent demise.

I will just have to settle for being my own narrator until I can figure a way to get someone else to do it, preferably someone with a British accent.

When Life Gives You Lemons....

You make lemon bars!

It is amazing to me how soothing I find baking. Being in the kitchen makes everything else disappear for a brief moment in time. I think there is just something inspiring about preparing food, it tickles my creative side.

I find myself thinking about different flavor combinations I want to attempt. This wouldn't be such a big deal except, it keeps happening while I am supposed to be listening to someone speak or supposed to be doing something else. It does help me pass the time at work though, my job isn't very intellectually stimulating.

The weirder thing about my little baking obsession is that I don't usually consume the food that I make. I might have a bite of a dessert I made, (if it was the first attempt) but normally I just get a kick out of other people eating it. I like getting my brother's opinion because he will tell me straight up what he thinks of a dish. I love this about my brother. I may get annoyed with how many times he tells me how awesome he is, but honestly he really is awesome. Shhh, don't tell him that I admitted it.

Now, I know that I said that baking creates this "safe haven" for me but I must admit at the moment I am feeling a little pressure to perform. This anniversary cake I need to make has to be amazing, both in taste and appearance. I might have bitten off a bit more than I can chew. I also agreed to do the rest of the desserts, a balloon archway, a pathway of lights, the music and a fantastic appetizer.

I suppose that instead of continuing with this baking blog I should go execute that of which I write. I am off to make the cookie dough for the adorable anniversary cookies for my dessert bar, wish me luck.

Mother's Day

Mother's Day is coming up.

Now, it should be all about how great we think our moms' are, and how much we appreciate what they do. At least that is how I think the day should play out but in reality that is not how I approach the day of Mothers'.

Basically, each Mother's Day is a personal challenge on how good a gift I can find for my mom.

I don't like to brag (well maybe a little) but when it comes to my mom, I give some pretty phenomenal presents. Tapestries from Florence, mugs from Ireland, and margarita glasses from Mexico are just a few of my favorite gifts for my mom.

Unfortunately, I am hitting a wall on what to get her this year. From my previously stated presents, one can see that flowers and chocolate wont live up to the standards I set for myself. I usually have had my stroke of brilliance by now and know exactly what I want to get for my mom. I consider her my easiest person to shop for, which is why my lack of ingenious ideas is really irritating me.

I only have a few days left before the big day, perhaps I will just have to postpone giving her the gift until I can do it in person. This will give me both time for genius to strike and a valid excuse for its tardiness...

Classic Tale Retold

Everyone knows the classic tale

A lovely girl finds the beauty in a beast

But a tale lesser known begets more truth

Not the beauty found in a beast

But the beast hiding beneath the beauty

Perfection flows from her fingertips

Sweet voice lulls you into a vulnerable state

Her eyes ensnare you into her embrace

Blinded by her outward radiance

Unable to see the monster inside

Ache to graze her flawless skin

Selling yourself to her piece by piece

Before you realize her heart is black

She has taken everything from you

This is nothing to her vicious soul

Pleasured by the sight of your suffering

Teasing you with the promise of love

She knows she is incapable but you dont

Think you are trading life for love

Instead you give your life for her laugh

When she tires of you shell throw you back

Where once a proud man stood

A broken, scared lonely boy will lay

She remains unscathed and moves on

Her next victim just around the corner

Knowing hell be as easy as the last

Even though she is a savage beast

Her beauty is a perfect disguise

The saddest part of this tale it seems

No one has a chance to defend

If you know what to do its too late

For you have already felt the wrath of her beauty

Freedom

The freedom of expression
Binds us in our words
Free speech is rampant
Yet our words are censored
Say anything you please
Just make sure its politically correct
Throw out any profanity you want
But don't say "policeman"
That offends the feminists
Degrade your skin with racial slurs
But labeled racist if not that color
In this world of freedom
I can't help but feel trapped

Frilly Men

Tanning Bed Bursts Into Flames With Man Inside
I can't decide which is more disturbing, the fact that a tanning bed caught fire or that there was a man in the tanning bed in the first place. I know that many men do it, but for the life of me, I cannot figure out why. I find it incredibly disturbing that men pamper themselves and put in substantial effort into making themselves "beautiful."

Where have all the manly men gone?

There is nothing wrong with taking care of yourself, and dressing nice to impress the ladies but guys today take it too far. Honestly, guys don't need to tan, wax, pluck, and style for hours on end; why subject yourselves to such things? A guy can throw on a suit and look like a million bucks. It's that easy, why complicate it?

Last Name

I should have probably started my blogging career explaining the name of my blog, but I know that most people that know me will have already figured it out. My first entry I shared with you was about the trials and tribulations of having a drunken and deadly first name, but my last name is another story.

First of all, I have googled myself on numerous occasions. I know that you have all done it, so do not begin to judge me. Everyone I know has done it, and they all have people who claim the same identity. I already had enough identity issues as it was, I must admit that I was a bit nervous the first time I put my name into that little box of answers. To my surprise, and immediate relief(I didn't breathe for a good two minutes, my browser was dreadfully slow), I am the only Amber Kasbon. Obviously, there is nothing unique about my first name (other than beer and dinosaurs) but my last name has brought me great joy. There are not any other Kasbon's, save the six people in my family that now claim the name as their own.

This in and of itself is fantastic, but it is not why I take such simple pleasure in telling people my name. I have an avid imagination so pretending to be a British spy is right up my alley, whenever I meet someone new I give them the classic line: the name's Bon, Kasbon. It makes me laugh out loud just writing it. Who doesn't want to be James Bond? Aside from the casual sex, drinking and intermittent torture sessions, he is fantastic. I am a sucker for accents, class, and stlye, which he has in spades. When I use my introductory line, I like to invision myself as a total kick-butt secret agent and even if no one else can see it, it makes me smile just the same. Besides if no one suspects me as a British secret agent, I suppose I'd be doing a pretty good job if I was one.

What's in a Name?

I've always found my name to be a little on the strange side,
never sure if I fully appreciated it being bestowed upon me. For
years of my youth I was convinced that my parents had named
me after an alcoholic beverage.

I realize that Amber is not an uncommon name, in fact I know
at least three other people who seem to find favor in being named
so. However, I was haunted as a child when I would hear the beer
commercials boasting about the rich "Amber" color that their
product possessed. I was literally nervous to listen to the radio,
or watch television because I knew that inevitably, my name would
be bellowed through the speakers in association with that bewitching
brew.

Another factor in my mounting inner turmoil was that my brothers
were given biblical names, Matthew and Adam. I know it was not the
intention of my parents but it felt like salt in an open wound. Not only
was the bible devoid from my name but I also had the added bonus of
hearing it describe a personal favorite of rowdy drunks everywhere.

As a pseudo adult (I don't like admitting that I am one), I have come to terms with my first name. I know that my parents had no malicious intent when they named me Amber, I must say that the movie Jurassic Park did help to ease my pain and suffering. It was nice to know that amber did not only represent the color of beer but it could also aid in the mass murder of an island full of people by way of overgrown lizards. At least now I have grown into a playful enthusiasm about my name, seeing it makes me smile instead of cower in shame and humiliation.

Next installment I will touch on my last name, it is a less sensitive topic.