I went to visit a friend in Billings for the weekend (it was her birthday), and I got a chance to make my first loaf of bread from scratch. I’d been wanting to try it for a while, and she had all the ingredients scattered throughout her kitchen, so we set to work.

First of all, FUN. After you add all the initial ingredients and stir, it becomes like Play Doh for adults! It’s lumpy and sticky and let me just back pedal before I start to seem like a total nerd (too late? okay, then). Ta-da:

Let’s take a moment and gawk at how incredibly manly my arms look in that photo. Moving on.

It tastes as good as it looks, despite the fact that it fell quite a bit and ended up being rather dense. The effort was satisfying, anyway, and I can’t wait until I get good enough to try wheat bread.

I took my niece, Lara, to the park. It’s directly across the street from where I used to live when I was a kid (how lucky was I, growing up right next to a park?), and I still love going there. Besides, it was a completely gorgeous day.

We played on the slide several times, squealing in delight as we raced to the bottom. We took turns watching each other go, and once I hooked my hands over the top and launched myself through as fast as I could. She was very impressed, and asked how I did it. When I explained, a serious look came over her face. In a very adult-sounding voice she said, “I’m just Lara. I can’t do that.” To which I replied, “You’re just Lara, and you can do anything.” And gave her a kiss.

We played on the swings and I gave her an underdog. It was well worth it, since I wiped out in the mud and she giggled hysterically. Evidently the swings can’t hold a candle to Auntie Amber making an ass of herself.

Later I took her to the monkey bars, where I abandoned all dignity and showed her how to hang upside down “like a monkey.” She immediately wanted to try it, and I held her carefully while she dangled. When she wanted to try climbing up the other side, I helped her up, steadying her from behind.

And then she slipped. She lost her footing, and I didn’t catch her in time. She fell, with her little legs spread, onto the bar. Hard. For a second she looked stunned, and then she screamed.

I scooped her up and tried to comfort her, but she was pissed. Between hiccuping screams I heard, “I WANT…TO GO…HOME!”

So off we went, with my explanations about how I’d once done the same thing doing very little to console her.When I set her down in front of her mother her first words were, “I hurt my privates.”

That’s not exactly what I wanted her to take away from the experience, you know? I felt terrible. She has so few good memories, despite being so small (she’ll be three years old in June) and I was really hoping to leave her with happy thoughts.

Instead she hobbled around pouting and giving me suspicious glances, like perhaps it was my fault the monkey bars attacked her. I still feel guilty. I hope she remembers swinging, sailing back and forth through the air, instead of falling.

Okay, clearly healthy eating has become a central theme in my life. I want to be fit and strong. I want to shave a couple of points from my BMI, so that I fall within the appropriate range (I’m 5’3, and currently 26.6). I’d really enjoy looking hot in my bikini come summertime, and possibly swaggering around to a song that makes me feel way cooler than I actually am.

That said, I need more fiber in my diet. You would think fruits and veggies on a daily basis, coupled with a supplement, would be enough to provide me with adequate fiber levels. Your thinking would be wrong. Apparently my body is fiber-resistant or something.

In my search for fiber-rich foods, I stumbled across quinoa (pronounced keen-wah, which – seriously? pssh.  i was walking around thinking it was pronounced like it sounds, kwin-oh-ah. hooked on phonics worked for me!). Anyway, while I’ve never had it, I understand it’s comparable to couscous, which I love. I found a couple of tasty looking recipes to try, hopefully with my guinea pig sister. Here they are: Quinoa, Corn, & Tomato Salad with Chive-Infused Oil & Quinoa Tabbouleh.

Truthfully I have no idea what tabbouleh is, but it looks completely delicious. I love to try new recipes! And…now I’m hungry.

There’s this guy.

According to my sister he asked me out multiple times a couple of years ago, but I refused.

As fate would have it I ran into him and recognized him immediately – possibly because Heidi mentioned him, or possibly because he was singing along with the jukebox to the oldies. He was funny and charming. He invited me to sit with his group and I accepted. He’s tall, with a full head of hair. He has pretty blue eyes and a nice smile.

The longer we sat there, conversing and sharing drinks, the more I started wondering why I turned him down two years ago. There’s nothing wrong with him, NOTHING. He’s not rude or ugly (bite me, I’m shallow). He seemed fine – better than fine, actually. He seemed great, confident and happy.

I left – after politely refusing an invitation to follow them to a different bar – and found myself wondering if my standards have changed so much in two years, or if he just approached me at a bad time, or if I was just MYSELF – judgmental, defensive, and suspicious of any male who looks at me sideways. (Ah, therapy. So enlightening).

My point is, I’d be more than happy to let him take me to dinner – assuming he’s still interested (and by the way he was flirting last night I’m thinking it’s a definite possibility). Now if only I had his phone number.

People are flawed and sometimes selfish. People make mistakes, and sometimes they have affairs. Take Rielle Hunter and John Edwards for example. It’s really no one’s business, right? So they had an affair. I try not to be too judgmental (and frequently fail), particularly when something doesn’t directly concern me.

HOWEVER.

Did everyone read the article (complete with photos) in GQ magazine? I have zero sympathy for Rielle Hunter. She claims that when she saw the photos she “cried for two hours” and found them “repulsive.” What the hell did she expect? She TOOK HER PANTS OFF. She tried to say she trusted the photographer and “went with the flow”. She also said she expected the photos to be “tasteful” and above the neck. Oh yeah? Then why did you take your bottoms off, Rielle? And you can’t tell me you honestly expected bottomless shots to be tasteful. Period.

I also found it ridiculous that she tried to say she just genuinely wanted to help John Edwards “change the world” and that’s why she was so interested in him. She also claims she didn’t come on to him, and that she had no ideas in that direction because she knew he was married. Yet her first words to him were “You’re so hot.” Uh huh. Where I come from, that’s a come-on. And most business negotiations and professional meetings do not start with those kind of statements. Unless I’m doing it wrong?

If GQ was aiming for tawdry and tasteless, they hit the mark.

Another thing that’s bugging me: this woman who’s trying to be the fattest woman alive, to break a record? Donna Simpson, isn’t it? She weighs 600 pounds – not because of any medical condition (although her weight has caused multiple health problems and considerably shortened her life span), but because she WANTS to weigh one thousand pounds (half a ton). So she eats and eats and EATS and doesn’t exercise – at all. In fact, she claims she tries to move as little as possible.

She has kids. In fact, she broke a record and ended up being the largest woman to ever give birth at 500 + pounds. What kind of example does she thinks she’s setting for them?

Oh, wait, she thinks she’s healthy. MY ASS. Forgive me, but anyone deliberately aiming for a half a ton is NOT a healthy individual. She’s putting her life – and therefore her children’s lives – at risk. She needs to find another goal for her life.

Okay. I think that about covers recent news topics that have angered me.

HAPPY SAINT PATRICK’S DAY!

I’ve been on a diet – except I don’t like thinking of it as a diet, because that seems like I’m denying myself. And trust me, I’m not. I’m trying to incorporate healthy eating, more than my usual fare of pizza burgers fries chocolate cookies, and I wish I were exaggerating, but every single one of those foods pops into my diet at LEAST once a week. I’m a card-carrying junk food junkie. Melted, artery clogging cheese is like crack to me.

For the last few days I’ve been very strict with myself. Meaning I’ve been eating fruits and salads and lean meats and whole wheat bread. I usually only eat two meals a day because I work until midnight, which means I wake up late enough in the morning that I choose to skip breakfast (I’m told this is very naughty, diet-wise). And while I always have a couple of snacks, I still feel like I’m starving.

Tonight, for example, I’ve been fighting a serious craving for popcorn (a snack that could not be considered healthy the way I make it) for more than THREE hours. I want it. Badly. I drank a cup of coffee with fat free creamer instead, hoping it would warm my tummy enough to make me feel full. HA.

Nevertheless, I remain vigilant. Not because I actually have any kind of willpower, but because I don’t have a choice. My goal is to be fit and healthy (and, yes, a certain weight) by the end of May. In two weeks I’m going on vacation, and I know - despite the very convincing arguments I make up in my head – that I won’t behave. Especially since I’ll be with my best friend, and she loves to eat. She’s also an excellent cook. I’m doomed to enjoy all the foods I love for four days on end, and I’ve been known to gain shocking amounts of weight in the short stretch of four days.

All of that means that for now, I have to be on my best behavior. No binging or giving in or moments of weakness. Because I need to lose the weight I’ll be gaining on vacation, so I break even. SAD, isn’t it? Yes. It is.

I also ordered a gorgeous new bikini, and that should be arriving this week or early next week. I’m thinking that when I see it and try it on I’ll be more inclined to say no thank you while I’m away. Anyway, I said NO to popcorn tonight (more than once), and I consider that a small triumph. I just hope the scoreboard continues to show numbers in my favor (although in truth it should probably say “food 9384729993343, amber 1″).

I’ll be keeping my fingers, toes, and all other limbs tightly crossed.

It’s been brought to my attention that whenever I mention Heidi on this blog, I cast her in a not-so-flattering light. I was surprised, and a little bit unhappy, to hear that. Believe me when I tell you, my sister is one of my absolute favorite people; giving each other grief is how we convey love in my family. We’re very backward that way. If someone is pointing out a really bad haircut or riding me about my love life (or usually the lack thereof) I feel more comforted than if everyone is smiling and getting along. Nevertheless, I now feel compelled to make a list of the reasons why Heidi kicks major ass (these can also be interpreted as reasons why I am insanely jealous/reasons why I sit in awe of her).

* She can make friends with almost anyone. She’s polite and inquisitive on top of being FRIGHTENINGLY perceptive. She’s the sort of warm, bubbly person that others automatically confide in. Better still, she’s unfailingly loyal. Don’t bother trying to talk trash about her family or friends within earshot; she will effectively shut you down while leaving you with the feeling you shared a pleasant exchange.

* She’s very good at her job. She works hard, and she actually cares about the results. As far as I’m concerned there is no better compliment. This attitude extends to the rest of her life. She’s energetic and she’s always willing to help. Her house is immaculate, a fact she continually denies because it’s never quite up to her standards. She expects the best from herself.

* She’s the glue that holds our family together. She arranges brunches and dinners and hosts birthday parties. Left to my own devices, I might never attend another Thanksgiving dinner (okay, I lie, we all know I’d never miss an opportunity for that much free food, but you get the point) and I know I’m not the only one who feels that way. Heidi makes the phone calls and checks to ensure schedules will mesh and nags people (especially me) into showing up. She does it because she knows that family is the most important part of life, and because she’s a little scary and everyone listens to her.

* She’s quirky, the way all good people are. She calls me at night, when she’s alone and she thinks she’s heard a prowler, and insists I stay on the line while she double-checks her locks. I tease her, but I feel useful in my role of reassuring older sister (she’s so independent I hardly ever get to feel helpful). She hoards money like Scrooge, spending little bits on family and rarely splurging on herself, though she’s comfortable enough to do so. When reading a book that doesn’t look like it will end well, she skips to the ending to see what happens. This violates my core belief system, but nevermind that now. She named her car – Bluebelle. But she prefers to drive their pickup (called Black Betty), because it “makes her feel sexy”. Don’t get me started on her obsession with Christmas, either – suffice it to say, “Jingle Bells” sounds a lot different in September.

* She’s good at everything she tries to do, because there’s no acceptable alternative. She’s nothing if not an optimist. She believes in happily-ever-after, the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, Santa Claus, and that miracles happen. She decides to do something and then she finds a way to do it, successfully.

Okay now I’m just grossing myself out, but you get the idea. My sister is amazing. She’s funny and beautiful and smart, and I couldn’t be happier that she’s around to keep me in good company (and borrowed clothes).

The following conversation took place this afternoon by telephone.

Me: “Hello?”
Heidi, sounding chipper: “Hi. How come you sound constipated?”
Me: “It’s a work thing. I have a thing going on.”
Heidi: “How would you feel if I set you up? We could go out in a big group, so there’s no pressure or anything.”
Me, recalling the LAST time we went “in a big group” so there “wouldn’t be any pressure”: “Um, I don’t know. What’s his name?”
Heidi: “Why does that matter? You don’t know him.”
Me: “What is it?”
Heidi: “Eric.”
Me: “Oh. I guess, maybe.”
Heidi: “He’s missing a tooth.”
Me, rolling my eyes so far back into my skull they almost pop out the other side: “Good grief. So he looks like a hillbilly. Why is it whenever you push a guy at me he’s missing a tooth?” (Seriously! She did this last year!)
Heidi: “He had an accident a couple of days ago, I think. He’s cute, Amber.”
Me: “Huh. Are you just saying that so I’ll agree, or do you really think he’s cute?” (My sister has nearly impossible standards.)
Heidi: “No, he’s really cute. I think he’s good looking.”
Me, distracted by my work and with a healthy sense of skepticism: “I’m busy. Can we talk about this later?”
Heidi: “Okay. Bye.”

WHY? Why are they always bald or missing teeth or carrying so much baggage they need a damn cart to push it on? I’m beginning to question my sister’s opinion of me. But you know what the WORST part about it is?

I’ll probably go. I’m so tired of not dating and not having sex and not having a man to take with me to activities where everyone else is in a couple that I’m ACTUALLY CONSIDERING going on a group date to get to know Mr. Clampett.

I bitch and moan, I know, but my social life could use some spicing up. Thank god for my sister. If she wasn’t such a pain in the ass, I wouldn’t have half as much fun as I do.