A Bad Day A-Brewin’

I think I should have a reality television crew. Not because my life is particularly interesting, but because on those few tragically pathetic days, I think people could get some real humor out of the comedy of errors that is my life.

Today is shaping up to be one of those days.

I fell down in the parking lot…I tripped over…well…nothing. I just fell for no reason. It kinda hurt…but it was kinda funny so I laughed a little and some guy came around the corner and saw me kneeling on the ground giggling to myself in the middle of the parking lot…he thought I was crazy and took a wide berth. I walked into the building and got onto the elevator. I waited…it was taking a long time. I waited. The door opened, and someone got on…still on the first floor. They informed me that I had to press the button of the floor I wanted to go to.

That is just the story of my five minute trip from car to desk. That doesn’t include the load of shit that fell on me after I made it to that desk or the stabbing pain behind my eye right now that is causing me to want to go back and lay in the middle of the parking lot again.

Happy Fucking Friday!

I Heart Ruler

I have a strange attachment to office supplies. Nothing creepy…but I definitely feel an unnatural emotional link between me and my cube accoutrement.

I keep a special stash of various sizes of purple and yellow post-its…not the average everyday canary yellow ones but the darker and richer yellow. I have these rad scissors that have a hidden blade on the handle to open boxes (or stab unsuspecting scissor nappers). I have the metal ruler with cork backing that I have had for at least ten years. I have a scotch tape dispenser that works like a packing tape dispenser with the little mini handle and everything. I love these things. I protect them. Don’t steal my ruler because I will kick you (and I will know you stole it because I wrote my name on it in sharpie).

I don’t mind sharing…I am not a selfish person. But finding my scissors across the room is a little distressing. What if I decided to move your car and park it a block away. I know…jacked up!

It’s the golden rule folks…do unto my office supplies as you would want me to do unto you…or something like that…I’m a heathen…you get the drift.

Shut Up Inner Ashley! I Can’t Hear What the REAL People are Saying

It is a wonder that I have any friends at all. Seriously, I don’t like meeting new people. Not because I don’t like people, but I hate the awkward conversing parts. It is so much easier to talk to people who get me or have a clue what I am talking about.

It is hard to talk to a person when your inner monologue is moving as fast as your lips are, saying, “Why did you say that? That sounds stupid. God shut up! You are talking too damn fast. That sounded bitchy. Did you just roll your eyes? God! Why DID you say that? First impressions loser.”

A little look into my brain. A little self critical I know, but aren’t we all. That may be why I enjoy this blogging thing. I can write what I mean. Yes, text can be misinterpreted, but at least I have the opportunity to hit the delete key when something completely moronic flows from my fingers.

Dance Monkey! Dance!

Apparently my “big girl blog” is not “big girl” enough. So…I am going to be the master of my own domain. Only problem…this master isn’t so good at making decisions. So it is going to be more of a democracy and I am going to be more of the tap dancing monkey who performs a little show for you each day.

As my constituents, this is your first responsibility…help me choose my domain name. Here is what I have so far…please give input or other suggestions:

whiplashley.com
a-is-for-ashley.com
smashleyland.com
smashleyface.com

P.S. update on the crazy from yesterday…I finished sorting my post-its, and apparently, during the night, some horrible person decided to steal a single blue pad of post-its. What the hell am I going to do with the six other colors?!?!

Next Stop...Loonytown

I do not have any problems with my craziness. I have embraced it over the years and I have come to truly believe that “normal” people are one of two things:

1) boring
2) fooling themselves

I agree that there is a certain level on the crazy scale where crazies no longer are quirky and odd but become downright scary, but I pay special attention to my own crazy to make sure that if I ever notice myself climbing the scale, I know to go seek professional help.

Lately I have noticed things in myself that do indicate an increase in crazy, but they can’t possibly foretell any crack-up or postal moments, can they? I should probably go to a professional, but I feel like my seven loyal readers understand my mental state much better than any shrink can…so help a girl out…here are my symptoms:

The other day I was sorting post-its (yes the project in itself sounds crazy, but it was an actually demand of my job). I have seven different colors of post-it pads that needed to be grouped into packets of seven with each color represented. I carefully made four even stacks of each color in rainbow order and began to pick one color up at a time to put into the set. After about five sets, I realized that one of the four stacks in each color was getting lower than the others. This made me twitch a little. I quickly reorganized the stacks and changed my pick up pattern so that I took one from each pile each time to keep them even.

Today I went to the bathroom. I saw the two rolls of toilet paper that were exposed for use. The top one was nearly empty, about an eighth of an inch of paper left on the roll. It would make sense to use that roll up so that the roll could be replaced and nobody would risk being without paper…yes I know…I am over thinking the toilet paper…but I couldn’t do it. I had to even the rolls. I even took more paper than was needed to equalize the rolls a bit faster.

I just threw away six pieces of note paper with the exact same things written on them. I wrote the note first quickly to get the thoughts down. I copied it a second time but missed a word. I copied it a third time, but the ink from my pen made a little smear. I copied it a fourth time, but I didn’t like the way my printing looked. I copied it a fifth time, but I wrote too big in cursive and it didn’t fit on the paper. I copied it the sixth time and I finally got it right…just then the person that I was writing the note to, came over and I just told them what the note said and threw all six copies away.

So…thoughts?

Scabbie Cabbie

Here is my story of my trip to San Diego:

I arrived at San Diego airport with little event…which is always a good thing when you are flying. It was bright and sunny and warm as I deplaned and walked toward the ground transportation. I walked to the taxi queue and approached the next cabbie in line.

“I need to use a credit card.” I said, even though the “accepts all major credit cards” sign was clearly visible,
“Yes, yes, yes,” replied the cabbie.

I handed the driver my clearly written destination with the driving directions from the ever-trusted Google maps.

The 25 minute drive took a little more like 40 minutes as the driver took a completely different route…it was rush hour…maybe he knows better than me.

I arrived at my destination and handed the man my credit card.

“Oops, I forgot the machine,” he said, “you don’t have cash?”

Uh…wtf…forget the sticker on the window…I told you I was using credit. He proceeds to fumble around with some stuff on his passenger seat. He grabs a crinkled old carbon paper credit card receipt and rubs his pen over the thing on the dashboard to try to get an impression. It didn’t work. He tries it with a new one…FIVE F-ING TIMES! Finally he got one that was good. I signed it and asked for the other copies so that I could shred them. He takes them and tears them in half. “No, its ok…I destroy,” he says. I had to basically arm wrestle the man to get the used slips. He asked for my phone number so he could call me if there was a problem.

Fine.

I go into the office and sit down and begin working. Ten minutes pass and then the cabbie calls me. We play 20 questions and then hang up. He calls back…I’m sorry the card is declined.

Bull Shit! I bought my diet coke and pack of gum with that card this very morning. He asks me to come back out to talk to him.

Fine.

I go talk to the man and he is a bumbling idiot and is talking to his supervisor over the crackly radio. I give him another card. He does the same lame ass rubbing and finally I throw up my hands and say…take me to a bank…I’ll give you cash.

We rode a good 10 minutes to the bank (with the meter running) and I went in and got cash. But the ATM only gives 20s and it was a $50 cab ride. I asked him for a ten. Nope.

Fine.

Back into the bank to get the 20 turned into two 10s. Back into the cab and back to the office (with the meter still running). I threw the $50 at him and took off before he could count it. No way I was paying for the ride to the bank.

All I have to say is…if you want to stay classy San Diego, you should work on those cabbies.

Ahhhh Autumn

I love fall. I really do. My birthday is in the fall. Halloween is in the fall. Thanksgiving, sweater weather and orange leaves are all part of the whole fall thing.

But I’m telling you…this year it really crept up and bit me in the ass. Wasn’t it like a week ago that I seriously believed that I was going to spontaneously combust from the goddamn heat? Wasn’t it summer yesterday? It is so cold. Cold and windy. Normally I would be ok with the changing seasons, but normally I would have some time to ease into it. I was caught unawares. I haven’t familiarized myself with my fall wardrobe. I’m not used to having to close my window at night. I am feeling so…so…cold.

Au Contraire

So I never really thought of myself as a procrastinator. I mean, I am, but I never thought of that as a defining characteristic. If you asked me to describe myself a month ago, I don’t think procrastinator would be in the top ten. Now, after rereading my blogopades of late, I think it actually might be in the top five.

I have my own timetable. I like to do things in my timetable and it actually makes me a little irritated when people ask me to do things on their timetable. When my mom used to ask me to clean my room when I was little I would tell her, “no mommy, I planned to clean it tomorrow morning before school.” Not because I had something else to do at that moment, but because I wanted to do it on my timetable. You could say I am a bit of a contrarian (one of my new favorite words and also in the top 10).

This morning I finally bit the bullet and gathered up all my unopened mail from the past…oh I don’t know…10 months. I noticed my overdue car registration, car insurance cancellation notice and a bunch of other stuff that probably would have been better if I opened it say...oh I don't know...10 months ago.

Saaaaaad

So the aforementioned idea…

That one that was going to make me a millionaire…

That one that was going to take the world by storm…

Not so much.

If you recall my fears from the previous post:
a) it does exist and I am just behind the curve
b) it is cost prohibitive
c) nobody wants it but me

Here are the results of my research:
a) it does exist…apparently I just didn’t know what to call it
b) it is kinda cost prohibitive because they sell for a lot more than I thought they would be
c) most people seem to think they are tacky and cheesy

So…onto the next great idea.

Medusa Lives

I am a car makeup artist.

There…I admitted it. I know you hate my kind. But I am not the one who is putting on eyeliner while speeding down the freeway (most of the time). I am pretty good at getting most of my makeup in place without looking in the mirror and mostly at stop lights.

The reason for this is that my makeup lives in my car. I have tried keeping it in the house, but I always seem to then be without it when I need it. I have had many instances of showing up at school or at work without my normal makeup on. The reaction is always the same…people turn to stone. Well, not really…but they do get a pained look on there faces and then ask me if I feel well and encourage me to go home and spare them.

So I took my makeup inside (dummy) and today I was once again without it. So I improvised and borrowed some of my mom’s makeup.

I guess I never realized that my mother was a member of the Tammy Faye makeup club.

eeeeeee.

Brilliance!

I have the greatest idea!

I am about to take the world by storm. I would love to share it…and it isn’t that I don’t trust you…but I don’t know everyone on the internet and someone might try to steal my highly original plan…and I just can’t have that.

I am so excited about it that I can’t sleep. I must go write a business plan*.

*This is the kind of thing that keeps a business major up at night.

Don’t worry…I’ll be over it next week after I realize that the reason it doesn’t already exist is that, a) it does exist and I am just behind the curve, b) it is cost prohibitive, or c) nobody wants it but me.

Don't burst my bubble yet...I will do it myself.

Molting.

The seasons, they are a changing. I know this for several reasons:

• First, it is getting darker earlier…and that is lame. I hate feeling like it is bedtime at 6:30.
• Second, it is staying dark longer…how am I supposed to find my socks in the pitch black of 6 am?
• Third…I am shedding like a sheep dog.

There is possibly nothing worse. Boys don’t get it…they freak out about the few little hairs on the bathroom floor, on the pillow or in the sink. Amateurs! I am talking about enough hair falling out of my head on a daily basis to spin the yarn for small child’s sweater. GROSS, I know!

I sit, talking to coworkers, and casually laugh and run my fingers through my hair…snag…and my fist pulls out a chunk of detached strands…I nonchalantly throw it on the floor as coworker look on in horror.

I stand, trying to find the phantom hair that is tickling the back of my arm, with a wild look in my eyes like I am trying to catch the purple elephants flying around my head.

I hopelessly lint roll my fleeces trying to remove the hairs that have woven themselves into the fabric of my wardrobe.

So…yeah…too much information?

Your Corndog is Made of What?

I have a friend, bless her heart, who has a very sad illness. Actually, I don’t know that she is sick, but she has one symptom in particular that really does worry me.

She can’t taste.

Today she told me about this wonderful healthful “peanut butter” that is made from sunflower seeds instead of peanuts (so it is really sunflower butter) that “tastes great.”

When she talks about this type of healthy “just like the original” replacement food, I take it with a grain of salt…or whatever she uses instead of salt.

Splenda, veggie burgers, dairy-less cheese...nonsense! This girl eats soy corndogs…I mean…wtf? There has got to be something wrong with her…right?

I am starting a charitable organization (still working on a name…thinking something like For Crying Out Loud Give that Girl Some Flava…ok…I like one…we will go with FCOL GGSF) to collect junk food and supplies to help cure this horrible disease.

Together we can help stop the madness and give the gift of flavor.

Memories...

You know those friends…

The friends that you were so close to in high school that you thought you would live next door to one another, raise your kids together and start a folk jamboree with the 7 year old on the tambourine and the 2 year old prodigy on the triangle?

Those friends are great. What is particularly great about those friends is that, even after no contact for years, you can still hook back up and pick up where you left off.

Pests and Pests Who Kill Them

Like having termites isn’t bad enough. There is nothing more painful to a new homeowner than the T-word. It tears you up inside, you hear them gnawing at night, you wring your hands over the thought of your second story crashing down on your head as you watch Mythbusters. I have suffered this pain twice now in my new home over the past year and a half and have been relatively lucky (knock on uninfested wood) to have only minor damage from the little monsters. But even so…it is moderately distressing, and I think I deserve some sympathy for my plight. But no. Apparently, according to the nastiest exterminator in the world, I do not.

The only time possible for this guy to come dispose of my pests was Monday AND Tuesday between 10 and 5. Good God that is a ginormous time window, I thought to myself, but I arranged to be available on Monday and found someone to be there on Tuesday.

I waited, 10. I waited, 11. I waited, 12 noon! Where is this guy? 12:13 p.m. I hear banging and whistling coming from my backyard. Confused I go out to investigate. There is termite man with one hand and his head stuck in my gate banging on my fence.

Man: *whistle*
Me: Can I help you?
Man: Finally! (under breath…apparently whistling was supposed to get my attention better than, say, ringing my doorbell)
Man: Can you unlock your gate?
Me: It is unlocked…you just have to push
Man: (pushes gate and enters)
Me: Hi
Man: (no eye contact…silence)
Me: I was wondering if you could come into my house and do that part first so that I can leave for work.
Man: No
Me: Umm…ok…well do you know when you might be getting around to that part?
Man: No
Me: Is it going to be today?
Man: Later (shoos me away)

Now, I understand that termite murder may not be fulfilling work, and that the stupid girl asking silly questions might be generally annoying as you drip sweat and brush dirt and insects from you hands, but seriously…what a jerk.

Help! I’ve Fallen and I Can’t Get Up!

I seriously think I might be in the market for one of these bad boys.

This morning I went to take my shower like usual. I shampooed my hair like usual. I looked down at my beastly unshaven legs, and while I contemplated just letting my inner tree hugger out, I decided to tackle the task at hand. I bent down…bad move. My muscles went into immediate spasm*. The ouchiness forced me back up, but a little too quickly because I bumped my head on the shower door and took a slight step back.

soapy foot + wet tile + sleepy disorientation = bruised tuchis

I lay there for a moment…on the shower floor...trying to decide if I should just go back to bed, because there is no way that a day that starts out like this one could be good, right? But on the other hand, it can only go up from here, right?


*The cause of my muscle problems is not sheer weakness and out-of-shapeness (although those are definitely contributing factors and I would not be surprised if I fell down only on account of those) but it is because of my heroic physical exertion over the weekend. Ok, it might not be heroic to most people, but I was my own personal hero…so that is good enough. I ran 2 miles on Friday, ran/walked 2 miles on Saturday (hey, I was tired…you try not running for 7 years and then going 2 miles…it will kill you), and took a 2 mile hike on Sunday. All of these places were hilly and I didn’t puke or pass out! Yay me.

Ship THIS!

I think I must have sent too many awkward-sized packages in a past life because the FedEx man has it out for me. Every frickin day that rat bastard parks right behind my car. EVERY DAY!

I leave work somewhere in the 4 to 5 p.m. range and every day there he is. Well…he isn’t there…but his big honking truck is. If he was there…I would give him the finger and a piece of my mind…maybe not…but I would definitely glare at him and mutter things under my breath.

I am stuck at the mercy of Mr. Purple Pants. Sometimes he toys with me a little by just making it barely impossible for me to get out of the spot. So I sit there and wait in the car for upwards of 10 minutes while he delivers…stuff. Someday FedEx man…some…day.

The only redeeming thing about FedEx is the commercial that they had a few years back:

Man walks into FedEx and says: “I would like to send this package to Puh-hoe-nix.”
Confused FedEx employee: “You mean Phoenix?”
Idiot customer: “FEEnix?!?! Haha!”
And…scene.

I swear…it was funny. I tried to find it on youtube, but apparently people don’t care about random 20 second spots for sucky letter carriers that ran four years ago.

Ain’t No Party Like a Wednesday Night Party

Here is my poem
Even though I do loath ‘em
About my Wednesday night of bowlin’

I drank way too much
And fell down and such
And did some good old ball rollin’

With three Miller Lights
And no end in sight
We headed to the alley a strollin’

The game it was fun
Three pitchers became one
And the beer it began to be tollin’

The game, it was finished
Our sobriety diminished
And the next morning it was upon us

We headed for home
We wished Drew “Shalom”
And headed upstairs with much slowness

Thursday it came
We greeted it with disdain
And were relieved to be mostly hangoverless

But alas we were wrong
The headache was strong
And now I need a cold compress


Goodness gracious…I have skills! Hangover poetry rocks the house!

From the Depths of the Bottomless Pit

I’m STARVING!

I love my family, but there is one particular aspect of family outings that sucks. My family eats. They eat so freaking much. Family vacations are centered around where we will eat next. My dad actually planned a stop for dinner at Hal’s Eat ‘Em Up in Red Bluff, CA (a real gem) on the way to Oregon. Eating out three meals a day for three days is exhausting.

But aside from exhausting it sets a dangerous precedent. I have received a great deal of criticism for my stomach stretching theory. But it is proven right here. I just ate my normal two eggos for breakfast and I am still hungry. So I eat a nectarine…still freaking hungry. Eating with my family over the long weekend has apparently stretched my stomach to the size of…I don’t know…something big. So now I have to deal with the insatiable aching cavern that is my belly for at least a few days until it shrinks back down to normal size.

But until then…I AM STARVING!

Puppy Love

I worked from home today. The best part about working at home is that I get to spend my day with my puppies. They are hardly puppies anymore, but I call them that to fool myself into thinking that their bad behavior is because they are still young and mischievous and not because I am a bad doggie momma.



Bailey and Morgan are their names but those names are all wrong. They were chosen with the family pet naming convention of all names having to do with alcoholic beverages, previous names include Brandy and Corky (I named him pre Life Goes On, and that caused all sorts or inappropriate “special” jokes throughout my childhood). So since I can’t rename them for fear of confusion when asking them to sit and stuff, I will rename them for blogging purposes to what they should be called, Gus and Talulah.



Gus is a love bug…some people seem to think he is autistic…but he isn’t…he is just a lump who happens to be a afraid of hardwood floors, plastic bags and hates it when he gets dingleberries.



Talulah is a feisty piece of work. She has what they call an overactive prey drive. Some of her victims have been a wasp, a small injured bird and even a squirrel…I will spare you the details of what she did to Ella the squeaky stuffed Elephant…it is not pretty. But check out those eyelashes…wouldn’t you just kill for that come hither look.

So I know that this post was kinda like the shameless, look at my cute kids, aren’t they cuter than yours thing. But that is ok. They are.

First Comes Love Then Comes Marriage...

No post for three days, heartbreaking I know. And to make it even worse…this post isn’t funny. So sorry. If you want a laugh, wait til tomorrow. For today…I’m waxing philosophical.

I spent my labor day in Oregon, a place I swore never to return to, celebrating the marriage of an old friend. Being 25 is a rough time in the realm of love and marriage. It feels like everyone that I went to school with is getting married and having kids. One by one, all my friends are getting married off. And for the most part, I am cynical. I don’t know why…I didn’t come from a broken family…but I find it difficult to not enter the pools of “how long will it last?”

But the wedding that I attended this weekend was different. Although very close when we were children, the bride and I had drifted a apart over the past 20 years or so, and just recently began communicating more. This wedding was beautiful. Every detail, every tradition, everyone was seamlessly included to make the most wonderful celebration.

They one thing that seemed absolute as my friends shared this multi-day wedding, was that this was “for real.” I never once doubted that these two people would be together forever. They are the most beautiful team. I found myself getting choked up over and over at this wedding, not the norm for this hardened realist. But what these two people have is unbreakable and fulfilling and extraordinary, the kind of thing that wakes a person up at 3:00 a.m. and forces them to write about it.