They See My Rollin' They Hatin'

My sister hates animals. I know...what kind of a person hates animals!?!? I love animals. I even thought I wanted to be a vet until I learned about the horrors of fecal smears and stuff. In addition to animals, I love funny things. My sister, does not love funny things. I know...what person doesn't like funny things!?!? The only things that she laughs at in relation to humor and animals is when misfortune befalls them, like falling into some sort of body of water or getting bonked on the head so hard that they can't walk right. Needless to say when I showed her this gem...her reaction went something like this:

Beverley: a cat laying on a computer is not that funny.

ashley: rolling qwerty…
that is sooo funny

Beverley: it's ridin

ashley: whatever…do you get it?
we be ridin dirty
but riding qwerty

Beverley: qwerty is a keyboard?

ashley: look at the top left 6 keys

Beverley: i don't see any keys
just cat

ashley: no
the one you are typing on
do you get it now?

Beverley: top left keys
esc?
f1?

ashley: the letter keys

Beverley: oh

ashley:
q
w
e
r
t
y

Beverley: i see that

ashley: so the cat...
is ridin qwerty
like ridin dirty

Beverley: wow.
that is so not funny

ashley: omg
i dont even know you anymore

Rollin Dirty

By day, I am mild-mannered (mostly) Ashley. But what you might not know is that I have an alter ego…Smashley, the heroically amusing drunk. People get jealous of other people who have had the honor of meeting Smashley. The legends of her escapades are told to captive audiences, longing for a glimpse of this creature.

Well…this weekend Smashley came out.

I went to Pismo with Boyfriend and the Rollin Dirty crew. It was a wind-blown, sleep-deprived mixture of motors, alcohol and offensive language. On Friday night, I rolled off the back of Boyfriend’s quad and nearly broke my neck. On Saturday, I sat on the beach for most of the day while the boys tried to break their necks. But on Saturday evening, I got a little brave…or stupid. I asked Boyfriend to show me how to jump. I just wanted a little one. Just a little tiny one. He chose some ridiculously steep dune and I lost momentum halfway up the thing. He told me to hit it faster. Apparently I did. When I came off the top of that hill I had the sensation of floating through the air. When I landed I looked back at Boyfriend, staring in disbelief. He showed me my tracks…I had jumped 25 mother-effing feet. I, being me, burst into tears and started shaking and we promptly rode back to camp where Boyfriend bragged to his friends and I poured myself a drink.

This was the first inkling that Smashley was lurking about. After finishing an entire bottle of margaritas it became obvious that she was present and accounted for. She danced like the little monkey for the crowd and passed out sometime shortly before dawn.

Morning came, and I got to deal with the repercussions of that crazy bitch. So, if you go to Pismo and you see a bunch of evenly spaced sand mounds near the end of the beach…beware…Smashley makes me sick…a lot.

Fail.

I took a test today. A test that was completely unnecessary. A test that I volunteered to take. A freaking HARD test!

Well, if the subject line didn’t give it away…I failed. I knew I was going to fail. I had no doubt in my mind. I had dreams of big fat failure. I ate failure for breakfast.

I’ve failed tests before. Not a big deal…accounting…that was a nice fail. But that was the result of zero studying…I didn’t even go to class. Not the case this time. I studied…I went to every class. Apparently, I’m just an idiot now.

I wish I could blame it on the coughing guy in the test.
I wish I could blame it on the guy who shushed the coughing guy every single time he coughed.
I wish I could blame it on the freezing temperatures in the testing facility.
I wish I could blame it on the archaic “computer” that I took the test on.
Most of all…I wish my failure more like this…at least then we could laugh when I recovered from my concussion.

I Might Have to Kill Myself Now

This is a statement that I make more often that I should. I have never thought too much about it. But recently, my feisty coworker has brought it to my attention that such comments are inappropriate, as many people commit suicide. Now I don’t fully agree with this argument, because who cares…those people are dead…I didn’t really say that (It's ok…I’m already going to hell). So I have respectfully resolved myself to only use my suicidal hyperbole in the most serious situations.

Today I had such an instance.

I was staring blankly at my igoogle page when I noticed a quote that struck a chord with me. I could not agree with the poignant sentiment more. And it makes me want to jump off the bridge:

“If I answer questions every time you ask one, expectations would be high. And as you know, I like to keep expectations low.”

President George W. Bush