a is for ashley

It Might Be Working

2011-01-27T18:04:00.000-08:00

Day three of this experiment in curbing my rage and I am feeling pretty dang good.

It could be due the fact that my office was pretty much empty today so I was able to sit in my little corner undisturbed without a single annoying email or phone call. It was like Christmas.

So I guess I really don't know if it is working or not because I didn't have to deal with any real people today. It is quite possible that a single human interaction could have turned me into a ranting banshee. Maybe I should just avoid people. I could go live in a cave.

But it would have to be a pretty nice cave...with heating...and plumbing...and tv and stuff.

A Pain in the Jaw

2011-01-26T15:43:00.000-08:00

If you aren't familiar, Ashley Disease is a mysterious collection of symptoms whose only connection is that Ashley has all of them. It is characterized by headaches/migraines, nausea, lactose intolerance, non-specific pain, nose bleeds, hyper-flexible joints, teeth that eat themselves, general clumsiness, etc.

But lucky for me, I get to add a new symptom to my list. I have Temporomandibular joint disorder or TMJ (I guess it is really a bundle of symptoms, but whatever). Basically it is another one of those horribly debilitating ailments that can't be fixed. Yay.

Apparently this is something that my dentist figured I always had, but since I never complained, he never said anything. And then, almost a year ago, while getting one of those teeth that ate itself crowned in the way way back of my mouth, there was a pop and some real discomfort. But I didn't complain. Apparently, I should have because I had dislocated my jaw, which, over the next eight months would crack and pop and grind and hurt and build up loads of scar tissue in my face until I finally complained.

Since then, I have seen three specialists, gone to physical therapy on a weekly basis and been put on an all liquid diet. They have told me to try and not talk, given me loads of drugs and tried to get me to drop two grand on a mouth guard that "probably won't work."

But there was one thing that they all swore would cure me: eliminate stress. Are you effing kidding me?!?! What? Quit my job and hire a personal assistant? Too bad if I were to do that I would be stressed because I don't have a job and have to pay my personal assistant.

A (Late) Resolution for 2011:

2011-01-25T14:19:00.000-08:00

Blog more. Bitch less.

Well, not really...since most of this blog is all about ranting and raving, so if you take out the bitching...that would be nothing...kinda like what I posted on this thing in 2010 (Seriously. Two posts?!?)

But maybe...just maybe...if I write it down here I will express less bitterness in my real life. Probably not. But worth a try.

Not a lot has changed since March of last year...just that Boyfriend+ is now Hubby and we moved in with my parents. Weeeeee? :|

Yeah, you heard me. We moved in with my parents...back into the room I had with pink and purple flowers on every surface when I was four years old. And we brought our roommates with us. Six grown adults and two beastly dogs all under one roof. Sound like fun?

It hasn't been as bad as you are imagining...I promise. In fact it hasn't been bad at all. Mom does our laundry for us and we all take turns with dinner. It is almost like a little cooperative commune...without the body odor.

You might ask why we would move out of our perfectly serviceable house as newlyweds and go live with the 'rents. The answer is mostly because we are slobs.

Our house is on the market and basically we can't be trusted not to spill red juice on the white carpet. (Seriously...three separate red juice incidents...it looked like a crime scene up in there).

Well actually our house isn't on the market...but it is sitting there, waiting for that special someone to sweep her off her feet. House is on the rebound since we had the perfect suitor who wooed her and brought her flowers and everything and then BAM! Just days before sealing the deal (and Christmas...the bastard) she was dumped. It was a sad time for all, full of ice cream binges and stuffing cookies into our mouths in darkened corners. Not pretty. But we are all healed now and ready to get out there and SELL THAT HOUSE!

Anyone wanna buy my house? Seriously...I'm a newlywed...living with my parents...with four feet between our bedroom doors...this can only go on for so long.

Unmotivated

2010-03-16T14:58:00.000-07:00

You know that place where there is WAY too much to do, but you would just rather not...I live there.

Between work, planning a wedding and just plain life stuff, my time is more than spoken for.

But last night, instead of cutting out tiny paper flowers for my invitations or the millions of other diy-diculous things I have put on my plate, I napped...kinda right straight until morning.

Don't even get me started on stupid crap like taxes. Who has the time and energy for that nonsense?

I suppose I should just suck it up because everyone else has the same crap to do. But I'm pretty convinced that my brand of crap is particularly crappy.

Update

2010-03-01T20:12:00.000-08:00

I started this entry with the obligatory "long time, no blog," but that is lame...so let's skip that part.

I am a busy lady. And on my priority list, blogging falls right below brushing my hair, and I can't remember the last time I even did that. But I am testing a hypothesis that my cathartic bitching here makes me a more pleasant person to be around in real life.

If I can make myself in any way less of a pain in the ass to the people that I love...I am down.

So here goes...

Let me catch you up on what has happened since my last post...which was...holy hell...a year ago! Time flies and all that.

Well, I'm still with Boyfriend, but we have given him a promotion. That's right, we are getting married in August. Weeee! In light of his upgraded status, I should change his name to Fiance (said with some silly french accent and written with some silly french accent mark that I can't find on my keyboard), but I find few words as obnoxious as that one, so instead we will call him “Boyfriend+,” until the big day.

In preparation for the biggest day of my life (seriously…this is gonna be some crazy circus of wedding...just ask my mom) I, of course, went dress shopping. When the girl at the first bridal boutique suggested that I might be better suited at the big and tall bridal shop down the road, I decided it was diet time.

My super special diet involves lean protein with tiny amounts of fruits and veggies. Sounds good...in theory. The day they handed me the list of things that I was allowed to eat, I snorted out loud. Hmmm...fish...turkey...pork (bacon doesn't count)...eggs...basically everything I don't eat. There were a grand total of two things on the list that sounded mildly appetizing to me...chicken and fat free cheese. The problem is that fat free cheese doesn't sound too bad...until you realize that all the cheese that you believed to be fat free, was really just low fat. In fact, fat free cheese is some heinous cheese knock off. Imagine the consistency of tofu with less flavor and orange food coloring...that sounds tasty compared to fat free cheese. But then again, chicken breast isn't exactly my ideal replacement for my Lucky Charms. So yeah...the diet it is working...that’s what happens when you can't eat anything. Oh yeah...and the gallon of water a day. Do you have any idea how much freaking water that is?!?! A lot of freaking water. I don’t even like water…is that wrong? But I do think that is helping with the weight loss because I have to get up to pee every ten minutes.

So here I am, a year later…20 pounds lighter, a year older, getting ready to marry the man of my dreams and happier than ever.

Life is good...but that doesn't mean I have to stop complaining does it? We will get right on that tomorrow (or maybe the next day…don’t want to be too ambitious).

The Curse of the Print House

2009-03-10T14:56:00.000-07:00

I am cursed.

That is the only explanation that I can come up with.

As a graphic designer (and a bit of a control freak) I like to be highly involved in the printing of my creations. But every effing time I take a new project to the printer I cringe. I cringe because I know, that somewhere, no matter how carefully I tread, the whole thing is going to go to hell.

Two Christmases ago I had a brilliant idea for this amazing die-cut greeting card. I slaved over the file and blistered my fingers cutting out my own die cut to make sure it would work. I brought it to my printer and asked him, "are you SURE you can do this?" I was willing to simplify if he told me it was too intricate. But he said it was fine and we proceeded. After the piece was printed and out to be cut...I got the call. "Umm...we can't do it. Oh and by the way, we are going to delivery on December 20th." (plenty of time to have 900 people sign them and have them mailed to people before they leave on holiday). Ugh.

Then there was the direct mailer of early 2008. A very unique concept with a accordion fold unlike anything you have ever seen. Once again I asked if this was doable and suggested that maybe we would need and envelope to mail it. I was assured that it was fine, that two little tabs would hold it all closed. When the piece was delivered it had two of the most ginormous wafer seals you have ever seen. They were 4-inch diameter stickers with no perforation. They were so violently sticky that the entire piece was literally impossible to open. Awesome.

My most recent story involves a new printer that came highly recommended by a fellow designer. The idiot took a month to print my job (it was supposed to be a week) and then shorted me 700 pieces and sent all of it to the wrong address. Roar!

What the hell did I do to deserve this? Hmmm? What?!?!

An Open Letter to the Postmaster

2009-02-25T15:46:00.000-08:00

Dear Postmaster,

With a title like yours, one might assume that you take responsibility for the actions of your workers...but not me. I know better than to assume...because to assume...makes you an asshole (or something like that).

I have always been kind to the postal workers of America. I give chocolates to my mailman around the holidays. I write my addresses as legibly as I possibly can. I even subscribe to the USPS magazine for goodness sake.

Monday was a tedious day for me. I carefully formatted, double- and triple-checked my mailing labels while my helpers diligently stuffed these cute little cardboard coasters into 1250 even cuter envelopes. Then boyfriend and I spent hours affixing the labels to the envelopes. The tiny pieces were posted and sent out yesterday, lifting a great weight off my shoulders. I was happy, knowing that people would get their happy little invitations well in advance of the March 9th event.

But then...today...the horror.

The letters were returned for inadequate postage. WTF?!?! Seriously, you raised prices again? Because OMG, soon it will be cheaper for me to jump in my personal jet and deliver each piece of mail my damn self.

But no. A trip to the Redwood City Post Office proved...um...informative?:

Us: (holding up the returned letter) What is wrong with this?
Grouchy Postal Employee: Um...nothing.
Us: Then why was it returned?
GPE: (taking the letter from us) Ohhhhh...well it is a CD (please note assumption).
Us: No it isn't.
GPE: (feeling up the envelope) Yes it is (notice the reassertion of the afore-mentioned assumption). So you have to put 75 cents more on it.
Us: But it isn't a CD.
GPE: Yes...I feel a CD (ok...u are an ASS).
Us: No...it is a coaster. Look (we fold it in half).
GPE: How am I supposed to know that?
Us: We are showing you...can we mail it now?
GPE: No. Not until you put 75 more cents.

So our choices were...just suck it up and cover the effing thing in postage...or fight. So...this evening we are planing a guerrilla attack of post boxes across the bay area. They might have been able to stop our giant crate of invitations, but if we spread out and sprinkle the things from San Jose to San Francisco...they won't have a chance.

I think the reason that people "go postal" is that occasionally a person (like a real one...with a soul and a brain) falls into this dreaded career path and when they realize that they are surrounded by zombies who have already snacked on all their coworkers' brains and they decide to take them out.

So postmaster...master of all post...please...I don't even know...don't hire stupid people?

Thank you.

For the Love of...

2008-11-05T09:59:00.000-08:00

So yeah...it’s been awhile.

I've been busy, and frankly nothing has really been inspiring me enough to sit down and drop the million or so things that I should be doing to blog for my four loyal readers (whom I talk to everyday anyway).

Over the past few weeks I dismissed the yellow "protect marriage" signs that have popped up around town. I have scoffed at the people standing on street corners in the name of their church. I completely underestimated the religious right...this is, after all, supposed to be the most progressive state in the union.

I think I mostly just couldn't believe that there could be enough people who are ignorant enough to pass such an injustice in today's world.

The propaganda was outlandish, claiming the amendment was about schools, children and freedom of speech (that last one really made me go WHA?). It was about discrimination and I find it ironic that in election that broke down years of racial discrimination, that a new brand popped up in its wake.

While people cheered around me for the dawn of change, I couldn't celebrate. I felt a lump in my throat as I watched the numbers of California's proposition 8 come in. The popular vote is in favor of altering our constitution to eliminate rights for a group of people, based upon a religious ideal that marriage is between a man and woman.

Our forefathers came to this country and wrote our laws to avoid religious persecution. We have a separation between church and state. How then, can the largest argument in favor of prop 8 be that God created Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve? Maybe he did, but that has nothing to do with our legal rights.

I have been saying for awhile now...and I know it makes me sound like a leftist nut...that marriage should removed from the law altogether. If the church wants to take claim over the word "marriage" and its definition...by all means, take it. Let us make civil unions REALLY have all the rights of marriage and change its label. If you want to be married in the church...go for it, but the state won't recognize it until you get your civil union license.

I wish I had realized how close this was going to be. I would have done more...because people...we just amended our constitution to eliminate rights...what is this 1918?

Let Me Tell You What it is Like to Have 17 Bug Bites on One Arm

2008-08-27T13:39:00.000-07:00

It sucks.

Beneath my sleeve lives an angry colony of bumps that constantly remind me of their presence. And for some reason, they decided to concentrate themselves only on my right arm. I have a total of 18 mosquito bites at this very moment and all but one are located on my single arm. And really the annoyance of said bumps is not the worst of it.

Having a mess of bug bites on your arm is something akin to having leprosy I am finding. I tried to wear a short sleeved shirt to work yesterday for easier itching access, but all I found were looks of horror at my bare arm. “It is just a bunch of bug bites,” I would tell them as they backed away nodding and running out to get a fresh small pox vaccine. Seriously…its not my fault. I can’t help it if my blood is so nutritious and delicious that bugs come from miles around to suck it. It isn’t an STD that I am wearing on my arm here. I guess the incessant scratching is a problem too. Apparently people have a hard time focusing while someone is itching the flakes of dry skin off their body and into your morning coffee.

You try having SEVENTEEN MOTHER-EFFING bug bites on a single extremity and see if you can resist the urge to scratch! Gosh.

Two Tickets To The Looney Bin

2008-08-20T14:58:00.000-07:00

Monday morning, 8:00 a.m. I took Gus in for his annual puppy exam. They told me mostly stuff that I already know…he is a fatty and stuff. Then I started mentioning stuff about how he cries like it’s the end of the world in the car and how he is scared of the kitchen floor and the vet was like…um…crazy?

Now I know that I am crazy. I came to that realization a long time ago and I am fully comfortable with my wacky ways. But when the doc suggested puppy Prozac to fight my pooch’s apparent clinical depression and anxiety…I had to wonder…did I make him lose his mind?

People often note the similarities between pets and their owners, but usually that is some flappy-jowled old man with a bull dog or something. But is it possible that the similarities are more than skin deep? Because God knows that I have a chocolate brown block head with crazy wrinkles, but is it possible that he has acquired my insanity as well?

Well, at least I’ll get to bring him with me when they commit me.

A Little Design Help

2008-08-19T09:21:00.000-07:00

Learning to work with people is hard. There are a lot of little nuances to co-worker relationships that make collaboration difficult. This is not about one of those little things…this is just about stupid people and stupid stuff…two things for which I have zero tolerance.

Being a graphic designer…I make things “pretty.” A lot of my co-workers get offended by that word, but as long as you appreciate my ideas as well, I am perfectly happy to make it “pretty.” You might be surprised to know how many people care about the aesthetics of the wrong stupid shit. I mean seriously dude…you should ask my help picking out some non-pleated pants before you ask for my help to make your email “pretty,” because all I am going to do is change it from Comic Sans and delete that heinous clip art.

How would you feel if you were asked to create a collection of 50 bajillion icons for some stupid internal application and all but one were great, but this one kinda resembles a gall bladder, so could you please go back and do it over? Well no thank you very much. I would rather not waste more of my time because some random person who just had their gall bladder removed, thought an icon that I made looked kinda like a gall bladder (maybe if you turn your head and squint while on crack).

While we are raging about design-related irritations…lets discuss the design sophistication of email stationery. As much as I love puppy feet, I don’t necessarily think they are an appropriate choice for your law firm’s professional correspondence. I can see that if you are say…an engineer…that a graph paper background might seem like a stylish choice…but it isn’t. It is ugly. And when I get your emails I die a little inside. Less is more people…really…black text on a white screen is absolutely in these days. And while we are at it…animated gifs of little butterflies or belly dancers as part of your electronic signature…also mildly inappropriate. Here is a desperate plea to Mircosoft: “Stop producing these hideous backgrounds, it is like giving a loaded gun to a kid in a black trench coat…it is going to end badly.”

Ok…so now that I have worked myself into a flurry, I just need to express a few more things that annoy:

Times New Roman
Powerpoint transitions that involve checked flags or pieces of pie
Yellow text on black backgrounds
Buttons with bevel, embossing, gradients AND drop shadow (just cause you can open Photoshop doesn’t mean you should use it)
Microsoft WordArt…it is neither legible nor art…so don’t
Pastel rainbow excel spreadsheets

Cause…The More You Know…the less I will want to spoon my eyes out.

What A Weekend

2008-08-18T14:56:00.001-07:00

Let me tell you, because I know you are DYING to hear all about it.

On Friday night boyfriend and I decided to take my parents out. We bought them dinner and took them to see Journey to the Center of the Earth 3-D! Other than Captain EO, 3-D kinda sucks balls. It always gives me an immense headache and then you try to take off your nifty space-age plastic glasses and the triple-vision of the screen without them is even worse. I have to tell you though; they have made some technological advancements in 3-D technology. You still have to wear those sexy glasses, but the lenses aren’t blue and red, they look fairly normal (for a cheap version of a blues brother). Also, they saved the really crazy pop-out stuff for special occasions, and the movie looked pretty normal the rest of the time. I was pretty impressed, how could I not be with a Brandon Fraser movie?

Saturday was my pseudo-aunt’s 30th wedding anniversary, so the most awesome Boyfriend ever flew the four of us up to Napa for lunch. While they went off and have there romantic lunch, Boyfriend and I sat at the bar and ate…a lot. We watched all the Olympic skull racing that one would want to see (and more…considering that nobody would really want to watch skull racing) and hung out for a few hours. It was nice, our waitress was a spaz, but that was ok cause she kept filling up my diet coke every time I drank more that an inch out of the glass. She was my favorite and got a big fat tip.

We got home from our bay airplane tour (which made me appreciate not living in SF all the more, because lets just say that all we could see of SF was the tippy top of Sutro Tower and as fluffy as those clouds looked from the top, they probably just made things cold, sad and depressing gray below) and began to pack for our next prospecting mission (next weekend). We packed our backpacks and went over our scenarios of “what if we see a bear” or “what if I fall down” and the rope tied around my waist and the large machete that Boyfriend is bringing along ended those conversations quickly.

On Sunday, we woke up at the buttcrack of dawn…make that more like the taint of dawn, because there is no light to be seen at 4 am. We drove in sleepy silence to the Santa Cruz harbor to go fishing. Aboard a friends fishing boat, I quickly found cover from the cold in the cozy little cabin. I napped until it got warm…that took awhile. When the sun came out, so did I and I actually caught TWO fish. One was too small and I released him back to his home. The other one was not the biggest, but he was the prettiest, and in my world of non-fish eating…that is way better. I got sunburned on my face…again…proving once and for all to me that the sunscreen that I have used on the last three outings is ineffective. Burn me once…shame on you…burn me three times…I need to buy new sunscreen.

Operation: Save-A-Chute

2008-08-11T14:17:00.000-07:00

Our mission (and of course we chose to accept it) was to find the remnants from Operation: Drop-A-Chute. We gathered intel from a stump on a hill over-looking the canyon…it was there…we saw it…and it looked pretty much intact. The beauty of a reconnaissance mission is that you don’t actually have to DO anything. Mostly you find out what you want to know and then you get to play.

So that is what we did.

With the charade of finding a better route to the site we rode all over. We desecrated some graves, did a little trespassing, almost broke our necks several times, popped a tire and bent a rim…all in all a good old time.

Later that evening after the men had dropped me off, loaded me full of pain killers for my bruised and broken body and taken off again, I began to hallucinate. Every small noise in the bushes was an axe murderer and I knew it. So to busy my paranoid mind, I built a fire. Too bad the men had also taken all the matches and lighters away with them. So I tried to start the fire by banging two rocks together, but they were less like rocks and more like dense clumps of dried clay and just sorta crumbled. I tried rubbing two sticks together, but I did NOT have the patience for that shit. Finally I drew on the knowledge that boyfriend has imparted on me over our two glorious years together….grabbed a paper towel, dowsed it in gasoline and lit it with the car cigarette lighter. Boyfriend was so proud and I was pretty pleased with myself too…especially since my fire scared away the axe murderer.

You Learn Something New Everyday

2008-08-05T00:52:00.000-07:00

So Boyfriend has decided to become a prospector (it is actually kinda cute as I imagine him growing a long beard and giddily shouting “Eureka!” while doing a jig over his gold pan). So the logical first step in prospecting is to fly over in your private plane and drop 300 pounds of gear into your canyon of choice.

Boyfriend found his parachute on ebay and it arrived balled up in a garbage bag. Now you would think this might be a problem, since neither Boyfriend nor I have ever packed a parachute, but nah…we got this.

After watching a 3 minute video on youtube about how to fold the thing, we spread the 38-foot monster army green parachute on the green grass in the pitch dark night and began folding. We were pretty impressed with ourselves. We even found a high-tech solution to the lack of parachute sack by stuffing it into an old pillow case and stapling the sides. Genius. Look at us. We went from parachute packing virgins to mother-effing professionals in two hours flat. Sunday’s lesson was complete.

On Monday, Boyfriend went to actually perform the drop. And as the duffle bags crashed down from the plane with not even a partially-deployed chute, we learned the daily lesson: that you can’t learn how to pack a parachute from a youtube video.

Somewhere down there in that canyon Sasquatch is snacking on MREs and enjoying Boyfriend’s well-fitting shoes that surely fell out when the bags hit the rocky bottom at 200 mph and split open like melons. You know what they say…big feet…parachute-packing failure.

500 Degrees

2008-07-28T11:48:00.000-07:00

This past weekend had an unintended theme: Burned

I would say that 85% of my body is covered in various flavors of burns.

It all started Friday night at the pizza spot when Boyfriend answered my starving plea to FEED ME with a steaming hot slice. As he reached across the table to serve up the pepperoni yumminess, I should have brought my plate up, but I was too hungry to lift my hand. It was slow motion as the piece of pizza reached my plate and slipped off the side and onto my arm…face down. Do you have any idea what it feels like to have 500 degree cheese and sauce gooped on your forearm? Let’s just say, it doesn’t feel so good. So as I jumped around on one foot (after falling from my arm, the pizza fell on to my flip-flopped foot) I watched the blisters pop up on my saucy arm.

Saturday’s activities included dressing my wound and stuff.

Sunday, I went to the lake with Boyfriend and Gus. It was super fun and I donned my 45 SPF lotion that was purchased less than a month ago. Boyfriend even helped me reapply after a few hours in the sun. But apparently that wasn’t enough. I am now my favorite Crayola shade of Lobster Red. Luckily, since I burned myself on Friday, I didn’t get sunburned in the large rectangular patch on my forearm where my bandage rested.

Fatty Fat Fat Fat

2008-06-12T11:45:00.000-07:00

You know how you have those days where your normal pants feel like your skinny pants and as you button that top button you wonder if they were mistakenly put in the dryer on high heat? And you have to do squats and lunges before you can bend over to put on your shoes? And you look in the mirror and see your puffy face and tell yourself that you are just bloated and that in a couple days that will all be gone?

Yeah…this is not one of those days. I thought I went through all those girlish-figure changes back in college when I discovered that I could no longer eat ice cream for breakfast, lunch and dinner. But let me tell you, the wardrobe that fit me just fine a month ago…not so much anymore.

“Oh you’re just being dramatic,” you might say. But no, I have proof. Yesterday, I wore a cute little blouse that I have had forever. Unfortunately, I couldn’t button it, but I wore it anyway (layering is my friend). It has these cute little cap sleeves with button closures. I sat at my desk typing away and I noticed that I was making more and more typos. My arms were falling asleep. I looked at my arms ballooning out of my sleeves and realized that if I didn’t do something fast…I might have to amputate. You won’t even believe what I had to do…I unbuttoned my little decorative buttons on my cute blouse. Do you hear me!?!? I had to unbutton my mother-effing sleeves!?!? There is fat and then there is so fat you have to unbutton you sleeves fat.

So if muffin tops and camel toes ever come in fashion, give me a call, I would be happy to give you some pointers.

Hell On Wheels

2008-06-02T21:03:00.000-07:00

Uncoordinated. Disoriented. Unbalanced. Anxiety-ridden. Injured.

These are just some of the adjectives that can be used in concert with the thought of Ashley on a bike.

Saturday was a day of miserable chores and errands and accomplishing things…everything that a Saturday shouldn’t be. So to get work-happy Boyfriend to let us stop raking, I knew I had to find something ultra-fun and wacky. I suggested a bike ride. It might not seem wacky to the average human, but to those who know me, suggesting physical activity is seriously out-of-the-box for me.

I donned my newly-purchased helmet (which I have contemplated just wearing all the time) and hopped on my sister’s bike (which I stole) and we were off. Well…Boyfriend was off…it took me awhile to get going. We took the back roads as long as possible…but the moment came where we had to ride along the busy street for like a block and a half. Illegal or not…I rode on the sidewalk…because I don’t have a death wish and prefer to live thank you very much.

TEN MOTHER-EFFING MILES LATER…we returned to this busy section of road on the way home. I cautiously led the way along the sidewalk, trying desperately not to fall as I bumped over the canyons that city officials would call sidewalk cracks. I looked ahead and noticed that the sidewalk narrowed in front of me as there were a bus stop. I started to “eeeeeee” quietly in a high pitch to myself and tried to focus on going straight. Just then, a beastly bus jumped out of nowhere (well…not nowhere…he was slowly pulling to curb for the last block…but scared the poop out of me nonetheless). I visually measured my handlebars. I visually measured the sidewalk between the bus and the bus stop…and with my constant swervy path, I was not going to fit. I stopped quickly as I sidled up alongside the bus. But when I went to set my left foot down I tipped and stepped off the curb. Simultaneously, I attempted to throw my other leg over the bike to steady myself. But my foot (those of you who know me also happen to know that I have very large feet that are a huge tripping hazard in the most normal situations) got caught on the center bar and I turned toward the bus to catch my falling self.

The resultant position involved me, one leg off the curb, the other folded up under me, with my knee wedged between the bus and the bike, both hands slipping down the side of the bus while my face (and particularly my nose) smushed against the window.

Needless to say…it was neither comfortable nor fun. What it was…embarrassing…as the passengers gawked at me and the driver asked me if I was ok.

Yeah…I suck at bikes. Boyfriend and I are going to stick to places from now on where I can’t run my face into parked buses.

P.S. I realize that my description may be lacking, so I drew a little illustration to clarify. Enjoy.

They See My Rollin' They Hatin'

2008-05-22T13:25:00.001-07:00

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

2008-05-12T12:02:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-05-05T13:26:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-01T15:17:00.000-07:00

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

Nothing Like It

2008-04-30T16:20:00.000-07:00

There really is nothing like stepping into a warm pool of vomit. Really…I would know…I just did it. Apparently Talulah’s stomach upset from the other night has continued. I just walked around the corner to fill the doggie water bowl and like a horrible car wreck…it was all slow motion. I lifted my foot and was in the process of setting it back down when I noticed the damp and chunky look of the linoleum. I couldn’t stop it…it was already in motion. I landed my foot square in the middle of the puke and splashed it all up my other leg.

Awesome.

I have to go take a shower now before I go see my celebrity sister in her show.

Relegated to the Mailroom

2008-04-29T10:36:00.001-07:00

I have skills. Not being cocky…but I paid good money to institutions to amass said skills and I have a resume that proves it.

It isn’t that I am not willing to do tedious and brainless jobs like say…oh I don’t know…address and stuff 2000 invitations in 24 hours, but seriously…that sucks.

And it’s not like I don’t have 50 bajillion other things to do with my time since my boss went on maternity leave for FIVE (omg) months. And it’s not like there aren’t several people who clearly have time on their hands but don’t want to help, or if they do help, move so slow that it makes me want to jump up and down and do it my damn self.*

Luckily, boyfriend is not a snail and is ultra helpful so I only had to stay up until 10 doing it.

On the upside, I managed to not get any papercuts...so…that makes it a lot less annoying.

*perfect example of skills: proficient usage of the double negative

Honey! I'm Home.

2008-04-28T10:01:00.000-07:00

Those who know me well know that I don’t do “domestic.” I may be crafty, which can sometimes be mistaken for domestic, what with the quilting and knitting and stuff, but these are very different characteristics. For example:

Cleaning: If there is a pile of steaming crap in the middle of the floor I might pick it up, but only if it is in my way and really stinky.

Cooking: Why the hell do you think packaged foods were invented?

Dishes: Oh HELL no! Paper plates.

But ever since Boyfriend moved in (yes big step big step) I have been feeling all…domestic-y. Actually, we are both fully embracing the domestic lifestyle. I have never…not one day in my life…made my bed. Bed is made everyday now. I go to the grocery store like 2-3 times a week…wtf…I HATE the grocery store. I cook dinner, I scrub pots, I even thought about cleaning a toilet (don’t worry I didn’t get that crazy).

The other day I putting the laundry in the washer…long before I reached my last pair of undies…and I looked out the window and saw boyfriend mowing the lawn. Gasp…when did I become Mrs. Cleaver…and if that is the case…when do I get to stop working and eat bonbons all day? Hmm?

Sheeeeeeeeeees Baaaaaaaaaaaaaack!

2008-04-26T23:43:00.000-07:00

Miss me?

Of course you did. *hug*

Forgive my week-long…I mean month-long…holy-shit-has-it-been almost-three-months?-hiatus.

“Where have you been?” You might ask, “Something very important must have happened to pull you away from your ten faithful readers.”

Not so much actually. I’ve just been feeling lazy. Yep…that is it…my big excuse.

But I am back and fully committed to my regular posting schedule. I have so many stories to tell you all:

How about the one where I managed to inadvertently turn Gus into a racist dog? Or how Talulah puked on my bare foot just 3 hours ago? Or how that whole school thing from my previous post makes me (on my best days) want to spoon my eyes out and change careers altogether because I am a talentless waste of space who make hideously-literal and over-commercialized excuses for design?

But we will save those stories for another day…

Back To School

2008-01-30T11:06:00.000-08:00

What the hell am I thinking?

In first grade I specifically remember faking sick, just for the hell of it, and then remembering that it was the day that we were all dressing up like pilgrims and Indians to have our mock thanksgiving feast…but I had already started my lie, so I had to keep it up and miss out on rock soup and construction paper hats…bummer. Diet coke count…1 a day.

I spent all of 7th and 8th grade doubled over in pain from the worst stomach aches…later determined to be stress and anxiety related. Diet coke count…2 a day.

In high school, the combo of AP class pressure, all night study sessions and countless extra curricular activities caused me to suffer severe migraines sometimes lasting for 5-7 days solid. They hooked me up to electrodes, tried to bring on seizures with lack of sleep and flashing lights, monitored me while I slept and put me on a rainbow of drugs with effects ranging from loopy to violent and everything in between. The final diagnosis…stress…oh…and my freshman year health teacher who forced all of his classes to give up soda and meat. Going cold turkey off a 5-a-day diet coke habit during the tumultuous years of high school…not good. The doctor recommended at least two caffeinated drinks each day. Diet coke count…5…then 0…then 4.

Off to college, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed ready to take on Oregon, until the hippies got me down. And the grey sky made me want to take my life and I did too many pushups and slipped a disk in my back (yes it is possible and I know it is lame for a 20-year-old in her prime to slip a disk performing the president’s physical fitness test of all things…but it happened). Diet coke count…6 a day.

So yeah…what the hell am I thinking?

I started grad school this week. Diet coke count…7…and counting.

The Value Of A Dollar

2008-01-15T15:02:00.000-08:00

I work in the construction industry. I know all about the value of good estimate. That is why I was shocked…no disgusted…when I recently received a bill that was 636% of the original estimate. Say WHA?!?! Not double...or triple...more than sextuple! I had to look that up because I had never even heard the word for six-fold before for crying out loud.

I want to write more about this subject…but I am unable to express the sheer disbelief that I am feeling in words. I know we are in dire financial shape in this country…but really…is this the type of inflation I should be expecting? Cause if that is the case I should start looking for my sturdy refrigerator box now…all the good homes will be taken if I wait too long.

Date Ideas…That Don't Suck

2008-01-14T15:10:00.000-08:00

I have recently pimped my iGoogle with all sorts of Google gadgets including my Jon Stewart quote of the day, President George W. Bush quote randomizer, cute baby animal picture of the day, joke of the day, coloring page of the day and (the subject of this post) date ideas. I usually get a good little chuckle from my main man Jon, gawk in stupefied wonder at the things that come out of the mouth of the current leader of the free world, look at the cute animals, read the horrible jokes (I am sure that some day I will be prompted to write about this one too) and consider for a moment printing out the coloring picture and going to town. But the date idea gadget is that one that I really thought I might use.

Boyfriend and I are both Libras and if you believe in that sort of hippy-dippy patchouli crap (and I do) you know what that combo means…we can’t make a goddamn decision about ANYTHING. Sample conversation on a Friday night:

Me: What are your plans tonight?
Him: Nothing really…what are your plans?
Me: Nothing…you want to hang out?
Him: You want to hang out?
Me: I asked first didn’t I?
Him: What do you want to do?
Me: I don’t know…what do you want to do?
Him: Do you want to eat?

…you get the picture…

So as a result of our indecisive nature, I thought I would let my Google gadget decide the fate of our evenings for us. Good thought…in theory. In practice…these are the types of date suggestions that I have been getting as of late (no joke):

Go to church together…HA!
Play broomball…does anyone younger than my grandma’s generation even know the rules for broomball?
Alter a poem to fit the occasion, put it on colored paper and have it delivered…what am I? 10? You want me to plagiarize? On construction paper? And then pay $.41 to have that piece shit delivered? And how is this going to occupy our date night?
Tour for-sale houses together…isn’t this in direct violation of the cardinal rules of not scaring a boy away? “Hey honey…lets go find our future home together and while we are at it…lets choose our china pattern and talk about what we will name our unborn children.”
Shop for clothes together…wow…original…and so fun for both parties…“Honey…does my butt look big in this?”

So yeah…if you have any better ideas than this…like spooning our eyes out together…please pass them on.

I Am An Island

2008-01-11T09:58:00.001-08:00

Have you every felt so alone and cut off from the world? When it seems like nobody in the world can reach out to you? That is how I feeling today…I forgot my cell phone.

Remember the days before cell phones and pagers…when we didn’t have to be constantly connected to everyone and anyone…including the telemarketers who call me regardless of my number being on that obviously worthless “do not call” list? How did we get here?

The idea of my dear sweet mobile…sitting lonely on my windowsill…chirping and ringing with its futile attempts to grab my attention…well…it just breaks my heart.

I Hate Your Carbon Copy

2008-01-07T10:16:00.000-08:00

I love email…mostly because I am a phonephobic. No…seriously…I have a mini anxiety attack every time I have to make a call…and GOD FORBID I have to leave a message…EEEEEEE! But that is irrelevant to this post.

Why must you CC me on the crunchiest of emails? Like for instance…let’s say that there is a young man living in my complex which is overrun by 40-60 year-old women. And let’s say that the younger guy has some friends over for a little get together that ends up going late. The course of action…if you are disturbed by this…should be to knock on his door and tell him to keep it down. It should not be to write him a berating email the next day and CC the ENTIRE complex mailing list.

But beyond that...people…if you are CCed on one of these types of emails…don’t reply to all and nod in agreement. The CC function is purely to keep people in the loop…not for public humiliation.

This has been a public service announcement on email etiquette…because knowing is half the battle.

Storm Watch…dun dun dun

2008-01-04T08:22:00.000-08:00

Tonight…on the ten o’clock news…rain. OMG!

Ok…so the Bay Area is in the midst of a sucky storm…knocking out some power, flooding some gutters and causing people to drive like even bigger idiots than normal…but from the news you would think it was the end of the world.

Last night I get home and turn on the television hoping to find some lame Friends rerun to watch…but no…every channel…Storm Watch…StormTracker…Eye on the Storm…

I get it…its raining. I know that the writer’s strike is leaving the television lineup pretty sparse these days…but seriously…is some interview with an old man in a fisherman’s hat talking about howling wind keeping him up at night really newsworthy enough to interrupt the regularly scheduled programming?

Upsides of the weather:

Galoshes. I figured today was the day that I could get away with sporting my beige plaid printed galoshes. Hey…its all over the news…you have to be prepared.
The weather is a perfectly appropriate conversation topic when the weather is this ugly…so no more awkward elevator rides for awhile.
Snow! Tahoe is supposed to get nine feet this weekend! That means more powder to cushion my ass when I fall.

An Open Letter to Pretty Much All Pants Manufacturers

2008-01-03T09:52:00.000-08:00

Dear Sir,

I suppose it is possible that I am just a freak of nature, but I take issue with your pants.

As much as the cropped thing works for some people, I am not such a fan, especially in January. My ankles are cold and it is your fault. I look far and wide for pants that dare to graze the tops of my shoes. Sometimes I even find a pair that seem to almost work, but one time in the dryer and I look like I’m ready to go clamming.

I have developed some tricks, including sagging like a junior-high hoodlum and using my medieval-style rack device to torture my pants to an appropriate length just after washing. That works in some cases, but is it too much to ask for some cute pants that don’t show off my winter legcoat?

Some of you have moved toward multiple lengths (ankle, regular, long) but let me tell you…once I find the two pairs of pants at the bottom of the mountains of clothing...I find that...long...is not so long. There must be some underground short-legged community to create enough demand for this length-challenged legwear.

Granted…I am taller than your average bear…I got the comments about playing basketball in elementary school and hunchy old ladies often ask me to get things off the top shelf in the grocery store. But I’m not the female Shaq or anything.

Sincerely,
Ashley the Amazon Woman

Oh-Eight!

2008-01-02T11:15:00.000-08:00

Yeah…so '07 had its ups and downs…but all in all…in the top 50th percentile of good years. '08…now this is a different story. It is gonna ROCK! How do I know? Because…here is my list of resolutions that are going to aid in making 2008 the greatest year of Ashley’s life to date. I will:

Blog more - I know this is the most important one to you. November wore me out…but I am back.
Not go crazy - This is key. I did a pretty good job this year and the year before. But '04-'05…yipes stripes.
Get a few more friends - Not that my current three friends aren’t enough…but I would like to be able to have enough people to put on my myspace top 4 to not include my sister’s ex-cat’s space. Miss you Fred.
Win the lottery - You might say…that is a stupid resolution…you have no control over that. Well you might be right…but I have just as much chance of winning the lottery as improving my diet and exercise habits so why not?
Get out of scary debt and into that good kind of debt that people talk about - Yes…I admit it. I am one of those morons who bought a house that she really can’t afford and is presently being reamed by my mortgage payment. Save the lecture…I know it by heart. So I am gonna take advantage of our brilliant president’s misplaced pity and get me a better loan.
Train my monsters to be dogs - I watched the Dog Whisperer marathon…piece of cake.

So yeah…'08…it is gonna ROCK!

Would You Rather…

2007-12-21T09:43:00.000-08:00

gnaw off your own arm

or

go to your old high school’s choir alumni concert where you will have to hug people you didn’t even like in high school, be forced to sing with the kids, and bring all your friends and family to watch the side show?

Oh…I wish it was only a game...or that I actually had a choice. But it is not and I do not.

Tonight I WILL attend my alumni concert. My parents are forcing me.

“How can your parents force you to do anything? You are 26 for goodness sake,” you might say. And I would sheepishly “Bah” at you.

I don’t know how they have done it. But that have managed to get myself and at least eight other people to come to this humiliation extravaganza.

Don’t get me wrong. I was a total choir nerd in high school. I fully support the program by continuing to design their holiday CD every year, but I would rather not relive my glory years like the star high school quarterback who now pumps my gas and lives in his mom’s basement.

You see…in high school…I was kinda a “big deal.” And I would rather not live the legend…I’d rather just be me and look forward instead of look backward.

Well…I guess I got my wish…I am looking forward…to tonight…with dread.

That Is Ms. Slacker To You

2007-12-20T08:29:00.000-08:00

So I FULLY intended to keep up my nablopomo momentum and continue blogging at that ridiculous pace…but then I took a nap for the month of December.

I did start a post approximately eight days ago with the title, “On the Twelfth Day of Christmas.” But that post never came to fruition as I suffered a massive panic attack while writing about my anxiety over having nothing for any of the good little boys and girls on my list. So after I popped my eyeballs back in my head, I decided that instead of blogging about the ominous approach of Christ’s birthday, I would actually be proactive and buy some freaking presents.

We are now…what?…four days out?...and I have completed the majority of my shopping without ever setting foot in a mall. That is pretty damn good for a pathological procrastinator like myself.

My Arms Might Fall Off

2007-12-12T15:14:00.000-08:00

No…its not the leprosy. I went snowboarding last weekend.

There finally was enough snow…just as I was beginning to panic that my season pass was going to be utilized by going to the resort and building mudmen.

The slopes were in pretty good shape for the first big weekend, but my physical condition…that is another story.

I learned to snowboard last season…not well…but well enough to not fall down every five feet. So apparently snowboarding is not like riding a bicycle.

You might wonder how a person’s arms would hurt from snowboarding. “Don’t you use your legs?” you might ask. “Well, yes you do,” I would respond. “But when you fall down you have to lift your fat ass off the snow…over…over…and over...your arms begin to tire.”

So yeah…I have also disproved that rule about only hurting for a couple of days after using new muscles, because it is Wednesday and my arms still feel like death.

But I have a pretty new snowboard and I just bought this hat which fills me with much joy and anticipation for its arrival.

The Company Holiday Party

2007-12-10T09:25:00.000-08:00

Up until this year I have avoided the company holiday party. I have done the little intimate celebratory lunches with my coworkers, but the big shindig with semi-formal attire…not so much. It isn’t that I am a grinch…we just all know how I feel about these events.

This year…I had no good excuse to get out of it and I somehow got talked into attending. Boyfriend and I got dressed up in our finest finest and I was pleasantly surprised. It wasn’t that bad…we even got a fun little prom picture to prove it. The food rocked my world and I could just talk to Boyfriend and stuff my face when there was nobody to talk to.

There were a few awkward half hugs and long pauses…but all in all…not too bad. And once I was adequately liquored up, I knew it would be even better. So I quickly bee-lined to the open bar and ordered my gin gimlet.

Now I understand that the youth of our world can only make mojitos and margaritas…but a gin gimlet is not so hard…two ingredients…you don’t have to go to bartender school to figure that one out. Anyway…so, after ordering, I watched as the kid (I swear he was like 15) searched frantically for something. He asked his fellow bartender and they both looked puzzled. Finally, he came back to me and said, “we don’t have any onions.” “That is fine,” I said…since there should be no onion anywhere close to my gin gimlet.

He filled a tall glass with ice and poured the gin in…so far so good…that is the biggest gin gimlet I have ever seen…but I’m not complaining. He then picked up the vermouth and poured a few drops into my drink. Ummm…I have never seen a gimlet made with vermouth…but maybe that was his special recipe…I am open to new things. The he grabbed the gin again and filled the rest of the glass with gin. He shook it up and grabbed a martini glass. “Can I have it on the rocks,” I said as he looked at me like I just killed his puppy.

He poured it in a shorter glass and handed it to me. Ummm…thanks…for my glass of gin.

Later on…he saw me and ran over. “I found the onions,” he said. I just swayed a little and hiccuped at him…since I had just finished my second glass of gin.

For all you aspiring bartenders out there…here is a PROPER recipe for a gin gimlet:

Fill glass with ice
Add 1.5 ounces of gin
Add .5 ounces of Rose’s lime juice
Garnish with a slice of lime

C IS FOR COOKIE!

2007-12-03T20:08:00.000-08:00

COOKIE MONSTER HAPPY!

Every year Sister and I make Christmas cookies. An obscene number of Christmas cookies. We roll it, pat it, and mark it with a B and put it in the oven for Sister and me…or something like that. This year we scaled back…instead of ten batches (yielding 50 cookies each) we went with six this year.

My house has been transformed into the magical world of Cookieland. Green and blue, red and yellow…sparkles and sprinkles….doesn’t matter cause it tastes like yumminess. I don’t know why we even bother decorating them for Christmas…they are always gone before the actual day. I think one time when I like seven, we had one cookie left for the fat man on Christmas Eve. I didn’t get any extra presents from that shit and so that was the end of that nonsense.

So first day…I ate like 30 cookies…and it started to make me a little sick (understandably). But I rallied and consumed another 30 or so today. Way to pack ‘em on heifer.

NOM NOM NOM!

COOKIE MONSTER PUKEY!

Roar

2007-11-30T20:33:00.000-08:00

Last night was a lesson in wildlife. Los Gatos…translates to “the cats” but it should be called the “the cougars.” The ladies were out in force last night. As we (Boyfriend and his two friends) entered the club ready for a wild night of drinking and dancing…it became obvious that we were being watched…and by “we” I mean Boyfriend and his friends. The 40-somethings were on the prowl with their sequined crop tops and collagen swollen lips.

The Timberlake was bumping and these ladies knew every word. I was basically fighting these ladies off Boyfriend with a large stick. I thought I was gonna have beat some old bitches down. Luckily Boyfriend’s friends were all too single and willing so the attention was easily diverted. One particular little piece of work (not so much a cougar…more of a haguar) who had a little ti miny martoonis pulled one of these unsuspecting boys out on the dance floor and was “dipping it low” in possibly the most disturbing manner.

She proceeded to chew him up and spit him out. But I got pictures…blackmail is sweet.

P.S. NaBloPoMo is over…woo. I am guessing that my blogroll over the next few weeks is gonna be a little sparse…but never fear. I will be here blogging away.

Like A Chain Letter From Hell

2007-11-29T10:20:00.000-08:00

I got tagged…and I kinda hate this person now. But we are reaching the home stretch of November and I gots nothing else to write about so I will propagate this nonsense and annoy the hell out of seven others.

The Rules
Link to the person that tagged you, and post the rules on your blog.
Share 7 facts about yourself.
Tag 7 random people at the end of your post, and include links to their blogs.
Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

7 Random Facts

Last time I had to share a random fact about myself was at a leadership retreat…I told the group that I have a chinchilla named Dante. (I have never had a chinchilla)
I like to color. I have an extensive collection of coloring books and crayons. I even do the little mazes and kindergarten-level word scrambles. Boyfriend always asks for placemats for me to color on at restaurants.
If I were to have plastic surgery it would be an earlobe reduction or a toe-shortening procedure. I, like most females, have plenty insecurities when it comes to my body…but my long-ass ski toes and my dumbo earlobes have always plagued me. My mom tells me the story (constantly) of when she first saw me after I was born…she thought I was so cute because my huge earlobes were resting on my shoulders and would quiver when I breathed…sounds like some freakishly ugly shit to me…but call it what you will mommy dearest.
I know the temperature at which algae stops growing in hot springs…it is 167 degrees in case you were curious.
I watched Knocked Up last night. It looked funny to me and I wanted to see it in the theaters…but I had been putting it off. I think subconsciously I was afraid that watching a movie about unplanned pregnancy might result in a similar fate for me. I’m not superstitious…but fingers crossed salt over the shoulder anyway.
I’m wearing velvet pants today and it makes me feel fancy.
When I was in sixth grade I sat next to (and had a little crush on) a boy who would roll up pieces of plastic use them to snort a mixture of mustard and paste…I saw him recently…strung out…surprise surprise.

The 7 Victims
Please don’t put me on your “People To Kill” list for this:

Thank God I’m a Suburban Girl

2007-11-28T14:09:00.000-08:00

This morning I had to haul my ass to San Francisco for a meeting…we all know how much I love that. I don’t know what it is about the city that makes me feel like I need to gussy myself…wear real girl shoes, brush my hair and pull out my wool coat.

Anyway, after fighting traffic all the way up there and looking for goddamn parking for ten-gajillion hours…I finally broke down and valet parked. Super…there goes five-trillion dollars. As I handed over my key to the skeezy valet I was suddenly relieved that I had remembered to hide my Victoria Secret bag with pretty pink bra under the seat.

I walked into the building and to the elevator to start my ascent to the sixth floor when I saw the sign on the door that said:

ELEVATOR OUT OF ORDER
TAKE THE MOTHER-EFFING STAIRS
BITCH!

Or something like that. Are you kidding me? I can’t even walk a block in these death shoes, let alone climb six flights of stairs. As I stood there, planning my next move, (maybe the sign is just to trick me into exercise…maybe I could fake sick...maybe there is a window-washer around here who will hoist me up on his pulley thing) a little old lady came through the door and started up the stairs. Dammit…now I have to do it.

Luckily, I made it to the top with no serious injury and only small pit stains.

You thought the climax of the story was gonna be here…didn’t you? You thought there was going to be a horrendous meeting and a eventfully bad drive out of the city. Well you were wrong. We already climaxed. That’s it. I had to drive and park and use my legs. That is my bad day. And you know what?…as bad days go…that is a pretty good one.

I'll Pencil You In For March

2007-11-27T21:35:00.000-08:00

Because God knows I have no time for your nonsense before then. Just kidding...well half kidding. I just took a look at my calendar and realized that it is almost effing Christmas! And with the amount of Christmas shopping that I have done (zilch), all things non-holiday will have to wait until after the first of the year. I figure that will take at least a month...add in and extra month for procrastination and laziness and that takes us to March.

Well, I have to at least hold out for the rest of this month for all this NaBloPoMo rubbish. But luckily that ends on Friday.

The Best Cure for Vacation Hangover:

2007-11-26T17:36:00.000-08:00

Do absolutely nothing.

Today was the most wonderfully wasted day. I stayed home and slept in until noon. I ate and did jack shit and it was SUPER.

Tomorrow it is back to reality...but my much needed recovery day will get me through the rest of the week no problem.

I'm Back and Alive...Barely

2007-11-25T17:55:00.000-08:00

So the trip was crazy fun. There was all sorts of crazy fun people and we did all kinds of crazy fun things...that is what it takes to have a crazy fun time. My predictions for the trip were, of course, right on.

It was cold. Oh my God...I thought Chicago sucked...this was the worst! I finally mastered the ensemble that could best shield me from the elements by the last night. It involved long underwear, gloves, a scarf, six layers of various shirts and jackets and a lot of alcohol...which brings us to predictions two...

There was so much beer. After Boyfriend and I (mostly Boyfriend) finished our two 30-packs of Coors, we finally decided that enough was enough...but let me tell you...lack of beer is no end to a party for these crazy fun people. They must chipmunk liquor away for just these types of situations...because the party went on well into the morning.

And the MEAT! Dear lord...do you have a clue how many animals lost there lives for this event? I don't either...but it was a lot. Game hens and turkeys...cows and pigs...none were spared and all were deep fried. Mmmmm.

Lastly, there was the fire. The largest fire I think I have ever seen close up. But it wasn't just about the wood burning...that got old real fast. Chairs, pine cones and rocks (yes...a rock will light on fire...given enough gasoline...anything is possible) quickly became the objects of the rampant pyromania that seemed to plague our camp.

Other highlights include, but are not limited to:

Gun! Lots of guns!
Drunk dancing people
Quad riding super fast
The bottomless pit that we could throw stuff into
Only getting hassled by the ranger once, even though we deserved it a lot more.
Only one trip to the emergency room...and surprisingly it wasn't me...so all in all...a crazy fun trip.

Reporting Live from the Wilds of Central California

2007-11-24T16:14:00.001-08:00

Well kinda.

I wrote this before I left and Sister is posting for me (thanks sister, especially since I sent this to her through a series of ten text messages from my 10-key cell phone...skills...I know). Let's see how accurate I am:

I am cold.
We drank a bunch of Coors Original in the can and ate a lot of meats.
Someone set something on fire.

Good summary of the events to come, which will be explored in detail upon my return...stay tuned.

Camping? In November? Are you out of your mind?

2007-11-23T22:23:00.000-08:00

Yes I am.

Boyfriend and I are going camping.

After last night's Thanksgiving dinner at his sister's not quite air tight house (30 degrees indoors) I decided to rethink my camping gear and threw in a bunch of long underwear and fuzzy hats. I hope I make it.

Gobble Gobble

2007-11-22T09:44:00.000-08:00

Creative title, yes? Happy Turkey Day y’all.

I am a big fan of traditions. I am pretty much the tradition nazi in my family. Every Thanksgiving we wake up in the morning and watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade…or at least I watch it while my mom and dad bicker about who is responsible for what. The table was set by my meticulous mother at least a week ago and dad makes the nasty bird carcass do the turkey dance (a sprightly can-can across the cutting board) before preparing it for the oven. Sister and the rest of the family come over and we all sit down and eat and drink ourselves stupid and then play games and laugh until bedtime.

This year is different. The dinning room table is clear and the cupboard is pretty much bare. My mom is away and my sister has other plans.

I have many things to be thankful for…a wonderful family…a wonderful boyfriend…a great job…a comfortable home…and those are just the big things. There are a host of little blessings in my life that I won’t even bore you with. But I can’t help feeling a little sad that the traditions are not going to be a part of this year.

Nom Nom Nom

2007-11-21T13:13:00.001-08:00

Well I answered my own question…to get ice cream…a girl has to go to Safeway and buy it her damn self. So that is what I did. And I am well on my way to meeting my weight goal (gaining not losing).

I am feeling much better now that I have some nummies in my tummies (yes, us cows have multiple tummies), but that is not the highlight of my day. The COOLEST part about the holidays…not vacation or turkey or ugly sweaters…it is Peppermint ice cream. OMG! Sooooo good. I don’t know why the stores think it is only for Christmas time…it is good year-round. I could eat it EVERY day! It is like crack without the nasty side effects and illegality.

For those of you have not tasted the wonderful goodness of peppermint ice cream let me share its secrets with you. The chilly pink creamy treat is mixed with ribbons of sugary red and green peppermint-flavored goo and chunks of candy cane. A masterpiece on its own, but mix that with some chocolate sauce or better yet, add some milk and a few candy canes and blend that shit up and you have the best milkshake ever.

Ok…time to eat my lunch…guess what it is gonna be…

UPDATE: The downside of peppermint ice cream is when it is fed in extreme quantities to someone who is lactose intolerant (like myself), rumbling will ensue.

What Does a Girl Have to Do to Get An Ice Cream Around Here?

2007-11-20T22:22:00.000-08:00

I am a depression eater. Sad, stressed, upset…I tend to crave the junkiest of junk foods. So between a miserable cold, a painful back, my monthly visitor, my grandmother’s funeral, ridiculous amounts of work to do and the thought of not spending thanksgiving with my family…I am basically planning on gaining at least 40 pounds in the next few days.

Only problem…nothing yummy in the house. Not a ice cream, cookie or piece of cake to be found. I found one cherry cough drop…that is almost candy.

Don’t get me wrong…life isn’t all bad. I am home with the puppies and I get to see Boyfriend and I get to go camping and have a few days off. So maybe the cough drop will hold me over.

Lets Talk About Spell Check Baby (Yes…Too Many Syllables…Live With It)

2007-11-19T08:46:00.000-08:00

Ok Mr. Gates…I get it…you are the master of all you see. But seriously…do you think I am a complete moron?

Apparently so. Is it not possible that I would want a lowercase word at the beginning of a new line, or after…GASP…a period? Is it not possible that when I type the word slimey (with an e…because I grew up with your crazy spell check program and have never needed to amass my arsenal of correctly spelled words) that I really mean slimy? I guess not, because Microsoft Word seems to autocorrect such a spelling error as “smiley.” Ok fine…it is possible that there were some other misplaced letters in that word that might have made Word interpret my poor spelling and typing skills as something cheerful with a mouth instead of ooey (which is not a word by the way) gooey, but seriously…can’t we just go back to the little red underlines?

I know…some hot tech geek (read Boyfriend) is going to tell me that I can turn off the autocorrect feature. But that isn’t the point. The point is that in my last post I told you that, “I have an aversion to eating smiley insects,” and while yes…I am a little freaked out at the idea of munching on a happy little caterpillar…I was actually talking about the texture of such a creature in a culinary capacity.

I am feeling incredibly misunderstood.

Hey Bear Grylls…wtf?

2007-11-18T13:08:00.001-08:00

I am a big discovery channel fan. Love the Mythbusters and the Dirty Jobs and shhh….don’t tell my engineer father…an occasional Modern Marvels. Recently, I have started watching Man vs. Wild a little…because…what would I do if I was stranded on a Norwegian Fjord? The host, Mr. Bear Grylls, (like he could have done anything else other than make a career as a mountain man with a name like that) has all sorts of useful information for me on local predators to be wary of and how to fight hypothermia (other than naked sleeping bag sharing) and flora and fauna that can be sustenance for a weary traveler. As interesting and useful as this info is…I can’t help but vomit a little in my mouth when I see him chowing down on a grub or ripping the guts from a lizard or chomping into the belly of an alive and squirming salmon. Gross! Was that really necessary? You obviously have a full film crew with you…doesn’t one of them have some peanuts or something? Couldn’t you just say something like, “if a person was really starving they could eat one of these,” and then not actually eat it. I guess my aversion to eating smiley insects or wriggling animals would not make me the ideal candidate for survival in the wild…I guess that is why the show isn’t called Ashley vs. Wild.

Did I Mention That I HATE Flying?

2007-11-17T23:48:00.000-08:00

I hate flying*. There is very little about the entire process that I don’t hate. I hate having to foresee my every need in my destination. I hate having to figure out who the hell is going to watch my monsters. I hate the lugging of bags and the waiting in line after line after line to do something that is not the kind of fun that I think is line-waiting worthy. I hate being racially profiled and selected for the special security screening. I hate removing my shoes and disposing of all liquids…they thought of shoe bombs and liquid bombs…you really think they aren’t gonna come up with something else now? I hate being extra early for something I don’t really want to do so I can sit next to this guy who is drooling a little and smells suspiciously of urine. I hate sitting in the middle seat on the airplane…which for some reason is like vitally important for weight and balance because that skinny bitch a row in front of me has an entire row to herself. I hate how I always fall asleep with my mouth hanging open…even when I jury rig a mouth-closing contraption with my standard-issue unwashed airline blanket. I hate how they specifically pick out the small-bladdered people to sit in the window seat…really?...four trips to the bathroom on an hour and 45 minute flight?...maybe you should visit your Urinary Specialist...and while you are there you should ask for a referral to an ear nose and throat doctor...all that bull-like snorting is not normal and can't be doing anything for your social life. Free Diet Coke…ok…not something I hate. I hate waiting for my bags…which by Murphy’s Law ALWAYS come out last. I hate the thought of having to do it all again sooner than I would like. Can someone please invent that teleporter now?

*Don’t worry Boyfriend…not your brand of flying…I hate that commercial bullshit (Boyfriend is a pilot and I love that hassle-free stuff).

What Do I Do?

2007-11-16T20:43:00.000-08:00

I hope you weren’t looking for something witty or funny in any way…not feeling it today.

My Grandmother and I never really got along. It was always a hard relationship filled with unsaid things and misunderstanding. Her drinking, smoking and strict nature in contrast to my deep-thinking prudent self was always a big canyon between us.

Whether or not we agreed on politics or social issues was not the issue. Family is the tie the binds and we loved each other unconditionally.

Rest in peace Gram…I love you.

I Don’t Wanna

2007-11-15T15:43:00.000-08:00

I’m sick and nearly deaf…and I don’t want to blog. Damn you NaBloPoMo! Curses! Can’t a girl just take a ever-loving day off? Why did I sign up for this nonsense? I don’t wanna! No! I’m not gonna!

Shoot…I kinda did…didn’t I?

Hot Minivan!

2007-11-14T22:29:00.000-08:00

In high school I was playfully called “Soccer Mom,” mostly because of my protective nature, my sweet ’91 GMC Safari, and the fact that all my friends decided to wait until age 19+ to get their drivers licenses. I never actually played the game or ever even really attended one back in the day.

Boyfriend decided to join a soccer team…not because he is particularly skilled in the game of soccer…more because he just likes that whole team thing. I like it too…but with my spastically horrific physical talent, I would merely embarrass myself and all those who might join my team…so instead I have taken on more of the cheerleader role…oh who am I kidding…I’m not perky or small enough to be a cheerleader.

I am a soccer mom and I embrace it. I am totally psyched about designing jerseys for “The Ladybugs” (how fierce could those be?) and I am fully planning on orange slices and Capri Suns for the team next game. Who cares if they don’t win, (cause they haven’t) they are my team!

Hey Baby…This is Barry White

2007-11-13T11:38:00.001-08:00

Ok fine…there isn’t much of a physical resemblance, but my voice right now…wow…it is sooooo sexy. It would make even the most fridged bitch weak in the knees. Two people have called me on the phone today and when I answer they say, “Oh I have the wrong number,” only to call back 30 seconds later after they realized that it was, in fact, the right number and that Ashley had obviously undergone an emergency gender reassignment procedure.

So apparently amongst all the lack of sleep, singing my lungs out and the icy chill of Chicago…I managed to develop a cold. I know mom…I shouldn’t have stayed out so late and I should have brought a warmer jacket, but at the time I wasn’t really thinking that far ahead. Last night was a different story…as I almost died from choking on my own snot…my life (ok fine…my trip) flashed before my eyes and I reevaluated my plans for the next week. The plan had been: work, play, sleep, work, play, sleep, work, play, sleep. Now the plan is more like: work and play while you sleep.

Here I sit at work, hacking up a lung with my glassy sad eyes and used-tissue barricade that warn people to stay away. The people in the office seem to get it and are steering clear for the most part. The people who are emailing me with all sorts or ridiculousness...not so much.

Yep…I’m A Cutter

2007-11-12T17:05:00.000-08:00

Don’t worry…no need for an intervention…it isn’t that kind of cutting. I am a graphic designer with horrible overuse of the die cut. Odd shapes…unexpected cutouts…I am all about them. My problem is that when I create such diecuttie creations…I have many many drafts. This wouldn’t be a big deal (unless you are one of those…paperless people) for most people, but for me, as a cutter, it is quite painful.

You see, each draft needs to be cut out. How can anyone viewing my draft see the true brilliance of the piece if it isn’t cut out? Hence my strong attachment to my scissors and other cutting paraphernalia.

Today I am working on what can only be described as a giant doily…and as such…has required me to spend my day hunched over the cutting mat with my exacto knife for basically five hours. My neck hurts and I have blister on my finger and I have at least 10 versions of this thing cut out on my desk now…on second thought…maybe I do need an intervention.

Full Member of the Pen 15 Club As of 11 A.M. This Morning

2007-11-11T18:51:00.000-08:00

Ah San Francisco…the city by the bay…where people wear flowers in their hair and always leave their hearts behind. Cable cars, the Golden Gate Bridge, the sourdough…so many wonderful things are part of this beautiful city. What is my favorite? Hmmm…so hard to choose.

You know what isn’t hard to choose though? The worst thing in San Francisco. This is an easy one for me since I witnessed it today with my own eyes.

It was a lovely Sunday morning. The sunshine was peaking through the fluffy cloud cover in warm golden beams. The smell of wet pavement from the last night’s rain reached my nose as Boyfriend and I headed out of the city after a soccer game. As we looked out the window we saw joggers and people walking dogs…and oh…look there…a guy standing on the corner shaking something. “What is he shaking?” I asked myself as we neared his location. As we got closer I noticed the liquid stream that was also involved and the floppy pink protrusion that he was shaking. Yes…this man was peeing. Into the street. No attempt to hide it. OH. MY. GOD.

Appalled…that is what I am…APPALLED!

If You're a Slacker and You Know It...Clap Your Hands

2007-11-10T18:24:00.000-08:00

I fully intended to end my brief-post streak today as I am finally home and had more than five minutes to myself for the first time in weeks. But that didn’t happen. Instead, I decided to spend all day catching up on my Ugly Betty and Chuck and snuggling with my puppies. I thought I could multitask with the blogging and snuggling…but Gus was pressing so closely that single-handed typing was as much as I could muster.

So yeah…this is what you get. Live with it.

SOOOOO Not My Fault!

2007-11-09T15:15:00.000-08:00

I totally have been posting every goddamn day in November! Too bad the fancy Fairmont had the internet speed of Mr. and Mrs. Slowsky. (Push It!) No seriously…it wasn’t slow. It was nonexistent. Apparently the types that stay at the Fairmont with their private butlers and their colostomy bags don't need internet access.

Now that I am back in the world on the technologically living (paying a whopping $10 to use the airport wireless) I will fix my posts. But anyone who knows me…knows that I am committed to the mission. This better not wreck my chances of getting a prize.

Shut In

2007-11-08T20:02:00.000-08:00

I have now been in Chicago for nearly a week and I haven’t seen much of it. Mostly the inside on my hotel room and its room service tray or the convention center. But tomorrow is the last of my responsibility and I am determined to explore this wonderful city. And by explore I mean take a cab to the nearest department store and buy things that I could have bought at home.

Ah-hem

2007-11-07T23:59:00.000-08:00

I have lost my voice. It is gone, missing, nowhere to be found. I try to say "hello" and "squeak" comes out. Apparently singing “hold on loosely” and “highway to hell,” at the top of you lungs will do that to a person.

But even if I could talk, which I can’t, I wouldn’t be able to hear myself over the ringing in my ears.

I went to a work event tonight and the performer was a bunch of has-beens from Journey, Chicago and other similar bands who are called “Big People.” Have you ever heard of a lamer (yes I know it isn’t a word but it is perfect for describing this band) band name? I didn’t think so. And yet, regardless of lameness, they rocked the house.

C-C-C-C-C-COLD!

2007-11-06T15:22:00.000-08:00

Chicago? In November? Really? What moron decided that was a good time and place for a conference.

I am sitting here in my parka in my fancy hotel room contemplating starting a small fire in the corner to thaw my nose out, because no matter how far I crank the thermostat up...it remains just above zero up in here.

Yes I am a wussy Californian, used to my cushy state with its lavish sun and overly-temperate weather, but seriously…ITS COLD!

I would write about the Mr. Chatterbox and Stinky McStinkison that I sat between on flight here or the near fire-breathing rage that I experienced earlier today…but unfortunately as the temperature of my fingers drops, my number of typos increases…and just trying to type this has taken like four hours.

Yes This is Filler…You Wanna Make Something Of It?

2007-11-05T20:17:00.000-08:00

I had this super post all planned out in my head as I suffered further nightmares in my travels…it was going to be super. But unfortunately I am running on an hour and half of sleep and for a girl who prides herself on solid 12-hour sleep nights…that is rough stuff. Delirious with sleepiness (insert maniacal laughter followed by a crying jag here), that brilliant gut-busting post will have to wait until tomorrow.

Technical Difficulties?

2007-11-04T08:54:00.000-08:00

I’m blogging at cha from the San Jose airport…where I have been, and will continue to, sit for hours. Apparently the plane that I should be on and 10 minutes closer to Chicago in is having a generator problem.

Ok fine…things happen…I get that. What I don’t get is this…the airline employee just came on over the loud speaker and said, “Ladies and gentlemen…may I have your attention. Our flight is going to be delayed this morning due to a generator problem in the plane. This is a very simple problem to fix, but our San Jose mechanics can’t fix it. So we have called the San Francisco mechanics and they will be coming down to fix the problem. This should take anywhere from one to two hours. Thank you for your patience.”

This information not only annoys me because I must remain here…sitting on the dirty airport floor, leaning against a trashcan…but it also worries me. Maybe I am reading this wrong, but it seems to me that the airline is basically saying, “our mechanics are incompetent.” Doesn’t inspire much confidence. Maybe I should always fly out of San Francisco now…at least their mechanics can fix a generator.

UPDATE: If you call United Airlines’ 800 number they will tell you that they can “provide you with up-to-the-minute information on flight arrivals and departures.” Well it is a good thing that I am smarter than the automated man…because he says that my flight is 2 hours delayed…but I know that it is FREAKING CANCELLED! It is also super than United has its act together and as a replacement for my 8 am flight they can get me on a red eye with a stopover in Phoenix if I haul ass to OAKLAND! Don’t worry I am smarter than that lady too and I got on a reasonable flight…I guess I’ll just hang out at the airport. It won’t be too bad…I have a whole clan of University of Washington marching band geeks who are kinda entertaining in a I-want-to-spoon-my-eyes-out-dear-god-I-hope-I-was-never-like-that kind of way.

Halloween…Take Two

2007-11-03T07:27:00.000-07:00

I know that Halloween was here and has gone this year, but when Halloween falls on a stupid day like a Wednesday, the masked debauchery is likely to span both weekends before and after.

So I have Halloween party tonight and I am a little anxious about it…not for the normal reasons either. About a month ago (with lots of beer in us) boyfriend and I had the most brilliant costume idea. Discussing our plan we got giddy with excitement. This was truly the most original and funny costume ever.

Over the past month I have tried to keep the costume secret (for extra effect) but have needed to tell a few people, just to share our brilliance. These are some selected responses:

“That is kinda messed up”
“Are you sure want to do that?”
“You are going to HELL!”

So…um…yeah…the costume is a little blasphemous…a little persecutive…and apparently not that funny to my closest friends…oops. I can’t even bring myself to reveal what it is here for fear of death threats.

I just hope we don’t get beat down be an angry mob of zealots.

My Little Living Garbage Disposal

2007-11-02T07:46:00.000-07:00

Here is a close up of my special pumpkin from Halloween:

Concerned about the hoodlums in my neighborhood and the safety of my work of art, I brought the pumpkins inside for the night. When I got home from work yesterady...this is what I discovered:

Notice the difference? It is subtle…but if you look hard you can see that…oh…the little pumpkin is missing. “Where could it go?” you might ask. It doesn’t have legs…it can’t just walk away. I searched the house, looking for some trace of my little pumpkin. I found none…until I went out to do my daily pooper-scooper duty. Ah…I see (don’t worry I will spare you the photo of that one).

Apparently Gus got a little snackish in the middle of the night and decided to help himself to a midnight pumpkin nibble.

Not that this behavior is all that shocking. Gus has a habit of eating questionable things. Rags, earrings, my face…but the most disturbing thing he ever ate has burned an image on my mind…nylons. Seems rather harmless right? Think again. The eating and swallowing of the nylons was not the bad part. The disturbing part was when he came tearing through the house butt tucked under him, squealing and looking back at the thing trailing behind him. The elasticity of nylons might be helpful in smoothing ripples in thighs…but not so good for the digestive track. I donned my dish gloves and assisted my pup with his…ok…I’ve relived enough…you get the picture. Anyway…the hoodlum kids didn’t get my pumpkins…instead it was my hoodlum dog.

Pay No Attention to the Women With the Furry Feets

2007-11-01T12:06:00.000-07:00

My brain is on overload these days. There is a finite number of things that I can remember and I have exceeded my limit. You would think that would mean that I would be forgetting a few things here and there…but you would be wrong. Apparently the overload is causing an entire system meltdown and keeping me from accomplishing the most simple daily tasks like...say…remembering to wear shoes.

Oops…I left the house this morning for work in my fuzzy sheepskin slippers. Über professional.

On a completely unrelated side note…my friend Jen got a package today. It was a platypus letter opener / pâté spreader. Everyone must have one of these…civilization depends upon it.

Happy Whore-a-ween!

2007-10-31T07:46:00.000-07:00

Am I the only chick who doesn’t want to wear my underwear outside for Halloween?

Forget for a second the females ages 18-35 who give new meaning to “trick” or treat ever year. That has always been the case…sexy cat, sexy devil, sexy witch, sexy lobster. And I can even overlook the over 40 set reclaiming their youth in the same costumes. The disturbing trend that I noticed for the first time this year was the preteen (and younger) market for costumes with slits up to their hoo-has and tops that show off their completely unnecessary training bras. Um…parents…wtf?

An Irrational Fear of Patchouli

2007-10-30T08:01:00.000-07:00

Disclaimer: This post may be mildly offensive to hippies, frat boys, feminists, and generally anybody from Oregon…so yeah…sorry.

Take a look at this:

“How could anyone hate this place? How could anyone leave it?” said my friend who shot this picture on a weekend visit to this serene scene. How? I’ll tell you how…

I am all for recycling...I love a good tree hug as much as the next person…yes I own a hemp satchel…but at some point a reasonable person has to draw a line. I drew this line four years ago.

It was a rainy November morning in Eugene, OR (not that that is any different from any other morning because it rains every goddamn day there). The temperature in my apartment had reached an all-time low as I awoke to my muffled alarm through my fuzzy moose earmuffs. I shuffled through my damp and moldy apartment to the kitchen where a batch of my roommates “specialty” (mac and cheese mixed with tuna and franks and beans…I’ll wait while you run to the bathroom to hurl) sat crusting over from the night before.

I willed myself into the shower and then into my “clothes” (pajamas + parka = clothes) and hauled ass to my calculus class in the pouring rain.

On the way I walked down Greek row where the “oh my god”s and the “DUDE!”s reverberated back and forth between the buildings and what’s that I hear? A collective retching coming from that sorority house?

Onward past the feminists screaming at some poor male who got a little too close and the druggies hackysacking and the yeehaws spitting their chew in my path and speaking loudly of hunting and logging.

I passed the graveyard with the creepy kids in black who pretend they are vampires and sleep on the graves and do god knows what else.

Soaked to the bone, I began to hear the drums outside the president’s office (right next door to where Animal House was filmed). The protesters were banging their drums in protest but the hippies didn’t seem to mind. They turned out in droves to dance half naked in the rain to the protest drums. Even through the downpour I could smell them…body odor and patchouli…the scent made me want to turn around, but a band of naked muddy hippie children had gathered at my back, so I broke into a run…past the Tuesday morning bible study…past my classroom altogether and back toward my apartment.

“Screw class…I can’t take this today,” I muttered as I pealed the drenched clothing off me and jumped into my bed with its contraband heating blanket that if my roommate would have know about she would of killed me for using $2 more energy to avoid hypothermia.

People who have visited the U of O ask me, “How could you leave such a beautiful campus?” It is because if you stick around for longer than a week you will see a lot more of what I described than what is pictured above.

No offense Oregon…you have some nice rivers stuff.

OhNoLetsGo

2007-10-29T18:25:00.000-07:00

Ok…so I told myself I wouldn’t actually write about this whole nablopomo thing. Kinda a cop out to blog about how I have to blog everyday in November. I bet a resourceful blogger could get at least a week out of that subject. Well…I just failed so I might as well go with it.

I am not complaining about the 30 consecutive days of blogging…I signed up for it after all. But November?!?! I can’t think a more inconvenient month. Maybe next year I’ll do the ashblopomo thing and choose a better month like May.

A Fine Line Between Love and Torture

2007-10-26T09:58:00.000-07:00

I went to Target last night after work. I did my normal path…I started looking at purses and scarves and hats, moved on towards cards and candles, breezed through house wares, dillydallied in the sporting goods and came face to face with my nemesis…doggie section…dun dun DUNNNNN!

As much as I tell myself that purse dogs and animals in sweaters are ridiculous…I am drawn to the array of designer doggiewear that sits before me. Gus likes clothes (maybe he doesn’t, but I tell myself that he is cold and needs to wear a sweater when we go to the outside hour-long puppy good citizenship class) and so he has his pumpkin costume (cause he’s my little punkin’) that he puts up with for the 15 minutes that I make him wear it to take a picture with my phone and send it to everyone I know.

Talulah…different story. She even chews holes in her leash…she is not a fan of constricting cloth. But while at target I found this…OMG…how can I resist? Luckily…all of the remaining costumes were in teacup size, so she got of scoff free…this year. But then I went online and found this…next Halloween is going to be AWESOME!

I continued my trek through the Target store and past the mountains of Halloween candy without buying any…ok fine…I bought a bag…ok fine…I bought three…but they were on sale…three for $5…and who cares if I didn’t have a single kid come to my house last year…maybe this year will be different…either that or I will eat three bags of candy by myself…again. Tis the season…for pulling out the fat clothes.

The Return of Feisty Thursday

2007-10-25T15:07:00.000-07:00

I am full proponent of the Feisty Friday tradition, but this Feisty Thursday stuff is a little overkill, even for a grouchyface like me. Two days in a row of pure feist is hard to handle, not only for me, but my coworkers, friends and family. I literally stuck my tongue out at my boss today. Some place that crap could get me fired. Luckily she responded likewise and threw a paper clip at me (as you can see…also a fan of the feistiness).

Smart-ass comments and general snarkiness aside, my attitude is pretty well justified as it has been a pretty shitty week. Bad news comes in threes eh? Not so much this week…more of a continuous downpour of nastiness.

Shampoopoo

2007-10-24T14:38:00.000-07:00

I am having a bad hair day. It sounds so trivial…but it is really having adverse effects on me. Not only does my mane make me crinkle up my face in disgust when I catch my reflection in the mirror (which makes my look doubly attractive), but it is also causing some workplace hazards.

The crazy wispy new hairs that frame my face are tickling my nose and making me sneeze. The force of the sneeze not only caused me to eject a small piece of granola from my mouth this morning (it is still sitting there stuck to my cubicle partition…ok that is really gross…I just removed it) but it also triggered a spasm of epic proportions in my neck.

Those of you who know me…know that I don’t really do anything with my hair…I hardly ever even brush it. It is always my favorite when someone says to me, “did you do something new with your hair?” The response is usually something like, “uh…I brushed it a little…kinda…with a plastic fork?” So understanding that about my grooming habits…take a second to think about what it might mean for a girl like me to have a “bad” hair day.

It is pretty bad.

I Can Think of Nothing Worse

2007-10-23T02:29:00.000-07:00

Do you remember that horror movie? The one where some guy is walking to his car and there is a bad guy lying under the vehicle who slashed his Achilles tendon? It was a sucky movie…don’t even remember which one it was…but that scene is etched in my mind.

Kinda like the scene this weekend.

Boyfriend and his brother-in-law join a soccer league. Woo fun! They aren’t very good yet…but most of them haven’t played since high school…so they will get better.

Anyway…I was watching* from the bleachers, at least 15 feet from the sideline. And about three quarters of the way through the game, Boyfriend’s bro goes to start running and I hear a SNAP, CRACKLE, POP. It was more just a pop…but it was freaking loud. At first I thought he kicked his cleats together…but then he went DOWN. The man severed his mother-effing Achilles tendon. WTF? He was just running? Can that really happen?

I got him ice and touched the back of each ankle…left side normal…right side…holy squishy grossness Batman!

Stuff like this is the very reason that I avoid physical activity. My ankles hurt just thinking about it. I think I am going to get me a rascal and just forgo the possibility of injury altogether. You never know what risks will arise as you walk…anywhere.

*I don’t play…apparently I never learned to run right. No seriously…apparently this freak doesn’t know how to do the thing that every moron with legs can handle. I am working on this…but with my whole hatred of physical exertion, it is kinda hard to work on my running technique since I kinda like to stop and rest after 20 feet.

U is for Uterus

2007-10-22T09:12:00.000-07:00

Ok…if you are a squeamish male, I encourage you to cover your eyes and ears simultaneously and scream “lalalalalalalala,” for the duration of this post.

Holy hell! I have cramps. I’m talking junior-high-mom-needs-to-write-you-a-note cramps.

Last night, while trying to relay the type of sensation that menstrual cramps entails to Boyfriend, I could not find a good comparison. It isn’t like a broken bone, or getting kicked in the balls. It is incommunicable to males. The only way that I could really get the feeling across was to describe what is actually happening to a woman during “that time of the month.”

It is the ripping disintegration of the soft bloody tissue that lines the uterus, sound fun boys? No it doesn’t. It sucks.

So yeah…give me some Midol and a heating pad…I’m going back to bed.

What Was I Going to Blog About?

2007-10-18T12:00:00.001-07:00

God knows I can’t remember. Today’s blog is brought to you by the word “distraction” the number “14” and the letter “F.”

The number 14 is how many times I have muttered the words, “what the heck was I doing?” under my breath today.

The word distraction is the theme of my day as I jump from half-finished task to half-finished task with reckless abandon.

The letter F is the grade I would give myself on my productivity today.

So you can easily see that today would be a great day for me to tell you that the meaning of life is…ooo…look…something shiny.

Blobby

2007-10-17T08:36:00.000-07:00

Awhile back I found this (sorry if it was from you…it was a long time ago and I don’t remember how I found it). Anyway, I found it rather entertaining and passed it on to several friends. We all picked our favorites. Mine was the Blobfish. He looked so sad and I felt for him. My friends laughed as they read the description and exclaimed, “You are a Blobfish!”

It was funny at the moment, but as the weeks have gone by I have had an awakening…maybe I actually am a Blobfish. Let us discuss its characteristics:

It is rarely seen by humans…I’m getting better, but I am still a bit of a hermit.
The flesh of the blobfish is primarily gelatinous…nuf said.
It floats above the sea floor without expending energy…not so much with the floating or the sea floor, but I can definitely be a lazy sack.
It lacks muscle…I’m weak sauce.
It primarily swallows edible matter that floats by in front it…this is the one that is truly hitting home and disturbing me…I must expound below.

I don’t eat lunch at work. I try and only eat when I am actually hungry. But I have noticed that the Blobfish style of eating is really what I practice. Put food in front of me…I will eat it. This is especially problematic around the holidays and when you work for a construction company that likes to keep the big burly men fed well at all times. My real issue with this practice goes back to Blobfish characteristic number two.

Why can’t I be a gazelle or a tiger…something remotely unlame?

Work-A-Rama

2007-10-16T13:10:00.000-07:00

Ok…are you ready? Today is official “Work All Day” day. That means 24 hours of full work. No breaks, no chit-chat, no eating. Just work. Don’t even try to take one of those girly pee breaks…that is against the rules. Food? Water? Pshaw!

Who is with me?!?!

Anyone?

P.S. Yes I know…I broke the rules with the 2.5 minutes it took me to blog this. But come on…I’m doing a public service. You totally would have forgotten National Workaholic Day if I hadn’t reminded you. NOW GET BACK TO WORK!

A Sandy Beach…In Your Pants!

2007-10-14T19:26:00.000-07:00

Pismo was great fun…once you got past the rain, the fog, the cold and the hurricane-strength winds. Other than that (and the sand-filled orifices) it was super fun.

The one thing that never ceases to amaze me are the differences between male and female motor skills. Not motor skills like moving fingers and toes or speaking…but skills involved in motor vehicles. I am not saying women are inferior drivers…actually in many cases I could put together a pretty compelling argument to the contrary. What I am talking about is more the style and aggressiveness of male verses female drivers.

Is absolute fearlessness in men an inherent trait? Cause I don’t know about you, but when I sit atop of mountain of sand with nothing but air below me…the first thought that comes into my mind isn’t, “hey lets jump off this shit!” That might be the last thing from my mind actually…but inexplicably, there are boys blowing past me, leaping off this sand cliff.

“If they can do it, I can do it.” I tell myself. But regardless of my inner monologue, I am not loving the idea of the images in my mind of all the things that could possibly go wrong…mostly involving limbs flailing and skulls cracking.

I finally mustered the courage…and I did it. It wasn’t bad. But that didn’t make me ready to dive off every crazy dune I came across for the rest of the day. The boys can be crazy…I’ll stick to the path with least risk…that nice sloping one.

Nature or Nurture?…You Be the Judge.

2007-10-12T02:41:00.000-07:00

I was writing an instructional letter to a friend who is going to feed my dogs, and while reading it back, the sheer ridiculousness of my animals finally struck me. I thought I would share an excerpt of this letter with you for your entertainment/disapproval/amazement:

The dog food is in the laundry room. I recommend filling the bowls on the ironing board, because if you do it on the floor they will knock it all over and probably knock you on your ass.

When you are filling the bowls, Talulah will start on your left and Gus on your right. Fill the scoop even with the top and put one scoop in each bowl, at which point they will switch sides (so don’t trip on them). Close the food container before you put the bowls down or else they will knock it over.

When you pick up the bowls, Talulah will jump up and down a little while Gus will crouch down and skid himself along the wall and then in a circular pattern into the family room. Straddle the doorway between the laundry room and the family room and tell them to sit. Tell them to “leave it” (several times as you put the bowls down…one in front of Gus in the family room and one in front of Talulah in the laundry room). Tell them “ok” and they will begin to scarf down their food (it only takes about 30 seconds). As soon as they start eating….close the laundry room door between them.

Gus will finish first, so wait another 10 seconds or so to let Talulah out and then pick up their bowl immediately. Congratulations…you have fed them.

Wow…I should probably give her a medal just for attempting to feed these monsters. I won't even go into the why...but just trust me when I tell you that every detail in this is necessary.

Eh?

2007-10-10T21:56:00.000-07:00

What did you say? Are you mumbling? Speak up!

Ok…so its not you…its me.

You know when you are on an airplane and there is that poor annoying kid, shrieking at the top of their lungs because their precious little ears can’t take the pressure and they have no other way to communicate their pain than to scream bloody murder? That was me today.

I have been off the plane for hours now, but my ears don’t seem to grasp that fact because they still hurt like hell and the world sounds like I have stuffed large cotton balls into my ear holes (which I don’t remember doing).

I have tried all the conventional methods…swallowing, yawning, plugging my nose and blowing, jumping up and down on one leg while yanking on my ear lobes (yeah…I had never hear of that one either, and they were probably just trying to see if I would do it, but I am desperate and am ok with a little ridicule on the off chance that it might work).

And I get to go on a plane again…any ideas?

It Was a Dark and Stormy Night

2007-10-10T01:06:00.000-07:00

I awoke with a start as the pouring rain slammed my windowpane. A flash of lightning illuminated the clock on the wall…midnight…exactly.

As my sleepy eyes adjusted to the dark, a shadow materialized in the corner of my bedroom, its large and ominous shape silhouetted against the wall at the foot of my bed. I gasped and pulled my blankets up under my chin, as if that would protect me.

I felt the lump of panic rising in my throat. I looked for an escape…none to be found. I thought about screaming for help but my voice had inexplicably disappeared.

A strange crinkling noise marked each move closer and closer to me. And then it was upon me…taking all the air from my lungs. I gasped for a breath while its razor-sharp edge sliced small painful cuts across my knuckles.

As one more flash of lightning revealed my attacker’s face I shrieked in horror at…the biggest…to-do list…ever.

October is National Reach Out and Touch Someone Month

2007-10-09T11:32:00.000-07:00

It is also the start of a flurry of busyness for me that will last for at least three more months.

So the question is: Why do I choose early October to reach and touch people? It is like a crazy pattern for me. Late September and early October…I don’t know if it is the ending summer or the contemplative mindset leading up to my birthday…whatever it is…it causes me to look up old friends and reconnect.

This year was no different. I managed to reconnect with at least six long-lost friends. Now what? Well I am too busy to maintain those renewed connections, so they will go by the wayside until next year.

In the meantime I have emails amounting in my inbox from these people, wondering why I am such a tease…email them once and never call again. Those emails mock me and make me feel like a bad person.

So what do I do? I blog about it instead of using these ten minutes to email them back. Reasonable choice…right? Yeah I know...I suck.

Can I Go to Bed Yet?

2007-10-08T21:19:00.000-07:00

My week is going to be hellish. I can tell. Today was my “easy” day and I just got to eat for the first time here when I got home at 9:12 pm. This week is packed with meetings and chores and lists and other things that give my anxiety medication a run for its money.

The only thing that is getting me through is a beautiful vision of a handsome man on an expanse of sand with a big blender and margarita mix. My hero!

*Swoon*

How Many Ashleys Does it Take to Kill a Plant?

2007-10-05T14:55:00.000-07:00

One.

I have what they call a black thumb. Cut flowers are perfect for me…because regardless of soil and roots, if you give me a plant it will be dead in 4-7 days. But I managed to murder my most recent green gift in a record 2 days.

My wonderful Aunt gave me a lovely plant and I put it safely in the back seat of my car.

“I am totally going to forget about it,” I said as I shut the car door.
“Don’t worry, I’ll remind you,” said my wonderful boyfriend.

Next day…at work…

“Did you remember to get you plant out of the car?” said the wonderful boyfriend.
“NO! I suck! I will do it in a minute,” I said as I wrote a giant post-it with the word “PLANT” and stuck it to my computer screen.

36 hours pass…I go out to the car and find my poor pathetic plant…DEAD!

I am a horrible person and I am going to hell.

Networking Tips for the Socially Stunted

2007-10-04T21:07:00.000-07:00

Networking can be tricky business. Here are my simple steps to mediocre success in a social situation. Watch and learn:

Stand with your back to a wall…that way you can see everyone who might come up and try to talk with you.
Make sure to wear lots of jewelry so you have something to play with to look busy.
When you can’t think of anything to say, just giggle and mumble a little…people will think you are talking but will be too polite to ask you to speak up when they think they can’t hear you over the party noise.
Eye contact is dangerous…don’t do it…or else people will talk to you.
Eat…a lot…it isn’t polite to talk with your mouth full.
Find the one person you know and glom on…don’t let go.
When all else fails…break into a almost jog and go in and out of doors like you are doing something super important.

With these easy techniques you can be just as much of a party goober as I am.

What Ever Shall I Wear?

2007-10-04T10:15:00.000-07:00

Usually I get dressed in 60 seconds flat. This morning was different. I don’t know if it was the pressure of a work networking event, the amount of food I’ve eaten over the past week that has translated to my midsection or just some fluke of negative self-image…but this morning everything in my closet looked like garbage.

People who have helped me move or have seen me on laundry day understand the vast cavern that is my wardrobe. I inherited this trait from my mom…I am a clothing collector. I have enough articles of clothing to clothe a whole army of twenty-somethings with questionable fashion sense.

If I had the guts to actually record it, I would take a picture of my room right now and you would see a pile as tall as me of pants on my bed and not a single thing on a hanger in the closet.

I finally settled on the most boring outfit I own…paired with the fiercest purple pumps. Ahhh…shoes…the fat girl’s best friend.

Why So Bitter?

2007-10-03T09:03:00.000-07:00

Life is good.

But I guess that isn’t so obvious from my blogging.

It was brought to my attention that my last posts have been a little angry. I’m not angry, so I did a little soul searching. I think that my blog is possibly the most healthy and cathartic thing for me. Apparently I can pour all of my angry feelings out into this text and manage to put a lot of the rage that would normally fester under the surface right out in the open.

Preblog, I probably would have had at least an emotional breakdown per month. But now…I can rage about stupid little things like misplaced scissors and stupid cabbies and that releases my bitter energy so I can cope. Who needs therapy when there is blogger?

So, to break the bitter cycle…I will share a joke that I was told yesterday by a very classy lady (you can tell from the joke):

Q: What kind of panties do clouds wear?

A: Thunderwear!

Ok…giggle inside…its ok…nobody is looking.

Damn You Society and Your Social Constructs of Beauty

2007-10-02T09:04:00.000-07:00

I was driving to work this morning and I reached behind my seat to grab my makeup bag to start the daily masking ritual. I felt around to the left. I felt around to the right. I came to a stop in traffic and craned my neck around to look. No makeup.

Shit.

I had to make the choice then and there…go home and get the makeup or just power through the day without it. I pulled down my visor mirror and gasped...I had to go home.

On my way back to the house I fumed. I fumed about being an idiot and forgetting my makeup, but that quickly turned into anger over the fact that I HAVE to wear makeup at all. It isn’t so much about my self confidence; it is more about not wanting to waste my day explaining myself. Because I know that not wearing makeup will invite all sorts of looks:

The concerned person who comes up and says, “are you not feeling well?”
The one who looks at me with pity and says, “you look so tired.”
The insensitive guy who will undoubtedly ask, “what is wrong with you?!”
The disgusted one who will tell me to “go home” less for my benefit and more so they don’t have to look at me.

Kinda Like Hot Dog on a Stick

2007-10-01T09:19:00.000-07:00

I feel like puke on a stick. Good visual...just think about it and try not to throw up a little in your mouth.

Anyhow, I am not sure what is wrong with me. It could be the fact that I sat in the sun for two days straight with no hat or sunscreen. It could be that I slept in the freezing cold outside. It could be that I ate way more than my fair share of mountain man food (MEAT!). It could be that I drank enough Coors in a can to drown a mini horse. It could be one of those things…but chances are that it is all of them coming together to create a perfect storm of yuck in my system.

A Bad Day A-Brewin’

2007-09-28T10:34:00.000-07:00

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

2007-09-27T11:08:00.000-07:00

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

2007-09-26T10:32:00.000-07:00

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!

2007-09-25T10:31:00.000-07:00

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

2007-09-24T14:10:00.000-07:00

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

2007-09-21T11:22:00.001-07:00

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

2007-09-20T11:58:00.000-07:00

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

2007-09-19T10:28:00.000-07:00

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

2007-09-18T09:38:00.000-07:00

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.