oh megan. hello.  hello my dearest, most missed friend.  It is 11:11 p.m. Sat. night.  MAKE A WISH!!! IT IS 11:11 and I didn't even intend that.  Let me preface this by saying I have had had too much to drink.  Too much to drink and I miss you.  I miss you terrible and I miss you and all night I have thought of you and how you would laugh at things I was seeing.  Specifically, I was at Gulu Gulu in Salme, and it was super busy, lik ethe busiest ever, and they had all these coasters that said "SAVE THE HOOCH" and had this weird drawing of a chick pointing at her hoo haa.  Save the hooch as in hoochie mama.  HOOCH. VAGINA.  SAVE THE VAGINA.  SAVE THIS CHICKS VAGINA.  HER VA  Jay JAy.    So I had too much to drink, and it was a cd release party of some douche bag, and all his douche bag friends were there, so I kept picking up coasters, and bringing them to douche bags, and being like "I thought you'd like this.  I got it for you.  This is yours now."  and hten I found our there were pins.  PINS.  PINS THAT SAID SAVE THE HOOCH.  So I started giving those away.  And then John said it was time to go, so I left.  And all the way to the car, every person we passed, I yelled, "SAVE THE HOOCH!!"  and a few were like "wOOOO YEAH!!!!!!" and others were like "What's with that girl? talking about VAGINAS????"  but basically, this is an email to tell you never fear.  I got you a pin that said "SAVE THE HOOCH"  because it will be funnier in German.  It has a picture of a cervix on it.  Not really. An animated cervix.  I'm gonna call that an anmcer.  yes.  I got one for you.  And I need to mail it to you.  And this is basically a very convoluted drunk way of saying I need your new German address.

You address.

In Germany.

Save the HOOCH.

WOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!

I miss you.

(If you were here, you would understand all of this.  and that is why I love you so.  And that is why you are the best friend ever.  And I miss you)

I miss you.

ash

Endless Possibilities

Friday afternoons are my favorite part of the week.  Endless opportunities.  What will this weekend hold?  I predict a sleepy saturday morning, filled with coffee and bagels and food network under a quilt while I sit on the couch.  Autopilot on.  I predict a late saturday night with too much whiskey and maybe some dancing and jumping.  Some competitive wii.  I predict a banana split.  I predict that this moment holds all my happiness, every early morning and late afternoon sigh of this week. Every time I scraped the windshield, shivered as the car warmed up, thought about getting coffee but realized I didn't have time.  All those moments spent waiting for right now.  When I have the ability, however limited, to change my future.  Whatever I want it to be. Productive or lazy, sleepy or boozy or busy or a weekend spent reading an entire book and never putting on shoes.  I could run away to Montreal.  Or Aruba.  I could never come back.  I could take up knitting.  I could bake a four layer cake.  I could take a nap.  

In college, in a class that I frequently found to be "optional" in my schedule, I had a teacher that was obsessed with Jonathan Swift.  I can't find the specific essay, but I remember one whole afternoon (on a day I actually deigned to show up), spent discussing the idea of postponing happiness, how Swift said that we humans are really incapable of being truly happy because we always want the next thing to happen.  She illustrated by saying that she always thought she would be so happy on vacation, sitting on a beach with a margarita in hand, but then once she was gone she could only think about everything waiting for her at home.  And I remember at the time taking copious notes, because I saw so much truth in this statement.  How I wanted to prove Jonathan Swift wrong and truly live in my moments of happiness.  Or maybe I just wanted to prove her wrong.

I am now happy (!) to say that I am happy.  

It is Friday, and I'm happy.  And even when I postpone my happiness, I know when it will come. Friday afternoon.   

Friday afternoon I can change the future.  Friday afternoon I can do anything.

Hangover

Who gets a hangover on a Wednesday? A booze hound, thats who. Vodka and I are not bff's. In other news, we have had our 132nd snow storm of the year, so I got to work from home today! Yay! And it's Wednesday, as previously noted, which means it's open mic time down at your favorite and mine, the Gulu Gulu Cafe in witchy Salem town. I'm betting on the dude with the dreds to do some more bad poetry. Last week, he yelled "FUCK" into the microphone gratuitously, as some nice family decided that this just wasn't the place to bring their tweens for some cozy cocoa. Whoops!

udders

Blech. I am an old, creaky, hungry, grumpy*, sore old lady. Pictures of the fabulous new dining room table are soon to follow though.

And now- a quote from my weekend, as I heaved and ho'd (ho'd?) furniture all around my house.

John- "You know, your boobs look really great in that shirt"

Ashley (straining to lift something far too heavy, glares at John)- "Awesome. Lift this now or get me a beer. Possibly do both"

John- "They look so good I am tempted to call them tits. Because that seems dirtier."

Ashley- "I hate you. Move the t.v."

John- "Does that offend you? Calling them tits?"

Ashley- "No, I would be offended if you called them 'teats'. Now get me a beer. And a hot dog."

John- "Don't put this on your blog, ok?"

Ashley- "BEER. HOT DOG. NO PROMISES."



*I just read "hungry grumpy" fast, and for some reason in my head it became "humpy". Filthy.

HILARIOUS

I have an issue. I mean-- I have several issues, but one that I will discuss here, now. It has to do with alcohol. And volume. And my total lack of control over one once I have had the other. I don't know why I feel the need to yell when I drink; or to dance, or sing, or jump four vertical feet in the air and grab some guy I don't know that well around the neck and ride him around, but I do.

And that's my Wednesday. And not just one Wednesday, but a lot of Wednesdays.
And Fridays, and Sundays, and Tuesdays and Saturdays and Thursdays.

Monday I am in bed by 9p.m. and asleep like a little church mouse.

The thing is, I have a feeling that I am even louder than I think I am while I'm doing it. And I think I'm pretty loud. I also happen to think I am hilarious. After five rum and diet coke's, I am Margaret Cho. But not asian. And funny. Actually I am more like Mario Cantone. Only not a dude.

Ok, I'm just me, wasted. But funny. In fact, on a recent drunken Saturday night, I was hilarious. I was also pretty sad, because one of my favorite people was about to go very far away. So I had a few rum and cokes. Four or so. Or nine. Whatever. And the bar we happened to be at, celebrating this last American night that this very favored person was having was showing bull riding on their television.

BULL RIDING!!!!!!!! What could be more AMERICAN??!!?? AND HILARIOUS!!??!!

So I wandered up to the bar to order another drink that I totally didn't need at all, and turned to a bespectacled, tight-jeaned hipster gentledouche beside me and elbowed him. He winced, and held his delicate, girl-like ribs and glared at me as I gestured toward the televised cowboys and said-- "Doesn't that make you kind of want a cheeseburger?"

HA! A CHEESEBURGER!!! BECAUSE THEY ARE RIDING COWS!! HILARIOUS!!!!!!!!

(Also, as previously noted I had consumed seven rum and diet cokes on an empty stomach at this point, so at this point nothing sounded better to me than a cheeseburger)

He scowled at me and rubbed his doucheribs and said, "I'm a vegetarian. And that makes me want to punch Texas in the face." And really, I had just had too much to drink. So I should have walked away, maybe blushing. Embarrassed. Cowed. Shamed.

But no. I was hungry. Hungry, and HILARIOUS. So I said back to him- "Really? It makes me want a cheeseburger. And I love Texas. I'm from Texas" (I am NOT from Texas) "I'm going to tell Texas you want to punch it in the face, and it's going to come kick your ass."

None of this was said quietly.
So, maybe the volume isn't my only concern. But at least if it was quieter, no one would hear me making an ass out of myself. Of course, they would also miss the hilarity.

Or maybe not.

Change has come to America

And I am so proud to be American.

Ode to Monday Afternoon

Oh, sour Monday afternoon. You are gray, cloudy. You promise snow. I hate you. You make me want to nap (is it you, or the whiskey last night that makes me feel this way???). Either way. The only thing that could possibly fix this sleepy day, this horrid beginning to a week, this piss-poor January, this itchy 2009, is this.

John, take notice. Only that will make me happy.

Prelude

Have you heard of highway insomnia? I can't find any articles about it online, but it was referenced in a 30 Rock so I know it's not just me. Highway insomnia is when you suddenly snap to and you're in your driveway, but you can't remember driving there. Like you've just zoned out while you were driving and have no memory of anything after you got into the car and started it.

Well, right now my life feels like I've got a serious case of highway insomnia, but reverse. It's like sometimes I come to and I am driving to work, and I can't remember anything since my drive home the night before. As though being in the car, listening to the dulcet tones of Jay Severin is my life, and what I do, what I ACTUALLY GODDAMN DO, that is just the prelude to one of my commutes.

Prelude to my commute. Sounds like a song. A very sad, very pathetic song.

It's just a hot dog

Once upon a time, I was 15.  When I was 15, all knees and elbows and dirty blonde (not yet adverse) curls, I had a summer job at a hot dog stand.  It was a 1950's inspired carhop joint, the kind where the food sits on the tray on your windowsill, and you are waited on by sweaty cute 15 year olds in day-glo pink polo shirts. It was an all-female staff-- aged everywhere from 15 to somewhere in the mid 70's.  This summer job actually put me through college, I worked there for 9 years, and moved up from "carhop" to "michigan maker".  Michigans is what we were famous for. (If the concept of "michigan" is foreign to you-- first of all, I'm terribly sorry as you've missed out on life-- and secondly, visit this link for some info).

So anyway, this was a busy little place, right down the road from the VFW and a prime location for anyone and everyone after the VFW softball tournaments.  It deserves it's very own post, perhaps several, as I believe that this experience had a profound effect on both who I am and how I work.  But there was a lesson that Ronnies had taught me that I had forgotten until recently.

I struggle, in my cubicle job (as previously noted here) to deal with the rigamorole of every day life, just the normal stresses of being a person interacting with other people; which sometimes strikes me as the hardest part of any job.  Recently I've been feeling particularly challenged, and one night as I stared at the ceiling above my head at 3a.m. and tried to muddle through how to deal with my latest career-adventure, I reminisced about Ronnies and the simplicity of it.  It was kind of idyllic really.  The shifts were around 6 hours, 5p.m. until you were done cleaning, usually around 11p.m.  The tips were good, the customers were friendly.  As I mentioned, it was an all female staff, and of course if you put that many women together in a small building with no air conditioning there are going to be a few estrogen bombs that go off, people will bicker about the right way to clean the counter, and how much SoftScrub is too much SoftScrub, but in the end it was sort of like having a big family of nosy, meddling aunts and cousins and little sisters.   You hated them and loved them.  

And it was easy.  You take the order, make the food, bring the food, make the change.  You mop the floor.  Refill the soda.  Steam the hot dog buns.  You make french fries.  You clean the fryer. Clean the ketchup bottles.  You flirt with the older gentlemen so they give you a whole dollar for a tip.  You drive home under the stars with the windows down and listen to the radio too loud.  You make yourself a milkshake for lunch.  You sit outside when there are no cars and work on your tan.  You do crosswords and listen to country music on the radio in the morning before you open.  There is always coffee.

But of course I'm remembering it simplistically.  There was no air conditioning, but a ton of cooking instruments.  It was H.O.T.  People got grouchy when they had to wait for their food. People didn't tip. People tipped a quarter.   Coworkers whispered about you when you arrived late, or had to leave early.  Calling in sick wasn't an option.   

And as I lay there at 3a.m., one specific memory cut through the nine years of noise.  

It was early August, just after a baseball game, and it was hot.  It was HOT.  And there were so many people there, it seemed we would never be able to get all the orders out.  And everyone was in a hurry.  I think I was 16 or 17, a seasoned vet at this point.  And as I tried to balance two trays full of food out the side door, one of the customers lost it.  He freaked out and started yelling inside the restaurant "This is just BULLSHIT!!  I HAVE BEEN HERE FOR OVER 30 MINUTES!!  WHERE IS MY ORDER???"  

At this moment, any person in the food service industry would want to look at this man and say, "do you see everyone else here?  everyone else here is also waiting.  do you think you should go to the front of the line just because? JUST BECAUSE, YOU FUCKER?"  

But on this rare occasion, we were spared having to respond, as the man next to him turned and said, 

"Hey man, calm down, it's just a hot dog." 

And everyone in the restaurant had a little laugh.  It's just a hot dog.  Really.  Calm the shit down.  It's just a fucking hot dog.

And suddenly it occurred to me that maybe it wasn't all that different now.  Maybe every job was just a version of Ronnies all over again, just with different hot dogs.  So this has been my new mantra, as I wander through my days and interact with grouchy, overworked, douche bags.  It's just a hot dog.  Nothing to get worked up over.  It's not my whole life, it's just a hot dog.  

It's just a hot dog.

breathe

It's just a hot dog.

It's a Girl Thing

   She takes after me.

Happy Wednesday (ughh...)

Ugghhh.... it's only Wednesday? Really? No, wait, REALLY? Because it totally feels like Thursday night. Like tomorrow is Friday. Ughh.

Going to the open mic at the Gulu Gulu Cafe in Salem MA tonight to take in some...

music? poetry? dramatic readings? interpretive dance? instructional cooking demonstrations?

Who knows. We'll see when we get there. Mostly I'll be taking in wine. Happy Wednesday.

cat lady

I have three cats.  Yes.  Three. Cats.  Let's not talk about it.  Or, I guess, at some point we will talk about it, but now right now.  This is your introduction to them.  The big orange cat is Fender (my namesake).  The little tiger cat that looks like she's afraid of everything and might pee on the world to get back at it for being so scary- that's Ruby. A.k.a. The Dube.  A.k.a. Duberoo.  And the little asshole looking black cat.  That's Murphy.  He's one of the official cats of Salem. Don't ask.

Access Extra Hollywood

I have a cubicle job (as previously noted) where I spend most of my life (being IN CHARGE OF THE ENVIRONMENT), and after a long day of being trapped to the point of hyperventilating by 3 gray walls, I like to come home, kick back, and enjoy myself with a little duo I like to call "Access Extra Hollywood". This is a sick, sordid pleasure that I have. I like to watch Access, followed by Extra, all the while sipping whatever alcoholic beverage is handy, wearing my sweater boots and forgeting about my day.



And it is a sickness. I don't understand it. Why do I watch these shows? And if I must watch, why do I need to watch two? in a row? that have exactly the same stories on?



what. the. fuck. is. wrong. with. me?



But it can't just be me, certainly there are other Americans who suffer from AEH, or else they wouldn't have programmed them right next to each other. Is it because market research shows that we are all just in need of a little zoning time at the end of the day? We just need to turn our brains off for an hour before we can engage with other human beings again? I find that my need for AEH corresponds directly to the type of day/commute that I've had. The worse my day, the more likely that I will walk in like a zombie, hands tremoring with the need to sit down, pick up the remote, and not speak to anyone for an hour. Mario Lopez will fix it for me. And Tinisha. With all that hair. Get me a drink. Someone, for the love of God get me a drink but DO NOT TALK TO ME. I DO NOT WANT INTERACTION. I only want GOSSIP. And trivial, meaningless pictures of beautiful people in their beautiful clothes. And I want to know what's going on on American Idol, and Dancing with the Stars (I don't even watch dancing with the stars, why do I care about this????), but I must know who wore what to the Oscars and what did JensayaboutAngelinaandbradjohnmayerbillybushsexandthecitymoviemileycyrusgodiHATEmileycyrusINEEDAREFILLONTHISMARGARITA!!!!!!!



Perhaps I should use my wii fit instead of watching these shows? Maybe, maybe just a couple times a week. AEH hurts so good.

telecommute

It is 4:46p.m. and I am in my pajamas, which I never took off. I have a side ponytail (it started out on top of my head, at some point), mascara under my eyes from last night, and I haven't brushed my teeth today. 2009!!!!!!! WOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!

I did manage to get a little work done today, and I also tried out our new wii fit (there's a way to motivate yourself, have a little icon of you suddenly double in size and look like it's got a problem with donuts).

Yes, today was a "work from home" day, which actually is a great luxury. I can attire myself as I please (see above...) and no one can bother me, walking up to my desk and saying things like,

"so... um. Do you know if we use recycled paper in the office?"
Do you know if we can recycle plastic bags in our desk recycling bins?
Do you know what kind of light bulbs we use?
Have you thought about retrofitting the lightbulbs with motion sensors?
Have you considered battery recycling for the office?
Do you know what kind of glue is on our envelopes? Was it tested on animals?
Do you buy carbon offsets? Can I buy them from you? We should sell them, as a company!


Yes, I get much more work done when I don't have to answer questions like this. Did I mention, I was recently introduced to a new hire as "this is ashley, she's IN CHARGE OF THE ENVIRONMENT".

That's right. Me and Al Gore. So I really enjoy the working-from-home, not-gonna-brush-my-teeth days.

I suppose I will shower before the husband comes home, so he still wants to live with me.
2009. Rockin and Rollin and workin from home.

Dear 2009,

Welcome!  We have high hopes for you here in the bewitching little town of Salem, and in particular, in my house.  Your predecessor, 2008, well... let's just say that she left some things to be desired, and a few messes for you to clean up.  I know, no one likes walking into a job that has already been started, but such is the nature of your position.  

2008 brought us some great times, a trip to Mexico for John and I (although Montezuma certainly did get his revenge on us), a fantastic few days on the beach in Goose Rocks, Maine.  There was a very troubling airplane ride up north to be with my mother, while she had breast cancer, and a potentially life-changing trip down to Tennessee for my husband, who found what may be our future.  

But 2009, I'm ready to welcome you with open arms and get off to a fantastic start.  So far, although we've only known each other for about 16 hours at this point, I have to say I'm pretty impressed.  You came with a beautiful late morning of sleeping in, a nice (filling!) lunch of pasta, and a leisurely shopping trip for fun, frivolous things.  I can't ask much more of you at this point.  I'm going to go take a nap, 09, (can I call you 09? niner?), and when I wake up we'll spend more time getting to know each other.  

Before I go, let me fill you in on a couple of things I hope we discover together over the next 12 months or so.  I think we'll be moving some time in the next 11 months or so, to start a new adventure.  I know, another Halloween in Salem would be very  magical, and who knows, it may still happen.  We'll see.  I have my 10 year high school reunion this year, 2009, and I'm looking forward to seeing how people have been doing.  I had the rare opportunity to never move during my childhood, so these people that I graduated with and I have a very unique shared history.  I remember who they were, and they remember me as I was.  I'd like to get back to being a little more of who I was at 18.  I hope you bring good health for all the people I know, as 2008 certainly taught me that when you have your health, you have it all.  Lastly, 2009, I think this year my only project will be myself, and making who I am better.  In years past I have focused on creativity, on work, on making money (they aren't always the same thing), on weddings, on family.  But this year is for me.  I think I deserve it.  

So, welcome 2009!  And I'm off to nap. I'll see you in just a bit, and we'll get into some trouble together.