Better Be... GRYFFINDOR!!!!

My lovely aunt and uncle joined my equally if not more lovely mother and father for dinner at my horrible terrible restaurant last night.  They proceeded to tip me outrageously and earned themselves the right to park it in one of my primo tables for as long as they pleased.  Also they're my family, so they could pretty much do whatever they liked.  

Now, I did my waiter duties, refilling drinks and all that, but I glanced at my ESPN app and saw that Hamels had held on and neatly spanked the Padres, so I bounded over to relay the good news to my diehard fan dad.  Dad, half-jokingly, tells Bonnie and Bob about how furious I was when the Phils traded for Oswalt instead of Cliff Lee. 

**Side Note: I love Cliff Lee.  I love him more than I love Doc, more than I love Hamels, and only slightly more than I currently love Vance Worley.  So his banishment was infuriating, especially when I went to Oswalt's opening game and his first pitch was a triple to a WASHINGTON NATIONAL.  There was only shame and rage.  Luckily, I was sitting a few rows behind the Phils' dugout and screamed and screamed my displeasure in true Phan Phashion and Manuel heard me was forced to contest with my big fat angry trap**

Naturally, the story is told and I become animated (ie: heated) in my convictions that Oswalt is a pile of poop that has yet to do anything great for the Phils.  Bob and my dad started joking on which of myself, or two of my cousins would get married first.  Bob's bet was none.

My first thought was "WELL HECK I DON'T WANT TO GET MARRIED ANYWAY!!"  I don't remember what I actually told Bob, probably something snarky, but then I realized it's absolutely true.  I might want to get married some day, but only if I meet someone I actually want to be married to, I have absolutely no intention of "settling down".  That phrase carries some of the worst connotations.  

Thus I proudly march about, scorning the men that leave numbers on their credit card slips (FYI-never do that if you're not planning to tip at least 30%) and those that make awkward conversations in Harris Teeter; trying to have as much fun and be the best artist I can possibly be.

I would rather be an artist than a wife.  I will only be with someone who would see me as an artist rather than a wife.

In unfortunately related news, I got off work early tonight and came home to eat ice cream in my glasses while watching a Lifetime Original Movie on JK Rowling.  When Steph came home, she started watching it too, so I suppose I technically watched the horrid thing twice, but the majority of the second time was spent Googling Newly Hot Neville and trying to figure out when that transformation happened.

Waiter Rant

Waiter:  Hi guys, how are you tonight?  May I get you started with something to drink?
Mr. Rude Diner:  Gimme a club soda with a lime, and *waves his hand at his wife* what do you want?
Mrs. Rude Diner:  Oh for God's sake,  Jim, I don't know!
Waiter:  M'am, if you need a minute to look over the drinks, I'm more than happy to come back.
Mr. RD:   No.  We're ready.
Mrs. RD:  Well, uhhhh, do you have caffeine free Diet Coke?
Waiter:  I'm afraid not.
Mrs. RD:  Do you have decaff coffee?
Waiter:  Sorry m'am, we only have caffeinated coffee.
Mrs. RD:   Really?!  Hmm... well, how's your iced tea?  Is it sweet tea?
Waiter:  Nope, it's unsweetened, m'am.
Mrs. RD:  Is it flavored?
Waiter:  No, we just have plain, unsweetened tea.  *Now I'm noticing another table needs refills on their Diet Cokes, a different tables' food is up, and I have just been double sat*
Mrs. RD:  Oh.  Well yuck.  Uhmmm...
Mr. RD:  Jesus, just pick something.  They have lemonade?
Waiter:  Yes.  The list of drinks is right here-
Mrs. RD:  Is it fresh squeezed?
Waiter:  No, m'am, it's Minute Maid.
Mrs. RD:  Oh, well I don't want that then... hmmm....
Mr. RD:  Ok, well I want a roast beef club sandwich.  Only no lettuce, no tomato, no onion, and gimme an order of those onion rings too.
Waiter:   Sure, sir. *But I'm staring at the man frantically waving trying to get my attention to bring him his check, another man shooting me dagger-eyes because his Diet Coke is still empty, and one of the tables that has been sat because they are shaking their heads and looking around for the waiter they now assume to be lazy and incompetent*
Mrs. RD:  How about diet cream soda?  Do you have diet cream soda?
Waiter:  I'm sorry, we don't m'am.
Mrs. RD:  OK.  What kinds of soda do you have?
Mr. RD:  Actually, can we get a spinach and artichoke dip to start?
Waiter:  Ok, sir.  And we have Coke product m'am.
Mrs. RD:  So that means...?
Mr. RD:  But we don't want any of that pico del gallo  *pronounced as it's spelled*
Waiter: Sure.  Coke, Diet Coke, Sprite, Fanta Orange, Pibb, and Gingerale.
Mrs. RD:  Oh... Coke Zero?
Waiter: No m'am.  *one of my co-workers is dealing with the man who wanted his check and another is greeting the tables that have just been sat, pointing at me and smiling.  Diet Coke Punk is still glowering*
Mr. RD:  Girl, does my sandwich have mayo on it?
Waiter:  Yup, it does.
Mr. RD:  Yeah, none of that, but add some honey mustard.  And a side of hot peppers.
Waiter:  Ok sir.
Mrs. RD:  Ok.  I'll just have water.  But no ice, and honey, can I get an orange slice on it?
Waiter:  M'am, I'm afraid we only have lemons and limes. *Did that bitch just call me "honey"?!*
Mrs. RD:  Oh.  Ok.  Two slices of lime and three slices of lemon.  But no ice, did you hear me?  No. Ice.
Waiter:  Yes.  Ok.
Mr. RD:  What do you want to eat?
Mrs. RD:  Oh.  I don't know.
Waiter:  I'll give you a minute m'am.  I'll be right back with your drinks *and that fucker's Diet Coke*
Mrs. RD:  No, no.  I'll find what I want.
Mr. RD:  Are your hot peppers really hot?
Waiter:  Uhm.  I find them spicy, yes sir.
Mr. RD:  How spicy?
Waiter:  *losing patience*  an 8.  Sir.
Mr. RD:  Huh... ok.  No hot peppers, banana peppers on the side.
Waiter:  We don't have banana peppers.
Mrs. RD:  Ok ok, I want a crabmeat pizza.  But instead of a white pizza, I want tomato sauce on it.
Mr. RD:  You don't have banana peppers!?  Uh.  Oh.  Kay.  I'll have four jalepenos.  In a cup, no where near my plate.
Waiter:  Ok.
Mr. RD:  And I need a Diet Coke.  Did my wife order?
Waiter:  Yes, she did.
Mrs. RD:  Oh, honey, you don't like peppers.
Mr. RD:  Yes, I do.
Mrs. RD:  No, you always pick them off, remember?
Mr. RD:  Those are bell peppers, they're disgusting.  I like jalepenos.
Mrs. RD:  Oh.  I just thought you meant all peppers. Wait.  A garden salad... is that good?
Waiter:  As far as plain vegetables go.
Mrs. RD:  Oh... let's get one of those.  And I want no onions.  I'm allergic to onions.
Waiter:  Ok.  *There is no known allergy to onions and it is the basis of Western cooking.*
Mrs. RD:  And I want honey mustard, bleu cheese, and ranch dressings.  All on the side.
Waiter:  Ok.

These people will send me back to the kitchen at least three times for extra sides of lard-based condiments, sit and camp at my table with their $30 check for two more hours, and leave me a $4.50 tip.

Facebook-less Life

I gave up my Facebook for the summer.  I'm not one of those who rails against the damn thing, it's dead useful for organizing birthday parties and determining if the guy you gave your number to has a girlfriend.  However I, Ashley, have been spending more and more time filling my brain with trivial information about people I don't know very well, and since I have no self-control whatsoever I have cut off my addiction at the source.

Day One: I missed it.  I felt the need to know what everyone ate for dinner, who was wailing over an INSANE amount of homework for a summer class, and who needed a drink because something happened to make them acutely aware of how much their job sucks.
Day Five: I don't miss it.

I have been filling my days with reading books (most good, some not so much), watching Mad Men, and doing crossword puzzles.  Mostly reading.  I found a couple of stories that captivated me and have been devouring them for the past week.  It reminds me of how I used to read all the time in elementary school.

When I say all the time, I really do mean it.  I read every possible free second of every day.  I read on the bus to school (resulting in nausea), I read during lunch rather than talk to other kids, I read at recess, I  would slip my books into a larger textbook and read during class.  There's even a picture of me at a swim meet with my cap on, suit soaking wet, wrapped in a towel with a book in hand.  I was teased pretty severely for it, but only two or three times because for all my dorky tendencies I had no timidity and the other kids figured out quickly that teasing me only resulted in scathing retorts and the occasional ineffective punch.

It really got out of hand though, on one occasion when my second grade teacher asked me a question during class.  I responded with shushing her and holding up a finger until I finished my paragraph.  Only then did I put down my "textbook," sigh, and say, "What was the question?".  We had a parent-teacher conference with that poor teacher in the next few days and a deal was struck in our household.  If I  wouldn't act like a snot-nosed brat for the rest of the school year, I would get an American girl doll.

Those suckers costed like $80, and was a true testament of how out of control my sass was.  My parents were appalled by my lack of respect for the teacher.  I distinctly remember earnestly telling them that the teacher wasn't smart (something I doubt was true) and that I had already figured out whatever boring thing she was teaching (this was true), I just didn't hear the specific question asked of me.  To this day my parents shake their heads over the time when they had to result to bribing me to read less.  I behaved myself, or at least enough so the teacher didn't let on to how much she despised me, and got my doll.

I never know how to conclude a blog post... I feel like I should end with words of wisdom, only I'm not wise and anyone saying otherwise at 23 is a moron.  So I guess I'm just regressing back to my childhood: no Facebook, and loads of reading.

A really good day.

If you don't know what this is, I can't help you. 

Five Good Things

5.  Sabra chipotle hummus.  I am living proof you can be 23 with no major medical problems and exist off of the dream diet of a six year old.  Cookies for dinner?!  Sure.  Ice cream for breakfast?  Why not?!  Pizza three times a week?!  Heck yeah!  Chipotle hummus sort of ruins that, though.  It's great for those of us who cannot cook.  I can be trusted to open a container of hummus and a bag of tortilla chips and devour the contents of both whilst laughing until I cry at Jon Stewart.
4.  Reading Chekhov on the Metro.  I look so ridiculosly stupid in my sundress reading translated Russian plays and chewing on my braid.  However, I get motion sick pretty easily while reading except when underground, so I'm grateful for any time I am able to spend in transit with words.
3.  The first Hunger Games book.  I admit it.  I read them all like the love-crazed teenager I am constantly mistaken for in like two days.  And they are awful.  And I'm so Team Peeta.
2.  My friends being super successful.  Tjaden just got cast in a musical in 'Bama after slaughtering her senior recital (not to mention meeting the love of her life), and Ev, Laur, and Katie ALL got hired by Fairfax County Public Schools in the past few weeks as music teachers!  Sarah was cast as Cinderella in Cenerentola (Italian for Cinderella) in a summer production after completing Year One of her Masters Degree at UMich, Shan is in rehearsals for Hairspray as Tracy at the top community theatre in the area, and Steph never ceases to amaze me with the things she is GIVEN at her work (like snacks and Cirque tickets), where she makes loads of money.  Oh, she got a nice fat scholarship to law school too.
1.  Harry Potter and the Deathy Hallows Part 2.  My ticket was $4.50.  Pottermore was such a letdown though.  Ms Rowling really disappointed us there.

I have two talents when it comes to car trips

and they are both equally useful.

1.  Getting motion sick.
2.  Sleeping in the backseat.

I went on a two day trek around Philly and the cute suburb Manayunk (Yes.  Man-uh-yunk.) with the other  members of Mouse House and was able to utilize both of my car skills.

Meet Andi:  She's the dad of our house.  She drives the car, organizes the fun-tivities, and makes sure we remember the tastiest snacks.
And Steph:  She's the mama of the house.  She navigates the car, keeps Dad awake while he drives, and remembers to do things like empty the dishwasher.
Also Kate:  She's the seeeeeester.  She's forced to sit in the backseat and tries to ignore her younger brother whilst reading books about medieval times.  She is also best at girl things like lipstick and accessorizing pretty outfits.
Finally, Ash:  She's the little brother.  She sits in the backseat and pulls on her face while Kate reads, eats so many snacks she feels queasy, and then spends the rest of her time in the car alternating between willing the contents of her stomach to stay put and sleeping against the window.

There was another memorable incident where I drove to Nashville with two of my friends our junior year of college.  We had exactly eight hours to do an eight hour drive, meaning no "extra" stops for things like feeding me or peeing.  Shan threw a tray of six cinnamon buns in the backseat and I ate all of them.  Actually, what I would do is eat one, scream along to the radio while kicking my legs in the air and undulating the rest of my body like something from an exorcism for twenty minutes, and then fall asleep for an hour or so.  Wake up to eat another giant cinnamon bun, aaaand repeat.  Six times.

We went to Philly to see
Florence + the Machine

Car < Plane < Train < Trains with Beds.  Bacon's Theory of Travel

The Last Four Days

You would think this post would be boring.  It isn't.  Doesn't even include errrythang.

WEDNESDAY:
-woke up at 5:30, remembered why I am crazy in love with mornings
-ran a mile and a half in flip flops to catch a bus to NYC
-saw Carey Mulligan in Through a Glass Darkly and was filled to the brim with admiration for that woman's skill set and renewed desire to act
-Megabus broke down 30 mins outside of NYC and Kate and I ended up playing games and acting like morons for the seven hour stretch on a bus.
-Rewarded our exemplary behavior with T-Bell

THURSDAY:
-woke up early again, went running for the first time in ages
-went to the dermatologist because it turns out I am severely allergic to my new moisturizer and my face looked like I had been attacked by a wild animal
-had two iced coffees and ran around like a hyperactive four year old
-sprained my ankle during a fight call (30 mins prior to the show)
-did a show
-went out with Kate and our friend/coworker Will and heckled talentless karaoke singers
-gave the dreamy bartender my number (he asked) and texted Sean/Shawn for a bit
-watched my ankle swell up to the size of a house pet and was rendered one-legged in a deluge

FRIDAY:
-read the second Huger Games book (no idea what it's called) because I was horizontal for the majority of the day in the hope of regaining the ability to walk
-had to have my dad bring me a sandwich because I was out of food.  As close to literally as a human being can get.  I had two pudding cups, a third of a jar of salsa, and a Snickers bar.
-went to the doctor to have him project fractured foot (whoops)
-was spoken to so rudely on the phone by the radiology receptionist that I hung up on her and vowed to never darken the radiology doors
-miraculously regained the ability to walk
-did a show
-went out and danced until 3 with an ankle brace on

SATURDAY:
-sat on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial until 4; mulled "The Conspirator"
-went home at 6AM and slept til noon
-was delighted by my continued ability to walk
-read the third Hunger Games and decided the only decent book was the first
-went to a barbecue with a large portion of my family members
-closed a show attended by a large portion of my family members
-ate fro-yo with Shan and Ev
-killed the battery in my parents car

SUNDAY/MONDAY:
-screamed and leapt a lot whilst learning to how jump an automobile with Shan and Ev
-Dad's Day :)
-PHILLY TRIP!!!!!
-FLORENCE + THE MACHINE
-CHEESESTEAKS

The BEST Worst Bus Ride in the History of Mankind EVER WOW

Hyperbole.

Nonetheless.

I use public transit on a daily basis, generally to cart my ever-expanding butt down to gentrified South Arlington for rehearsals/performances of a play.  The premise of said play is a surf-obsessed teenager with multiple personality disorder (yours truly) reeking havoc on Malibu Beach in the 1960's.  It's dreadful, but fun.  More on that later.  However, it's about a 30 minute bus ride and the most eventful trips have simply been ones where my iPhone doesn't have enough juice to fuel 30 minutes of the Lady Gaga Pandora station.

Until Saturday.

About five minutes after crossing over Route 50 (meaning, we are in SOUTH Arlington, now y'all!!) the man behind me starts howling.  I do, in fact, mean howling.  Like a wolf.  At the moon.  At an alarming volume.  He proceeds to do this for a full block.  Just as the rest of the bus begins to grow uneasy and the driver looks warily into the rearview, Lupin stifles himself and goes back to sitting placidly, staring out the window.  Strike one.

Until he "spies" his friend, Clyde.  The siting of his friend out the bus window inspires homeboy to leap to his feet and bellow out the window to him.  Naturally, as Clyde may or may not know the whereabouts of his keys.  "CLYDE!!!!  CLYYYYYYDE!!!!!!!!  CLYYYYYYYYYYDDEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!  YOU GOT MY KEYS?!?!   NAWWWW CLYDEE WHERE MY KEYS AT?!??!"    I turn to see why on EARTH this psychotic wolf man thinks he can bellow through the closed window of a moving vehicle and note that there are no pedestrians to be found anywhere along the street.  Strike two.

About two minutes later I realize there is a faint smell coming from behind me, and I have a headache.   It takes me a second or two to realize that the smell is weed.  Because Coyote Crazy has lit a joint on a public bus.  The bus driver realizes what's going on approximately three seconds after I do, immediately pulls the bus over and shouts, "NIGGA YOU BETTA PUT THAT SHIT OUT ON MY BUS".  The only Caucasian, and one of three women on the bus, I cannot control my laughter at this point.  This fact is only increased when Nutters McGee keeps calling the bus driver "Champ" like he's on his nephew's t-ball team.

Finally, he gets off the bus at a house that I insist to all my friends is "The Wire" House; a complete shithole in the middle of a freshly re-built, yuppified area with a giant ghetto van with two element-exposed teddy bears perched atop the back.  Because the bears are blatantly stuffed full of crack or nanny cams, duh.  As he leaves, he accidentally brushes the man in front of me with his elbow and as he slurs "Sorry, Champ, sorry," the other man leaps to his feet, snatches Crazy Man's elbow and hisses in his face "You better not touch me, fool, or I'll stab yo' ass.  I got a blade.".  Crazy babbles incoherently as he backs off the bus.  The rest of the bus sits in absolute silence and watches as Stabby Joe moseys to the front of the bus and assures the exhausted driver, that he "woulda stabbed that stupid mothafucka, but you can't be doin' that in fronta woman and children".

He gets off at the next stop.

This ride sooo beats the time a handicapped man sang a Salt-N-Peppa refrain for ten straight minutes only pausing to inhale.