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.

Benjamin Button Status

I will never age.  I find this to be aggravatingly diminutive most of the time, but I'm pretty sure it'll pay off in the long run.

Two weeks ago I had a couple hours between shifts at my superdumbjob.  So I put on my sweatshirt, snatched up my stupid little backpack that was full of scripts and calendars and things, and decided to go to the library across the street.  As any responsible pedestrian would, I looked both ways, saw no cars speeding toward me, and despite the green light, stepped into the street.  I made it approximately one foot before I was jerked backwards by the hood of my sweatshirt.  I stumbled for my balance before furiously turning around to see who the fuck tried to kill me and I am met by a panicked soccer mom shrilly lecturing me on the dangers of jay walking.  "I know you're excited because you just got out of school, but you just can't cross the street when the light is green!"  I am so confused by the first part of her diatribe that I look around to see where her crack den could have possibly been located and realize that the streets are full of local middle school students that have just been released from classes.  I also observe that most of these kids are taller than me.
Fact:  Middle schoolers are between the ages of 11 and 14.

Thursday night my roommate Stephanie and I went to see Bridesmaids.  It was a really good day for us, we were going to have Coldstone (our true weakness), watch a movie we had been dying to see, and then go see David Guetta.  In preparation for the tiny clothes, make-up, and stilettos, we wore jeans and cardigans and glasses to the Bridesmaids/Fatty portion of our date.  And we got carded at the movies.  Who cards at the movies?!?!!?
Fact:  R-rated movies are for those of 17 years of age and older.

I will never be old!  I'm made of spirit and fire and dew (Browning quote, isn't it lovely?) and my only aspirations are to be fearless and fearsome to behold.  And happy, duh.

What I can hope to look like in a few years

I have to be in a bathing suit and it's so scary

that's really all I had to say.  OH AND it's for a paying audience, which makes me sound like....something else.  But I'm/it's not.  

Oh yeah!  I'm in a play!

It wouldn't be so bad, but in the script it says I'm "so skinny" and shit.  So.  Whoops.  I ate about a hundred pounds of ribs today.  At least I ignored the (majority of) the bread it came with.  Mostly because my torso was so crammed full of barbecue I thought I was going to vom all over the rest of the cast and if the world did in fact end, I was pretty sure I couldn't outrun the zombies if I ate anymore.

I'm going to write a blog post for real.  Maybe tomorrow.  Probably Monday.

I should really go back to sit ups and push ups anyway.  Goddamnit.

What I no longer look like.  Damn food!

Say Yes to this Mess

When I was two, my parents took me to McDonald's and ruined my adult life.

Visits to the golden arches were basically the only reason my two-year old self existed.  I remember sitting in the back seat of our Subaru begging my dad to pull over so that I could eat chicken nuggets and play at the Play Place.  I loved the ball pit with its faint stench of puke, care of sugar-high toddlers, and the gaudy plastic tunnels covered in a thin film of boogers and ketchup.  However, my parents were more concerned with providing their tiny midget of a daughter with nutrition, rather than the euphoria of the ball pit (remember how much it hurt to get pelted by one of those suckers?!) so McDonald's happened rarely. 

On one particular day, my dad had been worn down and brought the giant 90's video camera along to document my adorable consumption of fast food and play with whichever crappy plastic figurine that they dumped in the Happy Meal.  By the third nugget I'm literally shrieking with delight at my good fortune and my father turns the camera on.  

Dad: Hey Scooter, look at me!  

Tiny Ashley: DADDDDD NUGGET LOOK AHHH YUMMM!!!!   BARBIE!?!?!? 

*Incoherent gleeful babbling happens for a good five minutes before he goes in for the kill*

Dad:  You know what, we could have your wedding reception here.  Would you like that?  You could eat chicken nuggets at your wedding!!!

Small Moron:  YES!!!!!!!!!!  I CAN BE A PRINCESS AND A BRIDE!!!!! *runs around in a circle waving fries overhead*

Dad:  Look at me, Princess.  Do you promise to have your wedding here!?

Tiny Ashley:  YES!!  I CAN BE A PRINCESS AND A BRIDE AND EAT NUGGETS ALL DAY!!

Dad: Wait, say "Daddy, I promise to get married at McDonald's"

Tiny Ashley:  DADDYYYYYY I PROMISE TOooo get... get.....

Dad: married

Tiny Ashley: MARRIED!!!!  LIKE A PRINCESS!!!!

Dad:  ....at McDonald's

Tiny Ashley:  AT MCDONALDSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!  BARBIEEEEE!!!

Dad: JULIE IT'S ON CAMERA!  ASH IS HAVING HER WEDDING AT MCDONALDS!!!!!

Mom from off-camera:  Cool.  Baby, sit down, please, and eat your dinner.

Tiny Ashley:  MOMMMYYYY!  I'M GETTING MARRIED AT MCDONALDS!!!!!

Mom:  Yes you are.  Daddy's going to hold you to it, too.

So that will be the food.  Luckily, my dad cries while watching "Say Yes to the Dress" so we'll go to Kleinfeld so he can pick out my wedding gown.  He's convinced he's better than Randy.

Kelsey (L) and Ash at Kels' bachelorette party last Saturday

One of my good friends is getting married a week from Saturday.  She has impeccable taste so I'm really excited to dress up, gawk at her princess gown, and eat loads of delicious Italian food.  Plus she's so infectiously happy.

"What lies behind us, and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us. " -Emerson

The Worst

In the order that they came to me.

1.  Parents who let their children run around restaurants (or stores for that matter) like the employees are contractually obligated to watch them.  Good luck raising yourself, young wild animals, I ain't yo' mama!
2.  Gaucho pants.  May have gotten into a heated argument with the cast last week regarding this subject.  I'd say I won, but then I got some maliciously embarrassing blocking to pay for my lip.... but they still suck.
3.  BIRDS.  They are horrifying and swoopy and poop from the sky and vermin with wings.  More on this later.
4.  Being farted on.  Kate farted in my bed once.  It's my final weapon when we argue.
5.  Being treated like a child.  I am a grown ass woman, please do not call me "Sweetie" or "Honey" when you want me to fetch something for you.  I understand that my job makes me appear to be a de-humanized golden retriever, and my enormous blue eyes and unassuming expression makes me even more adorable, but trust me when I say that if it happens one more time I am going to hurl your dinner into your lap.  And I will not pay to dry clean your fugly and ill-fitting pants.
6.  Not being able to poop.  You know it's true.
7.  Woman books.  Books that are written by women for women who are alone and eat their feelings.  They generally involve a slovenly protagonist that somehow ropes a gorgeous and successful man into her train wreck of a life.  Also typical are drawn out sex-scenes, men that "say the right things" (which would actually be  horrendously awkward and hilarious if uttered aloud), one-dimensional characters, and a best friend that is even more pitiful than the bland leading lady herself.
8.  Running into people you never liked but at such close proximity that you feel obligated to ask them about their lives and pretend that you care more than you actually do.  Being personable to people you don't care about is so time-consuming, I wish it was socially acceptable to ignore people you don't wish to speak to and tell those that approach anyway that you don't have anything to say to them and are perfectly content with critically eyeing their hair style and clothing choices from a distance.  It's not bitchiness, it's laziness.
9.  Tip of the tongue phenomenon.
10.  BEING POOR!!!!!!!!!!!!

I had a really bad day at work.

Five Months Later...

Looks like I'm back.

I went to England in March, it was ballin'.  Three pictures are below:

This was the best day of my life.
Stanage Edge is my version of unadulterated bliss.  

We want to be Celtic warrior princesses.
She's wonderful and beautiful and I love her very very much.

This man's name is, in fact, Rich Quick.
He also thought I looked like Zooey Deschanel and
wanted a picture taken with me.  Unfortunately for Sir Quick,
we used my camera, and he thinks my real name is Rose.

 Extra picture because he's English and fly.