France, faire attention - je viens!

I bought my plane ticket yesterday.

YAAAAAAAAA!!

OK, now that I got that out, let's be honest. I am excited. This teach-abroad-for-seven-months contract is incredible. It's going to be an eye-opening, life-changing experience. As Emily reminds me, I am fulfilling my civic duty by experiencing a new culture and sharing my culture and language with people who want to learn them.

Now is it OK for me to want to shit my pants?

Kudos to Curvature

I just read the entirety of The Curvature's Day of Blogging, and it was phenomenal. In the span of 39 blog entries (which were written to raise money for RAINN - the nation's largest anti-sexual assault organization) I gained a ton of knowledge, and a whole lot of respect for Cara as well. She is a fantastic blogger who sheds light on serious feminist issues that I have realized do need to be addressed a hell of a lot more often.

She led me to some Lines that Rock by Julie Buffaloe-Yoder.

My favorite post highlighted a new series of posters from the Date Safe Project that challenge "consent" as it is commonly understood. I am really loving them. Here's my favorite one:



I've kissed a lot of guys. Not horribly too many, but still a lot. And two kisses stand out in my mind. The hands-down best kiss ever happened after I asked him if I could touch his lips with mine. The runner up happened after he asked "May I kiss you?"

Though I've never asked (or been asked) consent for anything more major than that, I'm going to start.

These posters rock.

Emo-nely

Every year my Aunt Cathy rents a house on the boardwalk in Ocean City for a week. And my cousin always comes down for the week with a bunch of her friends and I visit them a couple times. And inevitably, once during this week they get an Old Time Photo. You know, those cheesy photos where you can dress in some period garb, sit on a piano or a bar while a sixteen-year-old fixes your hat and boa, and then have your photo developed in sepia and placed in a paper frame. All for just ten dollars a person. Each photo. So that means that for five people to be in a photo (and for each person to get a photo) it would cost about $110 dollars. And since I could never afford a beach house in Ocean City (nor could my 'rents), I always sit out and play the chaperone.

So there I was last night, holding my cousin's handbag as she, her boyfriend, and two of her bests posed for a few shots. I'm feeling lame and lonely, mostly because all the other years I came to visit them at the beach house I had someone with me. For a lot of years it was Edwin, and though I don't miss him, I do miss the satisfaction of having someone to walk with who is closer than a friend.

So I walked across the boardwalk to sit on a bench facing the ocean. Figured there's no use in watching their group and being envious. Because (hate me for it all you want) I do want to be in one of these photos. I want to come out of that shady back room in a bright pink dress and have a photographer arrange me and make a dumb expression for the camera. But I can't justify doing it because I am spiteful as shit. And it's a ripoff.

A moment after I sit down, a boy who is no taller than my knee sits on the opposite side of the bench. He is licking an ice cream cone that is as big as his face. Then (presumably) his parents roll up to the bench with their stroller, and out comes a toddler girl with a head of hair my neice would be totally jealous of. And they are a perfect, beautiful family and they should take an Old Time Photo together.

I smile politely and walk over to the next available bench After a couple minutes there, another family stops behind me to collect itself. They also have ice cream, but this boy has dripped it all over himself and must be wiped clean by napkin. I always had to order ice cream in a cup so I wouldn't stain my clothes.

They leave and I'm still waiting for my group to finish their photo. I don't have my book with me (damn). I'm thinking about France when a college girl comes up to me and asks if I'd like to participate in a survey. Sure. Usually, the religious survey-giving types get really mad at me when I admit that I don't subscribe to any religion and they try to convert me. But this girl was awesome. We had a really great conversation. She picked my brain a bit about the stuff she didn't agree with me on, but it seemed to be out of genuine curiosity instead of from a desire to challenge. And I really respect her for that.

By the time the group was done with the photo, I was feeling pretty good again. I'd verbalized some things I'd often thought but never said. Talking religion with people whom I don't know well usually scares the shit out of me, but this was a tolerable experience. And now I just want to audit a religion course.

One more night in the beach house. Whoo.

Thank You Chris Moore

for introducing Christian the Lion into my life.

i lost my camera cord

i have so much to blog about. france. nummy island. foot-eating sandals. hair. snuff. and they all require photos. so what i must do is find that usb cord. oh, ashley.

On Mondays

Sometimes your life feels like this:

I feel it all I feel it all

I watched Where the Heart Is last night. It's been a favorite of mine since the first time I saw it in 2000 and had to immediately buy the book because I loved it so much. And as I was rewatching it last night, I learned something about myself.

I'm anti-pretentious. I am un-elitist. I am completely fine with that.

I enjoy media that is designed for the masses. Indeed I prefer it over media that is produced for the elitist crowd. Sure, I can enjoy indie music when my roommates listen to it at home, but when I am alone in my car I would much rather spin a CD that will make me dance or sing. Though I love The Books and Broken Social Scene, I would rather rock out to Danity Kane or Maroon 5 anyday.

I've been thinking about how I felt while I was watching Where the Heart is last night. I cried with Novalee when Americus was stolen and with Lexi when her boyfriend abused her and her children. I clutched my pillow when the tornado swept away Americus' bear and Sister Husband (and almost took Americus and Novalee too). I actually laughed out loud when Novalee told the baseball team to untuck their shirts. And when Novalee and Forney embraced at the end of the movie, I felt the way I imagine it would feel to be swept off my feet. All of this emotion in a two-hour movie seems excessive, I know, but I thrive on these types of feelings.

It's the reason I like gimmicky movies so much. When I laugh at a punchline in a movie, I feel a connection to all the other people who laughed at the same line. When the prey overcomes the hunter in a horror movie I feel a wave of satisfaction that I assume (at least some) other people feel when they watch it. This connection, this sense of fulfillment that I get from movies, TV, music, is something that I hope I never lose the ability to feel.

If I closed myself off to media that wasn't entirely intellectual, if I only let myself watch things that appeal to the most elite of viewers, I would lose a hell of a lot. I like feeling as connected to as many people as possible. Though it's fulfilling to have similar moments when watching an indie movie or listening to an incredibly talented, lesser-known vocalist, the group of people who can share these feelings with me is far smaller.

For a while I was embarassed about my love for trashy reality TV and B horror movies and Janet Evanovich, but why should I be? I can get down with Regina and The Science of Sleep and Aimee Bender too. I'm more cultured than any hipster (and by that I mean conforming non-conformist) could ever be.

And besides, I don't have enough money to be a hipster.

Office Nonsense

Every first Monday of the month, the mailman delivers a Levenger catalog to my boss. Every month, I look at the high-priced leather office goods and muse about what type of people actually pay money for them. These are usually passing thoughts that don't even merit discussion.

But in this month's catalog, the featured item is the Sea Lion Pen Stand:



bronze mini sea lion statue: 128 dollars
sleek fountain pen: 138 dollars
corporate douchedom: priceless

What would possess anyone to buy this bronze atrocity is beyond me. The description beneath the picture says, "It's individually handcrafted in the time-honored lost wax method for optimal detail and can hold any of our True Writer pens..."

Next step, what is a "True Writer" pen? Ask and you shall find a page on the Levenger website with a thorough history of the pen complete with a timeline of the changes it's gone through since 1999. And these richly historic pens are only 50 bucks a pop!

Grimace. Office people are crazy.

Ashley's Best Week Ever Part Two

Last week was so good that I'm still catching up. You thought nothing could beat Rushdie, right? Well-played. I thought so too, and then I went to Roller Derby!

I managed to get out of work early and head over to the Bunting-Huneke household, where the lovely ladies had arranged a fun-filled evening. It began with them taking me to my favorite restaurant ever - that's right. Taco Bell. And after some gordita wonder and much-needed venting, they whisked me away to my first roller derby ever.



Don't ask me why I expected a dark venue with sticky beer floors and metal music. Must have been some residual images from a movie or something. This place was, to my surprise, very family-friendly. We sat on the floor and watched the Sadistic Sweethearts triumph over the She Devils in a game that had it all - hot chicks on skates, penalties, a wipeout so ridiculous it took out a speaker system, and a cherry-on-top brawl in the last seconds. Definitely an awesome time.

An added bonus: during intermissions, I got to watch some Hell's Hooligans eye candy skate around the rink (let's face it - Chuck Grenades is completely crush-worthy).

And another added bonus: self esteem! I've never felt better about my body. The women who played in the game were all beautiful, and a lot of them were stocky. None of them seemed severely overweight; they just looked healthy. Like they had enough meat and muscle to be able to skate around the rink and straight brutalize other chicks. Those ladies made me feel really comfortable about my size. And they made me want to join roller derby and show everyone how bad-ass I am (OK that part is definitely all talk).

After the game we went to this local bar where the team would be meeting afterward, and had some beers and bar bites. True, I always have a great time with my lady friends, but I think that next time one of us should grow a pair and talk to the players. I came close to telling Sloppy Jo that she was awesome but she was stepping away from the bar and I missed my chance.

Once we left the bar (after a very awkward encounter with some stooge who made me feel bad about my breast size) we headed home and youtubed until we fell asleep. My new favorite video:



Best moment of the night, hands down: When Rachel introduced me to someone as her girlfriend's hetero life partner.