Something Awesome

Postsecret just turned me onto this website 1,000 Awesome Things.

So far, I've only gotten through four of them, but I'm hooked. It's a great website to look at right around Thanksgiving, isn't it?

My fave so far: When your nose is dripping and someone hands you a tissue.

Well, I'd say I'm inspired.

Here are five things that I think are hella awesome. Let's see if they're on the list of 1,000 somewhere.

5. The moment when everything suddenly calms down. I'm thinking specifically of when I got off the train from Paris to Lisieux last year. Everything was so stressful, and then stepping onto the platform was like an instant calm. But this happens all the time! When you check off the last in a loooong series of To-Does at work, when you put the last dish on the drying rack or dishwasher, when the giant tidal wave hits the arc you made for 1 million citizens and everyone survives...you name it!

4. Finding a sweet bit of nostalgia. You know the kind, the one you had almost forgotten, then it comes into your mind but no one knows what the hell it is, and you can't explain it very well anyway, so you begin to think maybe you created it too, but then one day it up and slaps you in the face. That one. For me, it's finding Garfield's Halloween Adventure or Dr. Quandary's Island. I'm still looking for episodes of Baywatch that featured scary things like vampires and ghosts.

3. Families we make for ourselves.

2. Falling in love, and having that person love you the same way.

1. My all-time favorite feeling in the world: When you wake up and look at the alarm clock and realize you still have one hour to sleep. I actually used to beg someone I knew who worked overnights to call me at like 4am so I could wake up and then go back to sleep!

I was going to criticize 1,000 Awesome Things for being a bit overblown with the writing, but I'm realizing now that that's just a side effect of raving about things that make you feel good!

too tired for a real post

the chain letter said this comes from National Geographic's Best Photos of the Year, but the link I found has a whole different selection. Weird.

Happiness is

The time of year a coupla months after daylight savings time when suddeny it's light again at 7:30 in the morning. Guess sometimes a little darkness makes us glad to have light.

gottahava

Maureen made me all jealous when she talked about WaWa sammiches.

Sometimes, you get sad when you think about the comforts from home that you miss.

But then, sometimes you get happy because you realize they have Wiki articles.

What I wouldn't do for a Buffalo Blue samwich right now.

When you dream about your armpits

what does that say?

Last night, I had another dream in French. It was a short one, and a bizarre one. I dreamt that my armpit hair was grown in. A lot. And although I clearly hadn't shaved in a loooong time, I chose to wear a tanktop. As I was pointing something out to someone, this old old man noticed my little problem. So he screamed as loud as he could, while pointing at my underarms, "Tu es célibataire! Tu es célibataire!" (You're single! you're single!) I was embarassed and I looked down at the ground.

Well, I don't get embarassed much and I'm pretty candid on my blog. But this dream, for some reason, makes me feel like blushing. So, since I don't know what else to say, here's a funny deodorant ad:

Something I Noticed

Even though the words, language, and accent are totally different, people who answer their phone and talk in the library sound pretty much the same everywhere. Also, I'm pretty sure all high schools smell the same and market vendors are universally pushy. And also universally willing to bargain. I got two comfy-cozy sweaters for five euros today.

In other news, the hot water in my shower lasted for about a minute and three quarters today. I'm used to at least five minutes so I know how to hurry. But this minute and three quarters was exactly enough time to wash my face with my new disencrusting face wash and lather some shampoo into my hair. All the rest I had to do in the cold.

What I miss from home

Wawa.

My car. Because I love my car and also because having a car makes it much easier to transport groceries home.

People that say "Bless you" when you sneeze.

But luckily, I do not miss peanut butter anymore, because awesome Nathalie bought me some! The crunchy kind. And it's just as good as I wanted it to be. Thanks!

This made me laugh:

Something's in the water

because I've been having the weirdest dreams ever. From rock-climbing with Barack Obama and John McCain to singing karaoke in a ballgown to getting killed by an ex-Nino's employee, I've certainly had some crazy ones. But this one is definitely the strangest. So far. Don't read on if you want to know what actually happens in Ashley's head. You might get scared.

November 6, 2008

I was doing something at my house. Housework or something. And I leaned over to pick something up off my couch, and my eyeball fell out. Just rolled right out of the socket! It didn’t hurt or anything, I was just worried because I wanted it back inside. And I was worried it would get dirty, and I wanted it to stay sanitary, so I put it in my mouth. I meant to just keep it there till I found a better place for it, but I accidentally ate some of it. It tasted awful. It sort of looked like an egg, and the top layer had come off.

After calling many numbers in the phone book, I finally found someone who would do the surgery on my eyeball. She said she was very busy but if she could find someone to watch her children she would be able to do it. She told me to meet her at the beach. I went to this beach that looked like the one at Deauville with some friends. People were surfing there. I laid in the back of the pickup truck bed with someone who felt exactly like Tapan but he had lighter skin and red hair. But it was him. I laid my head on his chest and noticed that his body was a puzzle. I was putting in the last piece – the corner of his heart – but it wasn’t correct. Someone had clearly put the puzzle together wrong before and now I would have to take it all apart and start again.

Finally I saw the woman who was going to put my eye back in. She was sunbathing! I asked her if we should, you know, go to her office. She said it was a good idea, so we went there. Barack Obama was the door man. Once in her office, I told her that I didn’t have any insurance right now. She explained to me that I had two operations to choose from. I could choose either the brand new $15,000 state-of-the-art eye with 20/20 vision that would look just like my own eye, or I could choose the other model – the eye of a dead world war two soldier. The vision wouldn’t last long and it wouldn’t look like my other eye in the least. This model cost $150,000. I thought that it was obvious which eye to choose, but Barack Obama disagreed with me. He encouraged me to buy the WWII eye, saying that it would be a great privilege and honor to wear this eye. He was so enthusiastic about this eye. I explained that I had no insurance and couldn’t afford it. He told me it would be no problem, and I thought he meant he would pay. So I went ahead and got the surgery.

In the end, Barack Obama did not pay my bill. I was left with a $150,000 bill and waning vision in a decrepit dead man’s eye.

Laundry Fail, The Second

I did laundry again. I went to the same Lavomatique and when I walked in, I heard a beeping noise. One of the machines was beeping, and the screen read “Porte” = door. I thought that was strange, because usually the doors are left open and it’s no problem. But I felt in a helping mood, so I closed the door. And then the cycle started. Nooooo! That was my laundry karma! So for the next 40 minutes, I watched my karma swoosh around – water in an otherwise empty washing machine.

Oh, Ashley...Overseas!

I was walking back into my studio from the toilet in the hallway this morning, and I walked full force into my bathroom door. My ear took most of the hit. It's really sore now, and there is dried emerald green stuff on my second earring. Hmm. Can you break your ear?

Just thought I'd Share

One of the teachers warned me that lunches on Wednesday are not really that good. Still, school lunch is only 2Euro, so I figured I’d stick around. The main dish was something I’d never seen before. It was a big plate of mashed potatoes. And thrown inside the mess of potatoes were: a hot dog, an extremely fatty piece of a bacon-like meat, and an over-easy egg. I ate the potatoes.

Here's to Lookin Out

failblog

WANT

ilikethese

This is why I love Preston and Steve

I suggest if you want to laugh, you go to Preston and Steve's site and search for "poop goes in the potty."

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.

How to remove a tick safely

when i was young (7-9ish), my mother made fun of me a lot for being overweight. and though we didn't live in the woods, and i didn't do much outdoors, there were many instances that i found ticks on my body. ma doesn't know this (and she's computer illiterate so will probably never find out), but whenever i found a tick on my stomach, thigh or any other body part that wasn't typically visible, i would be much too ashamed of my fat to show her and ask for help removing the parasite. i would sit in the bathroom and try to remember how she removed ticks back when i would let her see my skin. i knew she used tweezers, but i couldn't just go get the tweezers and return to the bathroom - she would know something was up. so i would pull the tick as slowly as possible away from my flesh. and every single time, the body would detach from the head, and i would be left with a tick head embedded inside. and then i would remember. vaseline! she always used vaseline to smother the tick out. so i would open the medicine cabinet and slather vaseline all over whatever area was puffing up and reddening. of course it was too late - with no body, the head could never escape the petroleum jelly.

and this happened more than once. i'd say i've probably had 8-10 tick heads float around my body in the course of my life. and i'm sure (i truly hope) that my body has killed them all.

but today i found this tidbit of information and thought i would share it, in case there's any 6-9 year old reading this who is wondering how to go about removing a tick properly without ever having to show flesh to parent:

"To remove a tick, apply a glob of liquid soap to a cotton ball. Cover the tick with the soap-soaked cotton ball for a few seconds (15-20), after which the tick will come out on its own and be stuck to the cotton ball when you lift it away."

Or better yet, just get over your ridiclous fears of your mother's judgement. She's going to badger you about weight whether you show her your bare stomach or not, so grow a pair. Or get lyme disease.

because everyone's a little emo sometimes

i opened at Talk of the Walk in the aeropeurto on saturday morning. for anyone who didn't hear me complaining about it already, that means my shift started at 5 am. Not fun. no one even entered the store until 6, and even after that only one person would amble in every half hour, casually browse some overpriced merch, and then leave, sometimes without a salutation.

so i'm sitting in the chair reading Divisadero when an older man comes into the store. i say hello, half-expecting him to ignore me, but he asks me what i'm reading.

diversion: in my personal experience, i have found that there are two types of old men that will talk to a young woman:

1. the loathsome i-know-i'm-older-but-would-you-please-entertain-my-fantasies-and-not-smack-me-when-i-make-a-comment-about-your-breasts-or-ass

2. the grandfather.

(of course, another type of old man is the agist grump, but he doesn't make the list because he won't likely talk to a young woman in the first place.)

digressions aside, the man who asked me what i was reading was definitely the grandfather type. i told him what i was reading, which led us into a discussion about college, which inevitably led the conversation to my future. i told him about France and he was genuinely impressed (which is nice because my maternal grandfather is not the grandfatherly type of old man but the agist grump, and therefore not interested in talking, or congratulating me, about France).

this old man was so nice that when he felt it was time to leave the store, i shook his hand and told him it was my pleasure to meet him. and just so you know, that is a big deal. i work in an airport. i don't shake many hands.

after a few more minutes of reading Ondaatje, the old man re-entered the store to buy gum. when i stood to ring his sale, i noticed that he noticed my shape. it wasn't a creepy ogling, though. more of an acknowledgement of a pretty girl lifting her curves from the chair she was sitting in.

he said, "so you're gonna break your boyfriend's heart when you go to France, aren't you."

i was so flattered i could have cried. instead, i said, "oh, sir. i wish i could say i had someone's heart to break." when he didn't seem to believe i was single, i added, "it seems no one wants to date someone who is leaving in five months."

and here is where i get emo.

i've entered this new phase in my life where i say what i want to say. i've held feelings inside most of my life, and just a few months ago, i decided i wouldn't do that anymore. since then, i've told a few people exactly how i feel about them, and it hasn't changed a damn thing. there is still clearly something about me that halts the men in my life from coming after me, even when i make it clear how i feel. is it France? is it weight? is it intelligence?

i don't know. what i do know is that i have rolled my heart out red-carpet style before the men in my life, and they have all remained indifferent. sometimes i wish that someone would trample it, tell me why i'm not worth love. at least there would be action involved in that.

because everytime someone ignores what i've said, it gets harder to say it next time. and i know that eventually i'm going to shut down.

end emo rant.

Sometimes happy to not be in college anymore

No more presentations like this.

Read more hilarity.

i wanted to show everyone this

postsecret from the mother's day collection, but i can't save the picture of it because whenever i run the mouse over, it changes to this image (i assume the flipside of the card):



the side of the card that made me cry, though, reads "my mom found this secret and confronted me. A year later, I can say:" and then there is red marker scrawled over the original postsecret that says "NOT ANYMORE."

The original postcard said, "I wish I could just kill myself and no one would be hurt."

At the very bottom, the author wrote, "(Thanks mom, for saving my life)"

I never doubted my gratitude for postsecret, but some stand out more than others.

This weekend

I was in Philadelphia. I was bored and being me, so I decided to start rapping "Ice Ice Baby" to Jason because it was in my head. And I saw a man. He was very tall, very muscled, very tattoed, and he looked like he may have spent some time in prison. My first instinct was to distance myself a little but then I saw the shirt he was wearing:



Then I wanted to hug him.