Reunion: Smurfette Edition

My dad was the Bearer of Great News. My car's delivery date would be tomorrow.

Everybody now...WOOHOOO!!!

So to finalize things, I had to get a Cashier's check for the rest of the amount, scope out a location (preferably close to work), and arrange to take my lunch break early.

The Cashier's check was the worst part as the girl working the printer went through 3 checks before 1 printed properly. It look longer for me to stand at the counter than I did in line. But I got back to work with 3 minutes to spare. Great. Enough time for a Butterfingers for lunch.

I've relayed to my dad (who's handling things with the driver) that there's a vacant Box Store nearby with a huge parking lot. One with the capabilities of letting a Big Rig navigate. Check.

And I'll use my lunch break tomorrow morning as my time frame to run, slow motion, through a field of daisies, into a sweet embrace with my dear, electric blue car. Aww....true love.

Who's excited? This girl right here. It'll literally be Christmas in July.

So tomorrow morning will be like trying to go to sleep on Christmas Eve. I'll be sitting on my phone waiting for that one call. So don't text me tomorrow, otherwise my heart will flitter. But now that I mentioned it, you people will totally text me tomorrow. Make my spirits rise. Then I'll see it's just from you. So I won't bother. Just kidding. But seriously. I'm excited!! Who's ready for Gymkana?!?!?!

Gender Differences

It's no surprise guys and dolls are 2 different slices in the cohabitating pie.

I'm asking wook last night what time he needs to be up to study for this big test this morning. He says 5am, just because he wants ample time to go over his notes and prepare. Okay, respectable.

When I tell him I'll be clocking in just 15 minutes later, he asked, "woman, why?"

Honestly, it takes me 2 hours to get ready in the morning. An hour and a half just doesn't work.

I wake up. Stumble down the stairs, groggily. Shove my face in the Cheerio trough. Check my email/blog (which I realize isn't everybody's focus, but a creative release in the morning does the body good). And hop in the shower, which could be 10+ minutes.

Then there's the hair to do. And luckily mine's on the shorter equation which still respects a good 15-20 minutes to do (including blowdrying). Then there's makeup, which again is only like 10 minutes. But sometimes you need a cool-down outside the bathroom cuz it can get toasty.

And then I have to play the game of, "what do wear this morning?" Not my favorite game, honestly. I'd rather have to wear a uniform sometimes like boarding school. But I can't. So I put together my best ensemble for the day and work it.

And you can't forget I have to pack a lunch. And snacks. I get hungry and I need to eat. Otherwise I can become a raging pain without food. That'll just teach you to not not feed me.

Then there's the sometimes game of, "Now where are my keys/phone?"

So that's my morning, in a blog(nut)shell. 2 hours spent prepping and lounging, because it's no fun to up and rush around in the morning like a chicken w/o a head.

Wook maintains it's all unnecessary. He can be out the door in 15 minutes. Most of that time is the daily shave. But he's a boy. Who wears a uniform everyday. He's exempt from this study.

I could be out the door in under an hour. But I'd be cranky, groggy, irritated, etc. I wouldn't eat. I wouldn't have a lunch. My clothes would be wrinkly. I'd lose my phone or keys without the mando-search. There'd still be laundry in the dryer. My blog would remain an e-wasteland (hint hint, Hay). Therefore I take time for myself to better my day. Besides, a cranky redhead is not a happy sight. Or reading.

Should I or Shouldn't I?

Well with the recent development of working on my feet, practically all day long, I've felt it direly (sp?) necessary to invest in shoes that won't terrorize and plague my heels or pinkie toes.

The latest on rotation have been my khaki Reports, my teal Clarks, a brown gladiator sandal (which totally was a Ross purchase for $12 for a college toga party, but for some reason they are really comfy so I still wear them), and champagne-esque Bandolino kitten heels (which haven't been worn since I worked a 12 hour day - let's just say my feet were screaming by the time I got to the Yeep). Sadly my 3-inch Nine Wests (bought for a stellar $30 at Ross) don't make the cut.

So that's 4 shoes for a 5 day work week, depending on what I wear.

During the "Michael Jackson is Dead??!?!" shopping experience, I stumbled across these guys (the red was the best color). Yes, they look nursing home-ish. But, they're comfy. And they're a stomach-able price of $40. A good $10 under my standard $50 price tag for comfort.

Now here's the debate (which is sad that I have to take it to my blog, but whatever).

I found these brown guys at Dillard's tonight while out looking for more work clothes (which was psuedo-successful at NY&Co - a couple capris, and an "OOOOO" orange lightweight scarf). They're Borns. With a Born pricetag. Not as elderly as the red ones. Cuter in the brown than the black. Unbelievably comfortable. As my dad said, "like clouds on your feet." He's not joking. The catch: that price tag. $70. A full $20 over my comfort zone.

So the debate. And where I'm leaning. The Borns are divine. Already broken in by someone with a fatty foot so they're stretched out in the heel ready for an 8- to 9- to 10-hour workday. But they are a bit more than I wanted to spend. But this would be the go-to shoe for when I'm working till 8 and 9pm, constantly on my feet, movin' and shakin'.

The reds are cute. And under my price tag. But they're definitely nothing more than a wear-with-pants shoe. No skirt could ever be pulled off with this unless it's white and you're passing out pills to the crazies. But they're red. And red's fun. Spunky. And they're only $40.

I'll be sleeping on this decision. Ultimately I could keep the red or return the red. Maybe I'll have a self-fashion show tomorrow evening while I prance around in both shoes determining which one gets the Project Runway "Auf Weidersehen." But input (which lately I've been typing "imput") is appreciated and will be considered in the thoughtful weighing process.

Here's to wishing my self luck: GOOD LUCK SELF!!

Soapbox Stand

In response to the cries of resisting the Pet Store, never fail...I am not a Pet Store Purchaser.

Unless they're feeder fish for the turtles at $0.13 a pop. Then it's okay. :)

I've already done elaborate initial research into Bulldog Rescue Groups and Shelters. I just didn't know whether or not a soapbox stand was an appropriate venture when I was merely stating that it was awesome for wook and I to agree upon the breed of a future family member.

And let's put on the record that PetFinder.com (where lots of the rescued varities are posted for online perusal) had an adequate supply of dogs/cats for wook and I to oogle over. Bulldogs included.

There's even one Rescue Group in New Jersey that only works with English Bulldogs. I know, it's far, but I would drive 7 hours for an awesome dog that was in desperate need of love from a gangly redhead and lumbering ogre. Plus I would fill up my gas tank, by saying, "Fill 'er up! Regular." (Yes, Jersey is the other awesome state that pumps your gas for you. Love it!).

I do love the outpouring from anti-pet store peoples though. I told wook going in there that most people fall in love with the puppy without realizing that they're puppy mill products.

But at least it clarified to us that we do love the same kind of dog. And wook's more than willing to open his wallet (as well as myself) to a price that's a mere fraction of a pet store find. The most I saw was $500 for a rescued Bulldog. A drop in the bucket for the little guy (or lady) who needs a great home more than a raping price tag.

And for future reference, just know that it'll have an awesome name like Claud.

The Verdict Is In

Wook and I wandering into a pet store and realized our love for the same breed.

The always adorable English Bulldog. Short, tank-like, lazy as the best of us.

Unanimous decision. Unfaltered optimism. One awesome dog. Or two. :)

Meow or Not to Meow?

I've been giving the cat issue a lot of thought lately since I've rejoined the work force.

Do I have the time now to devote to a meow-er?

This morning is the perfect example. I'm hanging out downstairs, playing online, blogging, Facebook-ing, and miss the entertainment a gato brings to the equation.

But then I think about the long hours that can be had at my job. Not like brain surgery long hours, because those are scheduled. I'm talking the unannounced extra hours I might have.

Would the little thing feel neglected if I weren't around to cuddle with him?

I'm not about to become a Stay At Home Cat Owner just because the thing might have separation anxiety. I would like a Californian temperament. You know what I'm talking about. Okay, well maybe not, but I'll explain. Just think washed-up surfer..."Woah, dude, hey, what's up? Wanna play? Okay, that's cool, I'll just lick my butt. Just lemme know when food is, alright? And if you wanna scratch my tummy." (Get it?) An independent creature who also loves his cuddle time.

And can I handle a kitten?

A kitten is not my first choice. I'd prefer something out of the kitten phase. Something micro-chipped, fixed, UTD on shots, the whole gammit. But after doing research for the area on all the rescue groups, shelters, and humane societies, they all require proof of a pet deposit.

So I'm thinking I'll either come across a litter in a box outside a grocery store, or someone will know someone with a found abandoned litter, or something like that - a connection made, the stars align, something that points out to me that 'yes, you were meant to be a pet owner.'

Let's see if things progress.

Order For Ashley!

Good news, people. A fire has been lit and established progress.

As you know, or at least have read, a week and a half ago the triggered was pulled on shipping my car across the world (okay, country) for its use in transporting myself from A to B. And you know that the initial company we intended to use was dragging its ass in making stuff happen.

So Mr. Angry Elf (my dad) told Company A that if the car isn't moving by Thursday, we're pulling our order and going with Company B (and for note, not just a smoke screen - he really did work out another order with a secondary company). So what was picked up yesterday?

MY CAR!! Around 7pm PST.

I found out around lunchtime, my time, that a trucker was en route, picking up a car in Quines Creek (small super podunk town on the way south in Oregon) with the next stop of Medford.

And for some reason I got really nervous. I never have a problem in initializing plans. It's when plans start coming together that I get really nervous. Weird, right? And it happened when I planned on moving back East for a smidge. Buying the ticket wasn't nerve-wracking, but 3 days before I jet-setted I got cold feet. Apparently I really don't like change. And my body agrees.

So the ETA of the car is next week. This trucker lives in Maryland is on a straight shot home for the 4th of July. No funny business. So it could be the 1st, the 2nd, or the 3rd. I'll take the first 2 dates seeing as we have firm plans for that weekend. But if it has to be the 3rd, then we'll make it happen. I don't mind back-up plans as long as I've thought them out well in advance.

I'm glad my dad doesn't have to move the car, which would have been more torture than fun. Even though we would have gladly packed my trunk full of NW awesomeness. But we would have only had him for one evening, before he jumped a flight back for the Family Reunion (which I'm missing - boo!). But plans still stand for the whole family coming out for a week or so for the gammat of wook's Winging (whenever that'll actually take place) and wook and I can play Tour Guide Barbie and GI Joe together (Barbie and Ken divorced, GI Joe's her new squeeze).

Man, it's like waiting for the ultimate Christmas. My car brought by "Santa."

Where Was I?

...when I heard about the Twin Towers of 9/11?

Getting ready for Early Bird Weight Lifting. My mom screamed at me to "come here." I was blow-drying my hair in the upstairs bathroom (for those who know my parents' house). Didn't think anything of it. Then those Towers collapsed. Still didn't realize what had happened.

I was 18, who actually thinks existentially at that point in life.

*******************************************************

...when I heard Michael Jackson had died?

Shoe shopping. Wook called me. I yelled "Shut up!" Couldn't believe it. Meanwhile thinking, I think I like the red better than the white. And I'll post more on that later.

So I'm 24, okay 25, okay on the downhill to 26, but it's not like I knew the guy.

The Curse of the Black Dress

Everywhere I turn, black dress. Black dress here, black dress there.

I go from owning more black dresses than funerals I've been to, to disowning the black dress movement, freeing them to consignment shops in preparation for my relocation to Virginia, then hitting the stores here on the EC and ONLY FINDING BLACK DRESSES. Seriously?

Ugh...

"What's so wrong with black dresses?"

Absolutely nothing. But it's like getting fed up with cafeteria food. It's time for change.

I'm envisioning something of a jewel tone, maybe a modern take on the 50's style.

Oh ya, let's stay in an Ashley-comfortable price range.

There was this cute little blue Calvin Klein number, with a $128.00 pricetag.

Ouch. Not on this budget. Not for this event. Navy Ball, one thing. Normal life, a whole 'nother enchilada, or burrito, or Italian masseuse (wish list, people).

Maybe I'll have success in hitting up the other malls in the area (although they do include a drive of 8-10 miles - which doesn't sound like a lot, but wook lives Downtown...so we're spoiled by being able to walk practically everywhere necessary). Maybe TJ's or Kohl's or Macy's.

And for the fans of NY&Co and Express...they too suffered from the Curse.

The Familial Pitter Patter in Details

Thank you Hayley for supplying the information on how the bomb was dropped.

So, story time.

Apparently they're out to dinner and Brother and Babs present a gift to my dad. It's Father's Day, nothing too out of the ordinary. So no one is suspecting anything.

My dad pulls out a knife, a gift from each Church member to their fathers. Okay.

Meanwhile, my mom is apparently screwing around with something in her lap not paying attention. Way to care about dad's Day, right? Yes, yes.

Anyways,...then my dad pulls out a black Beaver onesie, with an angry Beaver on the front...and looks at Amber...then back at the onesie...then back at Amber. Thankfully the Sheriff is a smart man and quickly drew the appropriate reaction.

Hayley says things don't really click in her mind until after my mom looks up until after the complete silence of the table draws her out of playing with whatever's in her lap. Maybe she was praying (which is code word for texting during dinner, because the phone is below the table line and the glow from the phone makes you look of divinity).

My...mom...freaks...out..."Are you...??? Amber...Are YOU?" She jumps up, runs around the table, starts bawling...I can picture it now, because I know my mother that well, and she's been waiting for this day.

The verdict: 7 weeks of 40.

And an update for the troops: After my mom declared her firm stance on, "You're not going to find out, right?" (after all, she didn't gender any of us offspring herself)...apparently they are going to find out. Yes! That way we know whether or not the family name will stop or not. Well, at least, this'll decide whether a second is necessary, not just wanted or happens.

The Pitter Patter of Orange and Black

More like Happy Grandfather's Day. Apparently I missed the surprise announcement to my family over dinner that Brother and Babs (his wife) are prego-eggo.

Obviously they're starting out on the right foot, okay, well technically tummy time, but eventually they'll get to the scooting, crawling, falling, and eventually running in Beaver gear.

That definitely woke me up this morning after checking my email and Facebook.

So until February 10th, it's a guessing game. They're "Not Find-er Out-ers."

Thankfully Orange and Black is gender neutral.

Proposed Road Trip

With my entering the Virginia work force, there comes a need for my own mode of transportation. In other words, I need my car. And I won't be able to go back for it.

So instead, we've filled out the paperwork to throw the sexy Smurfette on a big rig.

We did that Monday. It still is sitting in Medford. As of today (Sunday).

The average time it takes for a vehicle to get on the move is 3 to 5 days (not counting the 6-9 days of transported to be alloted). Now you can sense my impatience. I want my car, I want it now. I'm like Sig Hansen on the Northwestern, slamming my fist on the desk because people aren't working like they're supposed to. Let's move it.

So if the car isn't picked up by Friday, this is our plan. Medford to Norfolk in 4 days.

The driver: The Sheriff (my dad), and lots of Starbucks

The stops: SLC, Hays (Kansas), Louisville (KY), and Norfolk

The hidden property: Bridgeview Merlot (local wine for $6/bottle), Jabberwocky (a local dark beer), Moose Drool, anything New Belgium, Beaver gear, and yoga gear all in the trunk.

Hopefully it doesn't have to come to this. My dad, stuck in my car, for 4 straight days, driving 800 miles a day, eating Taco Bell and Burger King for breakfast/lunch/dinner is dedication, but I'd prefer dedication to a different cause. Like Orange and Black. Beaver Nation, people.

For the past week, wook's been a Saint in letting me borrow his car to get to work. But I'd like my own car, please. The one I pay each month to park at my parents' house. One with better gas mileage. A sexier color. A manual transmission. My awesome collection of out-dated CDs. And super comfy seats.

This is the only downside to actually finding a job across the country. And now it's time to implement the "No, seriously, why hasn't my car been picked up yet?" plan. And my dad's already checked into moving the car to a larger city like Portland or Sacremento. No dice. It won't help our cause at all. Well that's good to know. My dad will spare the calories of In N Out or McMenamin's for another time. Next week.

Half My Gene Pool, One Great Man

Even though I'm currently 3,000 miles away from my dear ol' Dad, there's not a day where I don't reference him and his "stern" disciplining ways, or the way that he negotiates deals out with my sisters when they do stupid stuff, or how he'll rub in the fact that he went to In N Out, or Woodstock's, or McMenamin's the other day (with photographic proof, none-the-less).

That man's done alot. He joined the Nutcracker cast with me when I danced in it (he was Fritz and Clara's father - and awesome!). We made that last ditch effort to In N Out before I jumped 3 time zones. He stalks every flight, making sure I arrive on time and can find my way to my next gate (or a bar if I'm delayed). He's come get me when I ran out of gas in Medford as a Sophomore (hehe, woops). And then again as a Junior (to defend myself, the vehicle I drove didn't have a gas gauge). He's made French Toast Sunday for as long as I can remember.

I even ran Hood 2 Coast with him one summer. Haha, bad choice. While it was a fun bonding experience. My feet definitely didn't like that punishment. Next time, less miles.

But on that note, we'll definitely run a Half when you (Dad) get your knee fixed.

He's a good man. My sisters and I are lucky that we have a dad who will tailgate Beaver games with style (i.e. he'll let you take a few jello shots before you're rightfully 21). He'll reward the family each new season with new Beaver gear. He'll disapprove when grades are a little lackluster, but if you bring him to a Halloween party during Dad's Weekend he'll laugh so hard at the Mormon costumes (I swear, I thought he was going to burst a blood vessel).

And my dad is even up on the techno-times. He is a regular texter, which is great for when we're (the sisters and I) too busy or preoccupied with having a phone conversation, yet we can still yack at him about the Gay Parade in town (no, really, last night, gay dudes, in tight biker wear. And like 50. It was hysterical. Then he threw in a reference about a Man Date. I lost it.)

My dad even reads my blog. How awesome is that. Hi Dad!

And so I present a Tribute to the Sheriff. The bearer of half the gene pool (the good - the height, the bad - the eyeballs are so big, the ugly - I flail when I walk. Watch out!!)

Have a beverage, Dad. You're looking dehydrated. Mmmmm, mimosas.

Dad, no really, you look thirsty.

People are agreeing with me.

Look at that face, you need a beverage.

Come on, just one. Maybe two. It'll make your day better. I promise. Trust me. :)

Happy Father's Day, Dad. I love you and miss you. I'll call you later today. Enjoy your Mellelo's (coffee), sitting on the couch, in your grey sweats and blue sweatshirt, and ball cap, reading the paper and yelling at CrackHead (my mom's cat).

Where Have I Been?

Goodness, I don't remember...but the poor blog has certainly been quiet. I'm sorry.

So let's see.

What kind of excitement has happened in the great land of Norfolk.

1.) I saw a firefly last Saturday, during our walk home from Bardo (a wine bar). I was kinda freaking out. I've never seen one before. A flying lightbulb. What next?

2.) There was the great 'almost running the Yeep out of gas' incident. Hahaha.

3.) I made a ham and asparagus strata which needed some jazzing up.

4.) Wook got a 101% on a test (class average was 99%) - gotta love bonus questions.

5.) Caught on DC (Deadliest Catch), minus for this past Tuesday's episode. How can you not love Captain John? Even wook's on board with thinking the Time Bandit guys are awesomely salty.

Oh, and one more thing, my recent employment has reduced the hours that I've been able to dedicate towards my skilled and entertaining creative force. It'll be better once I get into the swing of things in balancing a great new job, my work out schedule of Core classes and yoga, and my dedication to blogging and the stalkeratzis. Just know that I haven't forgotten about you.

T.G.I.F.

Thank goodness it's Friday.

I'm tired. Already 4 drinks in. And ready for the rest of the night.

I'll fill you in tomorrow on my antics this week.

But I do apologize for the lack of posting.

I've been a little preoccupied.

Okay, back to the beverage. Some leftover Simi Chardonnay.

Then maybe some Snappers. That place of the live music from the Promotion.

And maybe a movie. We'll see.

Good evening to you. And good evening to my dad and his mint juleps. Prost.

Today's Scenario

Who: This blogger extraordinaire

What: I let the Y(J)eep get down to dangerously low levels of gasoline fumes

When: Today, coming home from an interview

Where: The beloved Commonwealth of Virginia (Lynnhaven to Downtown Norfolk)

Why: Because I was so set on making it home to go the bathroom (I had a full glass of water in my interview), that I spaced picking up $20 in gas for the Yeep (by pick up, I mean having to get out, in my skirt, and kitten heels, and actually pump the gas, getting that scent all over my hands, dreaming of Oregon's ideal "Fill it. Regular." method of gas stations...ahhh, that's the life).

How: I drove straight home yacking on the phone, completely forgetting that the yellow light was on the whole time. Woops. I said I was sorry. Good thing there was enough fumage and the Good Lord pushing behind that wook actually made it to the station without running out.

Lesson learned. Fill up at 3/4. Make dinner to make up for blondeness.

Let's Get Physical

Let's play Where's Waldo? But this time with me, so it'll be like Where's Ashley?

And the reference is to the gym that's close by. Let's see where you might find me.

Monday

6:30 - 7:30: Step Aerobics (although I'm not sure I have the rhythm)

7:30 - 8:00: Core class

Tuesday

6:30 - 7:00: Core class

7:00 -8:00: Yoga

Wednesday (probably a day off from classes, thus running and circuit weights)

Thursday

6:30 - 7:00: Core class (and maybe some spinning)

Friday (day off?)

Saturday

9:00 - 10:00: Sunrise Yoga

Sunday (running and circuit weights)

Will I be able to stick with it? Dunno. The yoga definitely. There's something about mat time that makes a person sane. And hopefully I'll continue to stick to the running and weights (which I've been with for a couple weeks). The step aerobics though? I'm not hopeful. ;)

Just a Taste of My Plunder

With my ongoing efforts in rejoining the work force, I've added to my collection of chic corporate clothes. Thank goodness that the recession has created some great prices for my bank account.

From New York & Co. (which I've never shopped at, but am now a fan):

A cute pair of of skinny capris that'll go great for any casual business venture.

A great pair of slight pin-striped pants that fit my lengthy legs with heels.

And from the great store of JC Penney (which surprisingly I love their selection of modern, 20s to 30s fashionable workwear):

A white pair of linen pants. Not necessarily for work, but more for nights at Havana.

I love this jacket. Retail $60, recession priced $20-something. One chic safari jacket.

And Express (another great store for my generation with great modern workwear):

A fierce pencil skirt in black. High-waisted and at my knees, even at my height.

And twist my arm, I'll get it in khaki also. These were the biggest splurges at $42/ea.

I couldn't find the 4 camisoles, 3 blouses, another jacket, a yoga warm-up, and other things that were picked up on my slight shopping spree. But these were some a-ma-zing prices that allowed me to save as much as I spent.

And you'll know where to find me next: Express and NY&Co. :)

APB: A Missing Persons Report

Filed in the State of Oregon, the missing e-contact report of 2 Medford teenagers.

Last blog posts leave a cheery atmosphere but we fear Ghost Blogger futures.

Any sightings of either of these characters should be forwarded to the appropriate authorities. They may be armed, but no need to be considered dangerous. Unless they have the family credit card and the Cheesecake Factory is within sight.

Then taze on contact.

We pray for a timely resolution and the accounting of their whereabouts soon.

Thank you.

Survival Noted

Just a note to the blogging world, everyone survived Wetting Down yesterday.

Although, there may be some sand in crevices, some swollen livers, but no sunburns.

Excellent.

I'll be able to post the shenanigans once everyone swaps pictures with each other.

You know how it is, other people get excellent shots of the hoopla and hysteria also.

Until then, I do have a Tribute to the Sheriff I'm working on, so be on the look out.

Congratulations!

For those who've survived another year of academia and stress. Props.

To Bradford and Hay, yay, you've made it one year, in a real city, in Little Guadalupay none-the-less, through the learning to love rain, and survived.

Trish and Nina (aka Trac and Neeners) sounds like this: "One More Year, Bitches!" (And with that, one year about both being 21.) Oi. Watch out. But enjoy. And El Prez is the only place to make Mojitos in town, take note. And they have killer/entertaining (sometimes people can sing, sometimes it's like AI auditions) karaoke on Saturday nights.

Ms. Lebold, we wish were there to celebrate with you. You're done. Well, for now. You know. You need to a.) prepare for your travels, and b.) get a blog launched before you start your secondary education. And c.) when's our webdate again?

Everyone else that has ended another year/time slot slaving over profs, tests (but seriously, what are those?), essays (that's more like it), retarded lab/group partners, hangovers (and go see The Hangover if you haven't), and the rest of the fun associated with education, nice work.

Do I miss college? Yes. The fact that everyone I wanted to visit was within a few block radius (if not right next door) was nice. The great eateries that makes Corvallis great (let's just say Hawaiian food doesn't exist over here). And the entertainment that you get by waking up kinda early on a Sunday morning, lurk out the windows, and watch the Walk Of Shamers going home.

Legen...dary.

But I don't miss the stress, the assignments, the lack of money (oh wait, haha), etc.

Enjoy it. Pretty soon, you could see yourself 25, living with your parents, drinking a refreshing adult beverage at 5 o'clock watching Cash Cab with your dad, yelling at your mom's Psycho cat, and getting sucked into the blogging world.

Oh wait, that was me, and it was awesome.

And the other day while at the gym, I totally triggered a RED LIGHT CHALLENGE!

Miss Popular

Last night I had a record 4 phone calls, within 10 minutes, while at dinner.

#1 - The Sheriff.

He missed a call from me 15 minutes earlier, I was going to rant about my super successful shopping trip I went on.  But more on that later.  So I explained that wook and I just got to Havana (it was late by the time he got off watch and thus neither of us were in the mood for cooking), and I'll call him back later.

Okay, great, I'll have the Pork Tostada (which the other half is for dinner tonight!).

#2 - Dr. Stacey Kevorkian.

There's giggling in the background when she asked, "what are the rules for Kings?"

Wook's response:  "She's drinking already??"

Dr. Stacey is up at the lake and they were kicking off the summer right.  And apparently I'm the only one who can remember the rules.  

Champion?  Eh, nah.  Just a good memory?  Yes.

#3 - Dr. Stacey, again.

"What's the one where you make up your rules again?"

The answer: 8

#4 - Mommy McD

I explained that I literally just got my food in front of me so I'd call her back.

I tell wook, "I bet you she wants help picking out furniture online from Ikea."

She texts me..."Hey, I'm going to jump in the tub.  I'll ping you tomorrow.  I need some furniture input.  Have a good night!"

Called it.

Christmas in June!

After being a snarky redhead yesterday (which I realize is totally redundant but I went ahead and emailed the yoga mat company asking where a tracking number was since I never got a follow-up email), guess what showed up?  

100% Chi-Centering Hippie Love.

O...M...G...she's gorgeous.  And heavier than B-Rox at birth (which isn't hard since I think a bowl of rice weighed more than that little guy).  Oi vei.  But it's here.  Yay.

The box got slightly "man handled," said like Owen Wilson's character in NATM.

And proof that it's a good thing I went with the 3 or 4 votes for the 75"-er.

Just don't make fun of my Asian TopKnot for a hairstyle.  I was literally dressed and ready to head over to the gym (for some biking, after I bashed the living daylights out of my knee this morning), went out to check the mail...and it was on my doorstep.  It's the second time they've not knocked and just left things there.  Maybe the guy who brought my phone put out an APB about being mauled by a redhead for delivering a phone (I was excited, people!).

Okay, but seriously, now that I played with my new toy like it's Christmas morning, I've already shoved it in the corner and am heading to the gym.

Open Letter to the Weather

Dear God,

How can the weather go from so gorgeous I'm out on the back steps enjoying the breeze to a biblical flood down Boush St.?  I think I saw a frog fall out of the sky.

While I'm a huuuge fan of thunderstorms, usually the build-up I experience is seeing booming thunderheads in the distance and preparing for immenent distruction and flooding a la Oregon.

Here, a different story.  5 minutes separates a sunny day to doom-and-gloom.

I do thank you for my never-ending training of rain and elements during my time in Oregon, whether it be rain or showers (there's a difference for some who don't know).

And bless Woodburn Outlet for that excellent sale on my Helly Hansen jacket.  She's come in handy a couple of times as we're caught in a storm leaving the movies or dinner.

But for now, I'll sit back, lounging to Pandora.com, enjoying the lightning show and booming thunder that's overhead, and contemplate the meaning of life.  Okay, maybe not that severe.  But I do enjoy my thunderstorms plenty.  As long as I'm not chasing after smokes on a fire crew.

Thanks, God, for listening.  Have a good rest of the day playing Rock Band Drums.

The Receiver of Many "Angel Kisses" (Freckles),

Ashley

WebMD Will See You Now

I have one of those swollen, inflamed taste buds right now and I'm not happy.

Apparently it's an abrasion from a highly acidic or abrasive substance.

Say a fresh bag of David's Seeds?  Say during a 9-inning loss to the Mud Hens?

Apparently I need to work my way into killing off nearly a single bag in one day.

The taste buds are revolting.  Okay, just one bud.  But more could join the party.

Happy Birthday Partner B!

Cue the Gay Parade, it's Dr. Stacey Kevorkian's 25th birthday!

I've already called and left a singing telegram, with my own spin on Marilyn Monroe's breathy "Happy Birthday, Mr. President."

"Happy Birthday, Ms. Lake of the Woods Employee..."

And because of our die-hard love for a certain Da Kine Bail Bonds in Hawaii...

This little beauty (Dog's book) showed up in Medford last Friday, with time to spare.

I look forward to the pictures of your indoor rock-climbing experience.  

Email away. :)

One Weird Dream Coming Right Up!

I wanted to relay as much down before I forgot about my crazy dream.

I'm traveling in a car, with 5 people, somewhere in the Seattle vicinity.  I don't know how I know this, but somehow I knew it was Seattle.  Maybe because the weather gets nasty, and there were trees, and...well...maybe we were in a Volvo. :)

Anyways...

And long story short, since details are being erased as I type...

Someone looks back from in our car towards the sky, and there's a huge storm coming in.  Literally, speeding in, large, looming dark clouds.  I don't remember who, but someone gets spooked.  So we step on it.  We're hauling.

All of a sudden, a flippin' funnel cloud comes out towards the ground.  Holy $#!T!

So we're dodging Downtown Seattle traffic.  We see the funnel cloud start navigating people in cars and on the streets.  We're paranoid that it's just going to start sucking people up.  So we hit the gas.  I didn't care how fast we went as long as we outran this hungry cloud.  And it did settle on these teenage girls walking to a movie theater or something.  Well, better to get sucked into a cloud and die when you least expect it, right?

Then we've navigated our way onto a rural WA highway, heading outta town.  How I know?  I don't know.  It look liked the road in Harry and the Hendersons, minus no big ape, and one angry cloud with a funnel chasing our car.  Seriously?  What'd we do?

Fast forward, we're at a house/apartment.

People are wanting to bunker in and watch the storm take over the area.

Hello?  Windows are glass.  Glass can break.  Shards can fly.  I like my eyesight, thank you.

So I take the 2 kids we have in the mix and find some reinforced dining room area to hunker down.  But then I realize I can't take both kids because I won't be able to hang on to whatever it is I'm hanging on to.  So I give up the toddler.  I don't know who took her, but she turned out safe for those wondering about my future child-rearing abilities.

You hear this storm roll in, flippin' loud.  You guys remember how at the end of Twister, they literally got sucked into the air and had to hold on?  Well that's how this was.  The air was being sucked outta the house, like the storm was hungry for everyone.  But I held on for deaf life, and kept the 7-year-old okay (at least that's how old I think she was).

Then I wake up.  Hero Ashley.  

But like always, what the heck do I smoke/eat to have dreams like that?

___________________________________________

Time for translation courtesy of Dreammoods.com:

"To see a storm in your dream, signifies overwhelming struggle, shock, devastating loss and catastrophe in your personal affairs.  The storm also represents unexpressed fears or emotions, such as anger, rage, turmoil, etc.  On a more positive note, the storm signifies your rising spiritually.  It could signal rapid changes ahead for you.

To dream that you take cover in a storm, foretells that whatever disturbance or problems is occuring in your life will quickly blow over.  Consider also the phrase "weather the storm," which suggests your ability to withstand whatever comes."

Ashley's Inaugural Game

We just got back from a Norfolk Tides vs. Toledo Mud Hens (wfh?) game.

My tongue is torn up from my severe David's seeds habit.  But I had plenty of water to try and  rectify that problem.  Maybe I should have tried the beer like everyone else.  The Shocktop looked tasty.  But at least I'm hydrated.

And now we're going out for sushi.  Just call us Japanese.  Sushi and baseball. :)

Expiration Dates

Apparently I lack the ability to check/smell the half gallon of milk in our fridge.

I just poured myself a hefty glass o' milk, added some Quik, stirred, and gulped.

"Umm, wook, can you taste this?"

"Ya, that's bad.  How old is it?  It's like vinegar.  Can't you taste that?"

Is it bad if I say I didn't notice anything different?  But now that you mention it, my Cheerios a couple days ago did taste a bit off.  But usually Costco Cheerios taste different than Fred Meyer Cheerios, so I thought I was maybe losing it a bit.  That and I'm never fully functioning before those bad boys hit my digestive system.

So I've been drinking spoiled milk for a few days now.  Wow.

Inflicting Torture

I really want a cat.  I really want a little furry feline.  Badly.

So you know what's fun?  Checking out all the gatos on Craigslist needing homes.

I could take him home.  Oh, I can't leave his brother.  He'll come too.

I'm going to be that lady.  No boyfriend, all cats.  I'll be a raid house.

Why do I do this to myself?  Good question.  I miss not having a creature around.

Growing up we were cat people.  My mom acquired Fuzz right after she and my dad got hitched.  And that one lasted forever.  Then there was Tom, this big tomcat.  I swear, he was the Bouncer for the cat nightclub, he was that big.  And now there's Rocket.  aka Rockefeller.  aka Psycho.  Ever wanted to know if ginger cats act like their ginger human counterparts....they do.  But let's not go down that path.

My point.  It's weird not having a cat in the house.  Nothing to avoid at the top of the stairs because that's the most comfortable place to sleep.  No food bowls to refill in the kitchen.  No (with Rocket, rare) instances of wanting to crawl up on your lap and get some affection in.  No one to laugh at when they chase a fly around the room.  And no one to give treats to when they catch that fly after making a Mission Impossible jump off the hearth.

Can I hold out and not secretly rescue a gato while wook's on base?  We'll see.

I'd like to think that I have will power.  Then again, I've seen myself at a shoe sale.

But as long as I can keep the financial aspect of rescuing a cat at the forefront (think check-up bills, spay/neutering bills, etc.), I think the lid will be secure.

Then again....two words: shoe sale.

It's a Sign From the Gods

June is Adopt-A-Cat Month. :D

While I'd love to bring home Gato tomorrow...that's not exactly an option.

Wook kinda agreed last night that I have more going for me if I wait until I'm gainfully employed before bringing in a furry feline friend.  Okay.  Agreed.

It takes money, and searching, and prepping before you can waltz in with a new family member.

And while having a dog and a cat would be hugely fun, we live in a small loft apartment.  And Bitch Dogs (read: Tea Cup Chihuahuas) aren't really our definition of a dog.  A real dog needs backyards, and sticks to throw, and holes to dig, and parks to run at.  We have a small strip of grass before a very busy street.  Not ideal.  

But that doesn't mean Rufus is forgotten.  Oh, we'll get a dog.  A medium-to-big dog.  When the stars align perfectly with a backyard, quiet street, and a breed that doesn't super slobber.  And wook will name him Lacus (Latin for Tank).

Besides, cats are independent little friends.  Perfect for city living.

And to be honest, I'm kinda jealous of the 3 turtles wook has.  They're super fun.  He feeds them.  Literally, holds food down and they'll eat out of his fingers.  They're little social creatures.  Is it so much for me to want the same love?  I feel like a Stepmom.

I know my mom puts up the defense about Indoor Cats longing for the outdoors, etc.  But on the bright side, they're not Stray Dog Fodder.  They're in a warm, comfy house with a girl who will love to curl up with you and let you enjoy your solitude sleeping on the foot of my bed.

I've done my research.  There's just the hurdle of employment to jump.  But that'll come soon enough.  I've price-checked litter boxes, cat beds, food dishes, scratching posts, catnip mice, etc.  And I'm excited. :)

Trigger Pulled!

I'm anxious to get back onto the mat and working on my Screaming Pigeon.

Due to arrive next week is a 75" Natural Fitness yoga mat in Ocean/Night.  Namaste.

21st Century Yoda

I just received the following text from my mother.  You know, moms know best.

"This is your yoda speaking.  Go with the longest yoga mat available.  You'll be glad you did.  Ha ha need any other advice.  Loved the song from the girls.  And the picture in my mind of cheerios coming out your nose is priceless."

Vote #1: 75"

The Great (Yoga Mat) Debate

Calling all yogis, partial yogis, sometimes yogis, and yogis at heart...

Because I have no ability to make any sort of decision to save my soul, I figure maybe the blogosphere can assist me.  You can play good yogi vs. bad yogi on my shoulders.

So my issue...I want/need a new mat.  (My old mat is in Oregon for use there.)

I almost pulled the trigger on this hippie 72" (in green!) from Santosha.com.

But I had second thoughts.

Do I need a 74"?  Or will the 72" work?  Or should I hit up the 75"s I've seen?

I'm gangly, but am I gangly enough to need a 74"/75"?

My chi is really suffering since I've been in Norfolk, spending days glued to the job search efforts, when the Gym Downtown hosts 3 yoga classes a week a block away.

Where are my Splinters/Yodas/Joseph Campbells for advice?

American Idol: Facebook Edition

For those who know my sisters, they're 2 characters.  2 peas in a pod.

When it comes to Facebook singing to each other, it goes downhill.

So you can imagine my surprise this morning when I see an Ode to Ging.

From Hay to Trac:

"Gingefer sits in the old PINE tree

Merry, merry queen of her bush is she

Laugh, Gingefer!  Laugh, Gingefer!

Gay your life must be

Gingefer sits in the old PINE tree

Eating all the granola she can see

Stop, Gingefer!  Stop, Gingefer!

Leave some there for me"

I almost had a Cheerio fly out my nose I was laughing so hard.  Thanks sisters.

Mark, Brad, and Hay: A Gift

To the Trifecta of Contagiousness in PDX, I give you an e-cup of Theraflu.  Get better.

Nightlife a la Downtown Living

For once in my life I live in a pretty urban area.  Parking structures every couple blocks.  High-rise buildings littered throughout the Downtown area.  And the sweet smell of yuppies.  And money.  And "I deem the risk low, so let's go ahead and transfer the funds to the Swiss account" calls.

With the Promotion on Friday came the need for a celebration.  More so than the Miller Lite that was hosted at the event.  While it was cool that there was Beverage for the boys, I don't believe I've ever drank that brand.  Not even during football season.  Beer snob, extraordinaire.

But anyways, people were feeling Havana (which by the name is obviously Cuban).  It's close, it has this awesome high table that can hold our extended group of boys and their respected company.  Plus, the boys agree that they make a decent mojito.

But first, the Man Date evolves and is witnessed in the kitchen.  Tickle fight!

And, of course, Cameron has to make an appearance.  Along with his car collection.  And the "water" glass that's closest to the camera that looks dirty...that's one of the mojitos.  Big and strong.  I think each guy had 3.  Just think, my vodka tonics were almost that size too.  So I only had 2.

After a festive night, the parents of the group decide to call it a night.  This is Cameron's dad, sporting his chic Diego backpack on the runway.  Just look at him turn a shoulder and work the camera.  Ya, I need to email this one to his wife.

Okay, so maybe I was feeling a little festive too.  But I had to take a picture of this dinner.  It's a pork tostada.  And it's goooood.  OMG.  I can taste it now.  And I can eat the whole thing.  I've been working out my stomach muscles for this bad boy.  If you visit, we will visit this place.

I think wook's giving me Blue Steel, but I could be wrong.  The mojitos could have hit his eyesight already.  You never know.  

Unfortunately for the blogosphere, the pictures ended then because we decided to hop around and continue the festivities.  Can you blame me for enjoying the festivities also?  So the stalkeratzi went back into the purse.  Plus Sean seems to think he's Native American.  You know, you take his picture and I steal away his soul.  So anything I catch of Sean is a "sneak attack."

But then the next night (being Saturday night), it was determined that we should go out and really celebrate the Promotion.  Umm, what do you call last night?  A dress rehearsal?  Wook and I weren't really on board, but apparently everyone else was.

So we start out at Snappers.  Great place.  Healthy pours.  Cute bartenders.  Love it.

Plus, it just happened to have an acoustic guitarist serenading the crowd.  Awesome.

What's routinely called a cranberry vodka has a cute little name from the New England area, courtesty of Jess (the lone girl) from Baw-ston (Boston).  It's a "Cape Cod-er."  How clever.  But really, it's just a cranberry vodka, with lemon.

And then someone (cough, cough, Jess) decided to throw a round of Kamikazes into the mix.  And it wasn't the only round.  I'll be honest.  Taaaasty little things.  I would do them again.  But maybe not two rounds in one night.

Wook enjoying his one of many healthy pours from the bartender who looked like the Millionaire Matchmaker, Patty Stanger.  Just a little shorter and a bit thinner.

The musician was seated on the 2nd floor which was behind us.  I was worried that we were going to get blown out, but it was great.  Wook was able to request songs and Joe had front row.

But then, the bar went empty.  Completely empty.  Minus us.  The music was still playing, so what's up?  But it was like the people who only work Downtown headed back home.  Who knows.  Points for wook for picking to live 2 blocks from this place.

The grave of the 2nd round of Kamikazes.  Really, who keeps ordering these things?

That's the highest bar tab I've seen. And for clarity, there were 5 of us.  But still...

Sean, the other half of the Man Date for those who know Mr. Cady, spilled a drink on himself.  The first spill of Saturday night, but the second one after Friday night's spill, which was a nearly full Jameson 'n Coke he unleashed onto the table.  Two words: CUT OFF.  Again.

So now we're back at wook's place, debating our next move.  Food?  Sleep?  What's up?  Joe's in good shape and not close to what his body language is saying, for the record.  Sean, however, is a different story.  You know how Ted Mosby was curious whether he was "vomit free since '93?"  Well Sean was, until he went home (a block away), and then...well...you know.

But before we could make a decision about what to do, some yard ape broke a beer bottle.  I swear, if I get a piece of glass in my foot, someone's fronting my bills.

Aha, potstickers it is.  Yup, the kind from Costco.  They're a trend for post-drinking meals.  Cheap, easy, quick...that's what she said.  And they're believed to put Sean over the edge.  Because the spins he did have before he ate wasn't the culprit.  

Riiight...

Is There A 12-Step Program?

Wook and I went to Costco today.  We bought 2 boxes of Cheerios.  I've been here less than a month.  We bought a Costco box a week after I got here.

The math: 1 Costco box lasts 3 weeks.  I should look into rehab.

You doen't saye?

Something I found amidst my daily job search that brings me a chuckle.