leisure suite

Ashley Writes a Letter to the Editor. Again. Now With Less Vagina!

Mon, 02 Nov 2009 04:42:07 GMT

There's certainly no one in the town of Cold Lake right now that is lacking in the following: a tragic story of someone who was grievously sickened or killed by the H1N1 vaccination, the lowdown on some H1N1 government conspiracy or another, and the knowledge that the line at the vaccination clinics were epic, cold, and miserable.

What perhaps fewer are aware of is the October 31 announcement that mass vaccination clinics will be suspended. This means anyone who is unaware of the changes may well hop into a line up that weaves into the parking lot, in minus degree weather only to find out that lo! There are no H1N1 vaccines to be had and the fact that the flu virus spreads best in cold weather will become truly ironic. Presently, more than 300,000 Albertans have been vaccinated, and it's not as if the province has run out. The issue lies in the fact that high risk people – those who are pregnant, over 65, and have chronic health conditions, for example – aren't receiving the vaccination, because dang it, Grandpa didn't get in line quickly enough to get it before the healthy hockey mom of five did.

Why did the government fail to realize this, is my question? Alberta-wide, clinics are being closed while the health authority “tweaks” the plan while the rest of the country cocks their head and wonders just what the Heck we are doing. Bravo, Alberta, but your lack of foresight is unsettling. While I waited in line for two hours to get the vaccine that could prevent my own immunosuppressed body from contracting an illness that it just can't fight off, I announced loudly to anyone in earshot that “man, I hope not everyone is here to get the H1N1 shot, or they'll surely run out!” Sadly, by the time I actually got into the building, the six foot submarine sandwiched had arrived, the line had stopped moving, and if I got coughed on by one more child, I was going to snap so I left. I discovered the upcoming clinics wouldn't have the vaccine available and I would have to wait until tomorrow to visit http://www.albertahealthservices.ca and find out just how I can go about getting it. This sounds like a situation that could have easily been circumvented, had the people being paid to foresee such situations came the same obvious conclusion I had while I was standing outside the Agriplex, freezing my rear off.

Ashley Preemptively Panics About Her Birthday

Sat, 26 Sep 2009 22:30:08 GMT

Found out that Sean will be away for months, and my birthday falls smack in the middle of said months. For the love of GOD, someone please do something for my birthday, for once.

Ashley Was Almost Methodically Forced into Conversation

Wed, 23 Sep 2009 17:25:06 GMT

The ongoing saga of my insane mother continues. I'm convinced that she's going through "the change" or perhaps the mass quantities of drugs is catching up with her, because she's finally snapped.

I haven't spoken to her for months, but my sister continues their relationship. She doesn't have it in her to tell her to fuck her hat and she also actually gets something out of their relationship, so I get that. Anyway, my mom has asked Shannon to provide reconnaissance on me, as if I have so much going on. Also, since my mother has also apparently decided she's an evil genius and come up with a glorious plan to "make" me talk to her.

My mom?

As you may have assumed, I'll be back at H&R this year, so in a Sun Tzu-like maneuver, she informed Shannon that she will "make" me do her taxes. Unfortunately for her, I work with two other tax preparers, both of whom would be glad to prepare her taxes.

Seems like picking up a phone would be easier, though not nearly as diabolical. But whatever. Life is much less complicated, and endlessly more funny, this way.

Ashley Doin' What She Do

Wed, 23 Sep 2009 02:12:30 GMT

I'm such a freakin' delight, going around ruining otherwise lovely photos of Shannon and Jason.

Ashley Has a Lot Going On

Thu, 30 Jul 2009 21:51:31 GMT

My mom has been calling quite a lot. Finally, I just got fed up with this little game of Dodge the Crazy Bitch and told her to "get a clue and stop calling me". One part of me wants to, I don't know, write a letter and tell her all the reasons she can fuck her hat and the other part of me wants to leave her to think whatever she wants. The factors driving me toward the former are two-fold. One, my own closure. I'm holding all this in and let me tell you, I cry. I cry a lot. At least once daily, I burst into tears for no discernible reason and poor Sean is suffering the brunt of my mood swings. The second reason is that I know she's sitting at home, blaming it all on me. I can only imagine the things she says to other people in her life, considering what she's told Shannon (that my fight with Sean when I called to talk was "what I get", for example).

As far as my father, I haven't heard from him, though that isn't surprising in the least. Sean has "forbidden" me from going over there anyway, because he's been around for a lot of that bullshit. I think he's taking some responsibility for how I feel when I get home, because he's been my mode of transportation to most of these awkward clusterfuck dinners. Still, a part of me would like to tell him where to go as well, because I'm fairly certain he remains oblivious to his status on my shit list.

To top it all off, my period has been notably absent (crossing my fingers hard for a stress-related explanation) and my boobs feel like they're so inflated that they're going to explode on my chest. Also sick every day and the aforementioned crying jags. Please, please, please God, I can't have a behbeh right now (ever?). WebMD assures me, however, that it's probably just aseptic meningitis, so that's cool.

Ashley is All Kinds of Out of Sorts

Wed, 29 Jul 2009 21:13:04 GMT

For financial reasons, I went off my anti-depressants recently and now I'm sitting on the couch watching true crime shows and inexplicably feel like calling to quit my job so I can go to bed and cry.

Ashley Has a Big "Fuck You" for the People Who Birthed Her

Sun, 26 Jul 2009 02:00:34 GMT

So, what happened.

Last night, Sean and I got into an enormous fight, the details of which I won't go into, but I thought it was going to be "it". It cultivated into him leaving and me going out of my mind, so I called my mom to talk. She asked how I was, and I told her that it was shitty and I needed to talk. She informed me she was just about to eat dinner and said goodbye. Fight went out, we made up.

Today, Sean, Jason, Shannon and I went to my dad's for dinner. It was, as usual, forced, fake and awkward, as those people (Dad and his new family of retards) wouldn't have anything to do with my sister and I (and actually didn't) if Shannon hadn't had Calli. An hour in, it was announced that Dad would paying the living expenses for his stepson of like, five years, who is maybe going to a college he hasn't even being accepted into, and buying him a condo. Thus, I needed a smoke so went outside with Shannon. This was after my sister received a card and gifts from a grandmother who I haven't heard from in years.

In the truck outside, Shannon told me she's pissed at our mother because after I had that brief "conversation" with her, she called Shannon. Mom asked if Shannon knew why I had called, so Shannon gave her the Cliff's notes of what occurred. My mother then told Shannon that it was "my own fault" for moving so quickly and firmly informed Shannon to not allow me to stay at her house. Being that my mother is absentee (and kind of a total cunt), Shannon was pissed and told Jason "you know if Ashley needs a place to stay, she's coming to our house", to which Jason replied "of course."

It was all too much. I asked Shannon to go inside, tell Sean to grab my purse because I was leaving. I was on the verge of bawling and couldn't take anymore "let's pretend we're a family". Sean came out and I drove us a while before I started to bawl and relinquished the wheel to Sean. My poor helpless husband grew increasingly frustrated about the way my family was behaving, and said he wanted to "have a talk" with my dad.

What do I want? Not to see my parents anymore. Sean said that I would regret it, that people usually do, you can't choose your family, etc. Maybe I can't choose them, but I can choose to not have anything to do with them. I just can't keep feeling like a burden, a disappointment, a "we couldn't choose our daughter". The only good thing those two have done is give me a sister who is my family and acts like it. Sean's family has made me feel more welcome and cared for than mine has in the past ten years, and they've never even met me.

So it looks like I can choose my family, and it does not include Leslie Stevens, Jeff Stevens, or their sparkly new families.

Ashley Has Had a Terrible Month

Thu, 23 Jul 2009 08:54:11 GMT

So, stuff has happened, but most of it has been bad, which hasn't left me much to write about without sounding like a bellyacher. But absenteeism isn't acceptable to some.

As I've mentioned before, I got married on the first. Sean's family (including some that he hasn't talked to in years) sent cards and gifts (read: money) "for the newlyweds" (the thank you cards are in the mail). My parents? My father told me "when he's invited to a wedding, he'll give us a wedding present." Fair play.

Worse, my mother. She asked what we wanted, I told her that our house was stocked, but our bank accounts were not, and all we needed was money. "Okay," she replies.

A month ago.

About a week ago, I was at my mom's house and she moans that she can't get us anything just yet because "she can't move". Unfortunately, she's been going to parties, and has a trip to Edmonton (three hours away) planned for next week, and really has no excuse. That's why I'd just given up on receiving anything from her, either.

To add insult to injury, though, when I was most recently at my mom's with Shannon, the subject of Shannon's wedding came up. Her fiance has said that the wedding won't happen if his best friend from Ontario can't attend. Immediately, my mom gauchely announces "well, if that's the case I'll fly him here for a wedding present." No more talking from Ashley.

I've pretty much written my mother off as a selfish fuck.

As an aside, let me mention that my parents wouldn't even both go to the hospital when Shannon went into labor. Do I want to even try to invite them both to a small civil wedding ceremony?

Nay.

Now, my father also doesn't intend on getting me a wedding gift, but there's far worse from him and that is he married a bitch.

Last time I went to my father's for dinner, steak was served. It should be known that I like my steak rare, very rare. From the second I walk in the door, my dad's wife Carla is going on about how she's dreading "watching me eat that" because according to her, I'll be talking during my meal. The evening progresses with intermittent mockery of my meat choices until finally it's zero hour and my meat is bleeding on my plate. Carla is truly losing her shit now, incessantly going on about how much it disturbs her. Finally, I tell her, "Carla, you have no idea how badly I want to ruin your meal right now" and Sean and Jason break into a line of questioning regarding the possibility of Carla owning bovine as a pet. She decided then that she would eat outside on the deck, and my dad will join her. So, it's Sean and myself, Jason and Shannon and Carla's son Mitchell inside and our wonderful hosts outside. I wonder the whole time if this is how they treat all their guests.

My father has been absent for years. He's only reemerged since Shannon got knocked up. After some months of Carla's ham-fisted insults of my mother and myself, I'm aware that my presence is only perfunctory. It would just be rude to invite Shannon (she of the grandchild) and leave me out, and if there's only thing my dad isn't, it's blatantly rude.

I'm done with my parents and their systematic destruction of my self esteem.

I'm still looking for a job, though my desire to keep attending these interviews is ebbing drastically. I have no idea who the Hell is applying for every job I apply for, but for whatever reason, I can not get a job. Cold Lake has recently discovered foreign labor and they are completely gung ho, in spite of the fact that there is some heavy duty unemployment in the area, since a lot of oil rigs went belly up. My last interview was extra awesome since the man I was interviewing with informed me many times how much he hates hiring Canadians "because they're lazy, and the Natives are even worse". He told me that he plans on refiling an LMO (labor market opinion - basically says there is no one locally to fill a position) for a Filipino woman he has working for him. It should be mentioned that this woman is as qualified as I am (he told all of her qualifications), but is not Canadian, and is therefore better. Pretty sure this is illegal?

Otherwise, I've quit smoking and thus, compounded all my insecurities regarding my parents. It's been a week (minus about 45 minutes of slipping), and I hate every second of it. My heart often feels like it's going to explode out of my chest, my anxiety is ka-powing all over the place, I cry a lot. I hate it. Apparently it gets better. Everyone who I come in contact with better hope that is the case.

So, yeah. Right now, FML.

Ashley is Alarmed by Cold Lake's Medical Services

Wed, 10 Jun 2009 18:01:40 GMT

Recently, I hear this tale which really makes me hope even more that I don't ever have any trauma inflicted on me in Cold Lake.

One of Sean's work friends was cooking one day and went to grab something out of the fridge, tripped, and stabbed himself in the leg. He lost his shit, and pulled the knife out. Turns out he severed his femoral artery so blood started blasting out all over the place. His wife came running in, and presumably having just completed first aid training from Black Hawk Down, reached into this guy's flesh wound and pinched off the artery.

But wait! It gets crazier!

They call 911. The firemen show up first, bust down the door and do some basic first aid crap - pretty much hanging out waiting for the ambulance, who deign to show up fifteen minutes later.

You probably aren't familiar with Cold Lake, but you can pretty much get from one place to ANY OTHER PLACE in less. The EMTs come in, take one look at the guy, and say "we can't do anything."

Dude is unconscious by this point, but the wife isn't; she's just hanging out pinching arteries.

So the firemen are all "WTF?" and put a tourniquet (First Aid 101) on the guy.
They load the newly tourniquet'd dude onto a stretcher, wheel him out of there, and get to the ambulance.

But uh-oh, the incompetent EMT staff can't even lift him into the ambulance.

The firemen (who by the way aren't the TOWN'S firemen, they're the MILITARY fire department) say "holy shit, fuck y'all", load this guy into the firetruck, and drive him to the hospital themselves.

They get to the hospital, call in the surgeon. He walks into the room and also says, "I can't do anything about this."

So the military airlifts this guy to Edmonton and FOUR HOURS LATER, he gets medical treatment.

Too bad everyone seems to have skipped Tourniquet Day in their St. John's Ambulance course, because no one ever loosened the guy's tourniquet and the nerve damage is irreparable.

He said he doesn't intend on suing unless he loses his job, which is a possibility, because his leg doesn't have any fucking nerves anymore.

Eeeek! Get me out of here!

Ashley's Wedding Cost $400; How Much Was Yours?

Wed, 03 Jun 2009 04:24:28 GMT

My life has been relatively quiet these days - no cross-country moves or anything - so in order to correct these matters, the past two days have been bat. Shit. Crazy.

At around 6 PM on May 30th, I get a call from my sister's fiance Jason letting me know that Shannon has gone into labor. There was no need for me to come, as he would be keeping me updated. After a long, long night of pacing and jumping at every single sound waiting for the phone call that would beckon me to the hospital and my niece, 6:30 AM rolls around and it's time. The hospital told me that I wasn't allowed to come until visiting hours at eleven, but pfffffffttttt, like that was going to happen! So Sean and I get showered and dressed and drive over. Getting off the elevators at 7:40, my mom tells me that it just ended and they're stitching her up. Calli is tiny (less than 6 lbs), but healthy and in possession of all the required digits. Being that I have no desire to see my sister's vajay in that state, Sean and I wait outside until the gore ends. I walk into the room, and there's Shannon and Jason and my dear, perfect little lady, Calli Kathleen Bonany. She has a ton of black curly hair (thanks to Daddy) and Shannon's cute tiny nose. Of course I start bawling like a fool and hugging Shannon around her IVs. The past two days, I have smooched, cuddled, gotten over the initial terror of holding something so small, and fell head-over-heels for her. The twitch in my womb makes me wonder if my adamant "no way" toward having kids may be waffled on.

Oh yeah, and also, I got married. June 1st, Sean and I called the two JPs in town. The first wasn't available until Saturday (nuts to that guy) but the second took us at one'o'clock, that day. Sean called his master corporal to witness and put on his shiniest jeans. 1 rolls around and we're on the dock at the marina, saying our vows and swatting away ten bajillion fish flies. We bought the world's cheapest wedding bands (a grand total of $200!) and practiced saying "holy fuck, we're married."

Did I mention we didn't tell anyone but my sister and her fiance, who were supposed to witness? But then Shannon had to go ruin it with labor. Pft.

Eventually, the secret began to bore down on me, as struggling to remove my wedding ring whenever my dad's wife was in the vicinity became trying, so I (get this) sent my father a text message. I called my mom and told her, at which point she informed me that I was "schwacked" and a "crazy broad". My dad eventually called and I awkwardly informed Daddy that I'm no longer a Stevens, but a Finnegan instead. They're both "happy for me if I'm happy" and Sunday is super-fucking-awkward-dinner-day now. My mom was a little miffed she wasn't there, but felt better after I informed her of the completely informal nature of the whole thing. We'll one day have a proper wedding with rings that didn't come out of Cracker Jack's boxes, but what was important to us is done - we are married and in love. Also, I get 90% of my eyeglasses covered, which is handy because Odin ate my old ones.

I'm sure this entry makes no sense, because these two days have been exhausting, so here's something that makes all the sense in the world"

Ashley is Like One of Those Annoying Parents

Fri, 08 May 2009 18:19:25 GMT

These are my tiny baby pubpies.

This is Mayday. Her hobbies include endlessly chasing anything that you're willing to throw, biting Odin, moaning irritably when disturbed, and literally trying to drown you in her saliva.

This is Odin. He enjoys being the laziest puppy in the world, except when overcompensating for his lack of testicles by humping Mayday and eating the paper things off muffins.

Ashley Wants to be Objectified Too, Sometimes

Wed, 06 May 2009 14:51:53 GMT

So, lately I've been feeling wildly unattractive. I've put on some pounds since Sean's been home thanks to eating out a lot, and it's had an impact on my self-esteem because, Hell, I'm shallow like that.

Last night, I asked Sean what it was that he found sexy about me. And you know what his answer was? That I'm smart, funny and unique.

Holy shit.

That was the absolute worst answer, next to "you have such a pretty face!".

So, in my usual, gently prodding way, I ask, "what about physically? Is there anything about me, or anything that I do that's sexy?" and after a long, long pause, I get "everything."

Objectify me, for chrissake! He seems to have no problem objectifying younger, sluttier girls. He has no problem objectifying women in porn. Why not me? I'm a girlfriend, not a nun. I'm not sure at what point I became so entrenched in the physical, and so obsessed with comparing myself to other women - real life, or celebrities. I'm not sure when so much of my worth became dependent on what someone else thought of me, but it really, really sucks.

I'm afraid of being rejected sexually by him (which has happened before- ouchers!) and it's made me totally stop trying to seduce him. This is counter-productive, I realize, but my ego can't take another shoot down. Sean isn't responsible for my self esteem, but I could really use the help. These feelings are what drove me to cheat in the past and that's not a road I want to go down again. Hell, I feel bad enough fighting the urge.

I just feel bad.

Ashley Might Just Cry, Is Bitter and Petty

Wed, 29 Apr 2009 15:47:17 GMT

So, because I no longer wish to be a useless turd, I've been looking into schooling. Turns out that through Athabasca University, I'd be able to get my BofArts, with a concentration in psychology (which I can upgrade to a major afterward), all from the comfort of my own home. Which is good, because my own comfortable home is about 300 kilometers from any real institution. I realize it's not the most reputable school, but it's feasible and that's a nice change from "freakin' out of the question".

The only issue is that after this three years, I will have spent almost $20,000 and frankly, I don't have $20 at the moment. I'm considering speaking to my (totally loaded) father, but with him already agreeing to put his (third) wife's kid through college, who knows? This fact is a major point of contention for me for a lot of reasons. First, these aren't his kids, they're the kids of the woman he's railing (married to, whatever) and I have sprung from his very loins. I realize I might sound like a petty, selfish asshole here, but I'm really bitter that these kids are benefiting from my father's new employment situation and are receiving innumerable things that a) Shannon and I never had the opportunity to receive, and b) we could both really fucking use. For example, Shannon and her fiance don't have a car and being that they're about to have a child, they could really use one. Carla's (Dad's wife) children are both receiving a vehicle. I am fully aware that as my parents were in the military, this wasn't an option for us, and now we're "all grown up", but to see other children receive what I feel that we should be receiving, is disheartening, embittering, and all-around infuriating. I feel like my life would have been much different, had we gotten the opportunities these kids are getting, and it makes me angry.

Further complicating matters is the fact that my father completely checked out for almost five years and only recently has come back into our lives at all. And don't get me wrong - he helps us both out a lot when we need it - just not to the same extent. I almost feel like he should be making up for the past, and the materialistic part of me wants it in the form of a university education. I do like having him in my life in any context, but I am growing more and more bitter and angry every day. I don't know how to broach it without coming off a twat, but it's eating me up a little bit.

Gugh.

Ashley Loves Her Baby Guys

Thu, 23 Apr 2009 00:21:06 GMT

I have two sad furries. Mayday just got spayed, but poor little Odin got shots, neutered and had his dew claws cut off. The poor little guy doesn't know how to sit anymore. I want to just put them in my pocket and make them feel all better.

Ashley Looks Less Terrible

Sun, 19 Apr 2009 00:44:45 GMT

Cut off my bad haircut. Don't mind my face, I'm exhausted.

Ashley Uses Facebook Ads to Amuse Herself (& You?)

Wed, 15 Apr 2009 02:57:49 GMT

Facebook is trying to make me fight a baby.

For some reason, this made me LOL for like, ten minutes.

Ashley FINALLY Posts Evidence of Odin's Existence

Tue, 14 Apr 2009 18:57:01 GMT

Here is a photo of Dog Number 2, Odin, who is clearly not a supermodel and is in no mood for me.

It's pretty much impossible to tell, but that's a male from Mayday's litter.

Adopted?

Ashley Has Sown Her Wild Oats?

Tue, 14 Apr 2009 16:36:12 GMT

Despite my initial aversion to being back in La Lac Froid, it's inexplicably grown on me. I think there's a part of me that longs to settle down and live in a house where I can paint the walls any color I like. I want to know the business of everyone I walk past in the street and have coffee while cattily discussing neighbors. Cold Lake is, unfortunately, on the cusp between small town quaint and big city bullshit. There's a disproportionate amount of graffiti and crime, and so many run down buildings and bankrupted businesses. I could go smaller, really, to the ultimate in quaint. I'm happy in my comfortable relationship with a man who has simple tastes and the most endearing kind of small-town mentality- the man considers Red Lobster the height of sophistication and fancy, and I think it's adorable. I have my two dogs and my sister about to give birth to my new niece. I'm pretty content.

Or so I say until I need a new pair of shoes and the nearest Payless is three hours away.

Ashley Makes Herself LOL During a Slow Day at Work

Mon, 13 Apr 2009 23:49:42 GMT

Work is totally dead, so I've been reading old journal entries from my BME page. Holy shit, I used to be hilarious. Following are my favorite tidbits:

In other news, I decided it would be a really great idea to give myself a home Brazilian wax.
I would not suggest anyone attempt that.
For two hours, I sat in the bathroom, juxtaposing in an attempt to wax my nether regions, wailing and tearing my pubic hair out in jerky, hesitating motions. I’m pretty sure at one point, I went into shock. Once I’d pasted all four of my labia together and bled from my ass crack a little, it was done and I now have a “clean work space”.
It’s been a big few days, basically.

Last night, Rin and I went for a night on the town, where I was called "beautiful" and a "heifer" in the course of two hours. The good Lord giveth, and the good Lord taketh away.

How long has it been since I dated a guy in a punk rock band? I think the last time I did, I was frightened and confused by hair on my crotch and basic algebra.

I was super psyched to buy my anti-fart pills as massive amounts of farts have been exploding out of my ass all of the time. Then the sad news from Erin. "Antiflatulants" mean more, bigger farts! Apparently it gathers all the farts together and creates more massive farts.
Note to all other fart-pill takers: "Gas relief" just means your body will release farts to the relief of your abdomen.

Have you ever been showering with someone, totally accidentally farted, stank up the whole room, and blamed it on faulty plumbing, so convincingly that your partner smells the water coming from the showerhead and goes, "yeah, maybe it is. The plumbing in this building sucks."

Last night, I was brewing myself a delicious pot of coffee in the weirdest coffee-brewer of all time (a contraption that you put on top of a pot, place the filter in and pour boiling water through). Suddenly, a great spasm seized me, starting in my back and rattling its way through my arm, sending it blasting wayward into the coffee-making-contraption, spilling the boiling contents in an area that was approximately a mile in every direction. This sadly, included my thighs, which are either red due to the burns or, like the victims of a nuclear blast, my red pants have been burnt into my flesh.

how the fuck does one fry a pork chop?

Pete isn't dead, but he grew a moustache like Burt Reynolds' so he may as well be.

Edit: I wrote my mom an emailing explaining our surgery. In the message, I was trying to explain that my wound had pus in it, and I wrote "I have a pussy wound". Heh. She replied with this: you retard.

Step one: Take a deep breath, in preparation for the eternal struggle between woman and nature - control top pantyhose.
Step two: Congratulate yourself on your braving no underwear, in the fight against panty-lines.

Step three: Begin the slow decent from toes to as high as they'll go. Look forward to the smoothing out of lumpy bumps.

Step four: Realize, while the tights are 20% over your ass, that there's a hole the size of a twonie in the crotch.

Step five: Wonder just how noticeable it really could be, being that it's tucked up there. Realize that alcohol and the inevitable flailing limbs will create a money shot.

Step six: Weigh options.
A) Take off tights and start over
A1) Issues arise from this, such as once again beginning the fight and potentially tearing them.

Step seven: Put panties on over the tights, after inspecting them and realize there's a hole in those, too.

Step eight: Grow despondent over
A) Life
B) Wardrobe

A foreign guy, in a fit of rage, just told me to "eat all his ass hair and go die".
English as a second language insults are the funniest kind.

But even worse, I got a Handi-snack without the little red cheese spreader.

My life is a tragedy.

I am the Jacques Cartier of va-jay-jay.

Vaginas are fuck. Ing. Terrifying.

If I was a dude, I think I would have shat upon seeing my first snatch. All that skin! All those folds and nooks and crannies. It looks like a pastrami sandwich.

Today, playing Mario Kart, I fully almost had a "Nintendo moment" and hurled my controller (complete with steering wheel) right through the TV after taking the squids and turtle shells way too personally. That I didn't, I feel, shows tremendous growth on my part.

Tonight, my farts smell exactly like the pizza I just ate, complete with the nuances of Italian salami and mushrooms. The delicate bouquet of mozzarella and Pizza 73's own special marinara sauce is perfectly complimented by the rich yeasty smell of crispy, soft crust.

Last night Sheri told me that the spinning around of a strange girl was actually me putting her in a headlock and sort of trying to spin around, but mostly just running in a circle.

I have no power in my house, but at least I've got diarrhea.

Sometimes, on those days you're a little down in the dumps and can't seem to shake the ickies, all you need to do is pull yourself up by the bootstraps and bake yourself a cake, ice a dick on it, and represent magical ejaculation with rainbow jimmies.

Even with all this funny, I probably skipped about 50 entries because they contained the name "Rob" and to be honest with you, I'm not ready to head down that nostalgic and painful road just yet.

Ashley is Thankful?

Mon, 13 Apr 2009 21:38:07 GMT

My Thanksgiving was...something.

Shannon and I could not, for the life of us, figure out why my Martha Stewart Doppelganger mother was not having an Easter dinner, but all that came to light when I was warned that coming over to pick up my baby book might have to be put on hold because Mike's daughter would be there.

Awesome.

Additionally, for some reason, my sister going to Mother's house to do laundry turned into a bizarre confessional when she regaled Shannon with a story I sure as Hell have never heard. Evidently when I was around two or three, I was being a holy terror, as toddlers are wont to do. In retaliation, my mother grabbed my arm and threw me into my room. Unfortunately, in the way was my beloved Spring Horse. I don't know if you remember the old ones but they sure weren't plush - they were molded plastic and stainless steel, so when my face bounced off it, I wound up vertically breaking one of my front teeth. My father returned home that day and whisked me off to Edmonton, three hours away (Cold Lake had no dentists? I don't know.) where it took three grown men to hold my squirming, Incredible Hulk'd out ass down.

This explains my aversion and outright terror when it comes to dental work.

I don't know why this is affecting me so much. It was 23 years ago! I think the fact that I don't remember it and all of the sudden, my mom's red hot temper of yesteryear is recalled.

Speaking of yesteryear recalled, I did end up getting my baby book and it is the first time I have ever seen photos of myself as a baby. It was strange, especially since my first days of life were spent in the UofA hospital with an IV in my head. They had to shave the front and the sides, which left me looking like a pissed off raisin in a toupee. Lucky for me, I got pretty cute quickly; it wasn't a good look.

Ashley Bakes, Doesn't Fail

Sat, 11 Apr 2009 00:28:50 GMT

I've baked and for once, I didn't destroy it.

50% done my Easter baking - next up is apple crisp for people who don't want a cupcake.

Ashley Finally Figures Out What Man Flowers Are

Wed, 08 Apr 2009 21:54:54 GMT

Sean sent me flowers at work today, which is the best way to receive flowers. This way I know I've made other spouses jealous and they will probably go home to their significant other saying "Sooo, this girl at work got flowers today from her boyfriend..."

I believe this, because it's what I do.

Anyway, I called Shannon to tee-hee about it and the following exchange occurred, proving without doubt that being hilarious is somehow hereditary.

Me: Sean sent me flowers at work! And even remembered what my favorite flowers were! He is so getting a blow-jay.

Shannon: Nice! Those are like flowers for boys!

Ashley is Such a Corky Sometimes

Mon, 06 Apr 2009 20:16:59 GMT

My social skills lacking (paticularly IRL, LOLOL!), I really wish I could think of a way to ask someone to hang out, without it sounding like a weird come-on.

For example, I had a client today. My age, also 'not the norm', funny and seemed really cool. Being that I have all of like, one friend here, I thought "hey, it would be cool to hang out!" Sadly, everything I could think of to say ("want to grab a drink sometime?", "Since neither of us really know anyone, do you want to hang out?") sounded like a pick-up line in my brain and I couldn't figure out any way to ask without a disclaimer like, "not that I'm gay or anything". Maybe this says something about me, I don't know.

I'm not good at...people.

Ashley Updates Her Attention-Starved Fanbase

Thu, 02 Apr 2009 18:21:13 GMT

So, as I mentioned previously, I am not dead.

I work six days a week, nine hours a day which, to some of you, is child's play, but to lazy, diseased me, can be Hell sometimes. I like my job as a tax preparer 90% of the time (and to the 10% of you who think it's H&R Block's fault you owe money, you can fuck off) and I like the people I work with. This has become the most consuming part of my life, and I often catch myself sharing stories of irate tax-payers or the old lady who passed out in our doorway with people who don't give a damn, anyway.

I had a brief "reprieve" from work last week when I was sick in a way I haven't been since I was a kid. You remember, violently heaving and shitting away all your vital fluids while your mom brought you Pedialyte and bullion? Yeah, that was me, except my mom was absent and Sean was helplessly unaware of my needs. Bless his cotton socks, his was patient with my inert form smelling up the upholstery, though.

The other major change in my life in the past x months was the addition of a new dog to our little family. He's appropriately been renamed Odin, a name initially reserved for my first-born son (plans change, uterine tingles subside). He's from Mayday's litter and was re-adopted from a family who couldn't manage a dog his size any longer. You'd never know the two of them were related, or even the same age, though, as Odin is white with brown patches, twice as big, and already acts like an old man as Mayday does her best to eviscerate him at any given moment. I'll post some photos of him when looking at a computer screen isn't an incredibly painful chore. He's a good dog, but needs a lot of training and hurray for me, I'm doing it on my own.

Sean's been in Florida since last Saturday on some kind of an airplane trip. I don't get it all, it's for work. He hates it and to be fully honest, I revel in that a little every time I have two Tasmanian devils crashing into my legs. My insecurity always rears it's head during these times but Sean's been great about consoling my wounded ego and telling me all the things I need to hear to quit being a horrible shrew.

My family life is weird. Shannon (whose ever-increasing belly is one of the many reasons my want to reproduce has vanished) and I have figured it out: at any given moment, only one of our parents is present. After my parents separated when I was 17, my dad fucked off for about five years. We didn't see him and spoke to him only on special occasions. As two "Daddy's Girls", we were shattered and grew to hate him to compensate. Recently, however, every time my father returns home from his job in the middle of nowhere, he calls and we do something. Alternatively, my mother has essentially vanished, only occasionally coming around to tell us of her latest debauchery. And debauchery it is! When your 20-something daughters are appalled at your behavior, it's time to take a look at your life.

So that's where I've been. And you? What's new in your life (she asks, as if she hasn't been stalking your blogs this entire time)?

Ashley Falls Prey to the Most Vicious Beast

Wed, 25 Mar 2009 00:33:06 GMT

Damn you, Gossip Girl!

I refused to watch this show because the last thing I need is another weekly drama to consume me, but being sick and flat on my back the past two days has left me with nothing but time to fill my morbid curiosity.

Damn, damn, damn.