10,000 Hits!

WOOHOO!!!

Now that my blog has reached epic proportions, I will be leaving it behind for a few days while in Wilmywood. See you Sunday.

And, the Winner is...

For her "sassy" entry which STGD "love, love, loved," the remaining Ashleypalooza t-shirt is awarded to Andria! STGD and I carefully evaluated the entries, and we would like to award an Honorable Mention to Megan, who was willing to put all her assets on the table. It made STGD nostalgic for my cleavage propped on his desk. Thanks to everyone who entered. I wish we had enough tshirts for you all.

Andi, congratulations! Wear it proud, girl!

Minus Two

For undisclosed reasons, Warner Bros. has moved the release date for Order of the Phoenix up two days to July 11. Perhaps the less-than-expected turnout for anticipated blockbusters like Shrek the Third and Pirates of the Caribbean: End of the World had WB feeling like they needed an extra long opening weekend. Whatever the case, move up your ticket purchase 48 hours! It's like we get a Time Turner! (Sorry...I just finished reading Prisoner of Azkaban.)

Fourth Question: The Book of Love?

Scholastic's fourth question asks whom love is in the air for in Deathly Hallows. I couldn't help but laugh at the poll results on Scholastic's websites. The poll poses the following couples, and you can only vote for one:

* Harry & Ginny
* Ron & Hermione
* Harry & Hermione
* Lupin & Tonks

I cast my vote for Ron and Hermione, since that's the relationship Rowling has been most clearly setting up from the outset that hasn't quite come to fruition. If something doesn't happen there, talk about a loaded gun left on the wall. My hope is that Harry and Ginny will get their day, too. But the poll results are skewing heavily toward Harry and Hermione with 52% percent of the votes. Granted, Scholastic's site seems to be having technical difficulties and has only recorded 100 votes - so either something is amiss or I'm really on the ball this morning.

All the same, I figure there are those rabid fans out there who will insist that Harry and Hermione are going to end up together. Sorry, guys. Rowling's already debunked you on that following the publication of Half-Blood Prince. I think the only way Harry's going to end up with Hermione is if Daniel Radcliffe and Emma Watson make out off camera.

Help Me, Tom Cruise!

Saturday night, Justin rented Talladega Nights, insisting that I had to see it. I waffle on movies centering around former SNL castmembers in totally ridiculous plots. But Justin told me that it was hilarious, and seeing as how I had nothing better to do on a Saturday night, I caved.

The first ten minutes had me gasping for breath - they may, in fact, be the best of the movie. Aside from the hysterical saying grace scene in which Ricky Bobby insists on addressing his prayer to the sweet infant baby Jesus. All in all, it's a pretty good movie.

But the best part was that every one else went to bed and left Justin and me sitting there laughing, repeating the ridiculous lines back to each other. With him in the recliner and me on the couch, the two of us making jokes about our pee pants, I almost felt 16 again. And it was kind of fun, just for the night.

Splish Splash

An Extension

Some of you brave souls have already thrown your hat - or other body parts (Megan) - in the ring for the last Ashleypalooza t-shirt featuring *me* and designed by the infamous STGD. We said we'd announce the winner today, but I know the judge is not in the office and, well, it is a holiday weekend. So...I'm giving you the weekend to pluck up your courage and compete! Last chance - bid here or below. All entries will be counted. Winner on Tuesday - hey, it'll brighten up your return to work after the long weekend!

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them

I read this article this morning about a new exhibit at the American Museum of Natural History in New York that sheds light on the factual origins of mythic creatures like mermaids, dragons, and even kappas - all which feature prominently in Harry Potter, by the way.

My first thought when I read the article was that I had never thought what "actual" creature had made sailors think they were seeing mermaids. Griffins, dragons, unicorns...I just thought of them as characters starring in Clash of the Titans.

And then my second thought was, why do we need to disprove these figments of imagination? Why do we need to take something fanciful and stuff it in the box of forsensic proof? While I found the exhibit intriguing, it also made me a little sad. Can't we just let some things be sacred? Is a deconstruction of Mother Goose next? Loch Ness and Big Foot, and all the other mystical creatures that make us wonder if we saw what we thought we saw are thrilling in their "unprovableness." With the proliferation of information and reporting that goes on to the nth degree in the name of discovery, there's precious little that we can wonder about.

Right Now

I reached a turning point this week in the transition period. Not really awareness. Just a sudden restless feeling. Listless, grouchy and snappish. Craving quiet and then noise. Meeting Mom at the door when she gets home declaring, "I'm bored." Waiting for the deep dark of night when I am alone again.

Yearning for a place and yet afraid to find it. Trapped between where I was and where I'm going. I want to yell at everyone, "You don't understand" and then am desperate to talk to someone who does. Annoyed by the faces that make me hesitate - are you from here or from there? Do I really know you or did I know you in a former life? An understated case of schizophrenia.

I rub my brows a lot. I've come up with a hundred analogies for this place in my life. I'm like a cat being dropped. I'm like an exchange student. I'm like a time traveler. Adjectives to describe it that I've never used before now. I told Mom tonight I am "cagey."

I saw on the History Channel this place in California called The Mystery Spot that seems to defy gravity - balls rolling upward, people standing upright appear on an incline. But it was debunked as a trick of perspective. The whole site is built at an odd angle, and the creator was careful to remove all traces of the normal horizon with a very high surrounding fence.

All my points of reference are gone. I don't quite know where I'm standing. And everything outside of the fence - that normal horizon that everyone else is operating according to - seems very foreign and very distant. And I knew it was coming - I did - but that it's here and I'm feeling it doesn't make it any easier.

Sweet Agony

Studio 60 appears to be back on for the time being. Guess NBC is filling out the gap between the prime time season and the undoubtedly crappy summer season with the remainder of the show's episodes. And while it was good to be back on the Sunset Strip, it was bittersweet. To see Allison Janney back on television opposite Timothy Busfield was like a wonderful little sidetrip down West Wing Memory Lane. And the cast is so, so wonderful - Stephen Weber is brilliant! My only complaint was that Bradley Whitford was totally absent from tonight's episode. Tune in next Thursday at ten for the next installment. Enjoy it while it lasts.

Back to School

Today I visited my mom at work - for those of you who don't know, she the teacher's aide in the library. While there, I

* reshelved books

* read a book about a wombat

* was asked if I was a student teacher

* was asked if I was one of the high school volunteers

* cleaned up after a luau

* saw a guy I went to high school with

* read a note a student sent to the librarian that said, "You make books sound more interesting than they really are."

* saw parents who were my age or younger

* hit the road before the bell rang to avoid Other People's Children

Jackpot!

2:45 p.m. today, phone rings

Me: Hello?

STGD: Hey, what are you doing?

Me: Eating Doritos and watching a Shania Twain video on CMT.

STGD: God, it's like you've won the lottery.

ashBay: Get It While It's Hot!

A late comment (and blog debut) by my cosmic twin STGD on last week's post about the office revealed that one Ashleypalooza t-shirt is up for grabs, pictured here. As described by STGD:

It is unworn. Size large. A heavenly golden toned ringer tee. Contrasting dark green neck and arm bands really set it apart from your ordinary T. The screen printing is in a matte black. Really quite fetching.

This might be your only chance to own this limited edition t-shirt featuring yours truly. It was STGD's idea to auction it off on the blog. So...if you want it, put your bid in the comments section. And by bid, I mean, tell us why you want it, need it, have to have it, and why we should give it to you. STGD will be the judge - what he says goes, since he is the mastermind behind the design. Winner will be announced on the blog Friday.

Ladies and Gentlemen, the bidding is open.

Octagonal Oddities

Tagged by Pen to reveal 8 weird things about myself...as if what I write everyday doesn't qualify.

1. I am obsessed with trees. I have in my closet a branch of a weeping cherry tree that used to reside in our backyard and was cruelly cut down because it grew into the septic tank. At Berry, there was a holly tree that grew outside my window, and in Wilmywood, the giant ancient oak outside the Grace Street house was mine all mine. Trees make me feel peaceful and contemplative. Something to do with my name, perhaps? Or maybe I was an Ent in a former life.

2. I feel bad when I am not part of a cultural phenomenon. I feel guilty about the fact that"Smells Like Teen Spirit" was one of the most formative songs of my generation and I simply wasn't that into it. Clerks and Mallrats? Never seen 'em. The Simpsons? Not that funny to me. It makes me feel like a lesser member of the human race, like I'm not being a team player because I'm not participating. It's one of the main reasons I watch American Idol.

3. I like to have the same conversations over and over again, particularly with my mom. If we've talked out a situation once, we've talked it out 100 times. Sometimes we even use the same phrases. There is no answer, no resolution to these conversations. They are just familiar terrain that we like to explore over and over again. Like we need to say, "Remember that rock from yesterday?" Yep, I remember.

4. Embarrassingly weird, but Sister Act Two: Back in the Habit always makes me cry at the end. I'm serious. Those kids singing "Joyful, Joyful" and beating out the giant choir from St. Wherever, and I am in a puddle. Oh, Whoopi.

5. I don't like to listen to music unless I know the words. When I get a new CD, I listen to it at least twice with the liner notes in front of me. I've got to get a hang of the chorus, a thread of each verse in order to build on it until I know all the words. Perhaps this is why I cannot get into jazz. And as a second to this, when I find an artist that I like, I feel compelled to get all of their music even if I only like one song. I want to own them - all of them - and know all the words. This is how I like music.

6. I only like art that looks like something. I know this is incredibly low-brow and unhip of me. But if I'm going to hang it up, I need to see something in it - a cloud, a dog, a barn. It can be abstracted, but there's got to be something there. I'm sure there is great meaning in Pollock. But I don't want it on my wall.

7. I am obsessed with my left-handedness. I like to note what activities I actually perform left-handed...writing, eating, drinking, painting my fingernails, repelling.... I make note of anyone around me who is left-handed - store clerks, waiters, delivery men. I acknowledge it, like we are somehow comrades in arms because of our left-handedness. If I'm watching a movie, I will notice if an actor is left-handed. And I have to say it out loud. "Diane Keaton's left-handed!" (This during watching Baby Boom with my dad last weekend.) It is like being part of a secret society to me - and yeah, Hendrix is in it with me.

8. I see shortening people's names as a sign of affection. And some people hate this and find it a real insult that you would shorten their name. My friend Niki and I have been friends since first grade...back then, we were Nicole and Ashley. But as years went by, it shortened and shortened until we were Nik and Ash. And we used to joke that some day we'd just be letters. I also call STGD by the first letter of his first name which is "T". There are exceptions to the rule - names that simply don't lend themselves to being shortened or people who simply don't fit the acceptable shortening. But really - if I cut off most of your name, it's because I love you.

Tagging the hometown gals - Nik, Andi and Megan.

Them's Fightin' Words

When I arrived at Eva & Justin's house last week, I interrupted play group. This means that I walked into the kitchen filled with four mothers and six children. Eva had warned me, knowing that there's no love lost between me and other people's children.

I was handling it pretty well, seeking refuge at one end of the kitchen table and trying to make polite conversation and keep up with talk of Exersaucers and Johnny Jump Ups. Eva had just finished feeding Dillon and handed him off to me to take one of the other mothers to see a project she'd been working on. He fussed, and I checked his diaper and confirmed that it was wet. I said as much aloud.

That's when one of the mommies totally overstepped bounds. In this voice one would use to speak to a child, she said, "Since Auntie Ashley is holding Dillon, will she change the diaper?"

In my head, I turned to her and said, "Don't patronize me or I will cut you." But in real life, I simply gathered Dillon up and headed off to change him. And she followed me. Standing over my shoulder, she cooed to her own infant, as though giving her approval, "Look at Auntie Ashley go!"

I held my temper in check, but I was so enraged that I couldn't quite get over it. What was it about this woman's ridiculous behavior that had me itching to lash out at her? Perhaps it was due in part to facing one of those moments when I felt more Bridget Jones-esque than ever, surrounded by the Mom Squad with their infants and toddlers, and me wondering if they were feeling sorry for me or thinking "tick tock, tick tock." But more than that - because I didn't feel this Hulkish rage toward anyone else - I think it was her condescension to insinuate that I would be too squeamish or too inept to change a diaper. And no disrespect to the moms out there, but rocket science it ain't.

I couldn't help thinking about the book I blogged about recently that called women on the carpet for being stay-at-home moms. In that moment, I found myself faced with the complete opposite opinion - someone who thought that they could talk down to me, treat me like a child, because I am unmarried and childless. I was angry at the woman, and I was angry at myself because, what does her judgment matter to me? She isn't someone I know, and certainly (after this) someone I respect. Why should I allow her to make me feel so inadequate about myself? It was dispicable, really.

But there, with her cooing her baby-talk commentary, I seriously considered punching her in the mouth. And I'm pretty sure I'd have been sent to timeout.

Drool Box

Dillon was four months old to the day when this was taken. As you can see, he's grown a bit - almost 15 pounds! And he can drool his own weight. We were changing him because he had wet his outfit in more ways than one. Thanks to Eva for snapping Dillon and Auntie Ashley. We were trying so hard to get a genuine smile, but he wasn't having it. This was the best we got. Still cute, though.

DUMPED!

I can't help myself. This from Perez Hilton kind of makes me laugh. Sorry, Jess.

Things That Make You Go Whoops

I've been remiss in posting the last couple of days while I was in Atlanta with Justin, Eva and Dillon. I went to keep her company on Wednesday because Justin had to entertain clients late into the evening. Around 7:30, Eva and I headed for the car to dash out for dinner. We had been waiting on my cousin to show up when she called and cancelled due to work obligations. We had just a tiny window before Dillon was going to put on his fussy pants and demand his last bottle and bed. Did I mention we were voraciously hungry?

All of these things - the hunger, the lateness of the hour, the impending fussy pants episode, and the position of the garage in relation to the driveway - combined for a collossal oops. As we pulled out of the garage, Eva smashed into the back end of my Rav.

Now, some of you may know that Eva's a little bit notorious behind the wheel. For my grad school comrades, you may remember that I catalogued another famous car accident of hers in my short story "Car Crashes." And there's another story we like to tell about her driving when she had a tiny Ford Probe (totalled in aforementioned story accident) when I was on the way to her apartment with my boyfriend at the time. We were a little turned around when this silver bullet whipped around us, nearly clipping the corner of the car. And while my boyfriend was swearing at her, I said, "Follow her! That's Eva!"

The weird thing was that I knew it was going to happen. As the garage door lifted up and I spied the Rav behind us in the driveway, it just clicked in my head that she was going to hit it. But when she started easing out of the garage, I thought she saw it. When she cleared the trash can, she accelarated, and though I called out her name, she didn't have time to hit the breaks before she hit the car.

Bless her sweet heart. She felt so awful. And I felt so awful, looking at the bumper pulled away from the body and crumpled underneath. She couldn't stand the suspense and interrupted Justin's dinner meeting to tell her what she'd done. Between losing the dog last week and the accident this week, I'm doubtful that I'll be invited back to their house for awhile.

Fashion Statement

I will not be reading any more romance novels set in Medieval times as, not even in my wildest imagination, are men wearing "puffed trunk hose" sexy. No. They are not.

Third Question

Scholastic's third question is will Hogwarts reopen in Deathly Hallows? Choices are a straight up yes and no and yes but Harry, Ron and Hermione won't go back. I'm leaning toward the latter. Clearly, Harry has said he won't be going back, but I think Rowling needs Hogwarts as a central location. Even if it's not open, the book will take us back there in some form or fashion. Some folks have conjectured that one of the founders' artifacts may be hidden in the room where Harry dumps his potions book in Half-Blood Prince (Chapter Twenty-Four, "Sectumsempra"). It's getting close. I better get on the re-reading!

Modern Dad

Dad on John Mayer
Listening to iTunes on laptop. John Mayer Trio playing.

Dad: Who's this?

Me: John Mayer Trio.

Dad: Hmmm. I don't care for his singin' but I like his pickin'.


Dad on iPod
Telling Mom that it does take four hours to charge the iPod.

Dad: This iPod thing you're talking about...what is it? What does it do?

Second Friday

* Smelled: Honeysuckle, gardenia

* Walked: 3 miles

* Trimmed: Mom's lantana in the backyard

* Purchased: Mother's Day card

* Carried: New Target purse

* Listened: iPod...Tori Amos, DMB, Justin Timberlake, Craig David

* Watched: Pride & Prejudice

* Photographed: Kudzu, kitchen counter, resting on the dish towel

* Called: Former high school English teacher

* Scheduled: Coffee date with former high school English teacher, lunch with Jenn

* Contemplated: Nothing

* Appreciated: Thunderstorm

Set Your DVR!

By trying to figure out what project Bradley Whitford is in next, I just discovered that NBC is going to revive Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip! Well, by that I mean air at least one episode. On May 24 at 10, the next episode in the series "Breaking News" will pick up where the show left off. IMDB's summary says, " Jordan faces a scare with her pregnancy. Tom must deal with a crisis. Matt's drug habit is no longer a secret." NBC's site notes that Allison Janney (my hero C.J. from Sorkin's The West Wing) will be guest starring as the show's host. No subsequent airings are listed on IMDB or NBC, but I recall that there were between 5-10 episodes that never aired. I'll take what I can get. Woohoo!

Leaving: Part Three - The Office

This little paperweight sat on the small conference table in my boss's office. It was a Magic Eight Ball of sorts for the business types with answers like "Buy" and "Fire Someone." I used to sit at the table in her office and spin it and spin it while we were talking, letting my finger fall in the grooves to slow it down. On my last day, I went in to take a picture of it, and it just happened to be right on the line between "No" and "Go For It" which I thought was an ironically perfect answer to the question of me leaving.

I have been known, on occasion, to complain about my job. But I suppose that's par for the course if you're human and employed. The reason everyone loves The Office and Office Space is because in some way, we can relate to the horrors of the 9-to-5 existence. While I complained about whatever was going wrong that day, that week, that year...I still really loved my job. And I loved my office - including the carnival tent painting that my boss bought at an auction after I fell in love with it and was gracious enough to let me have in my office. And I loved the beautiful, beautiful iMac G5 (seen below). I had a marvelous time sitting in that chair - especially when I had visitors in the chairs opposite mine. (STGD, Susan, Allison, Lauren - that means you.)

I got my job by the allignment of Venus and Mars when Saturn was in the 7th house. I simply called all of the firms listed in the Yellow Pages and was invited to send my resume to this particular firm. I can remember the day I interviewed, and I was standing on the opposite side of Princess Street and talking to my mom on my giant Nokia cell about how petrified I was. Particularly because it felt like I'd been looking for a job forever, and I was two seconds from considering Hooters. My boss called to offer me the job on a Sunday, and I started Monday week - October 29, 2001. I worked part time during grad school, and then moved to full time after I graduated.

Over the years, I worked in three different offices with more than 50 clients and almost 25 different people. There was a little turnover problem, and then some of those people are still at the office, picking up where I left off. Maybe one of them is in the club chair on the right, which sits in the lobby (I wrote "our" lobby and then revised) . It's a good place to sit if you need a little sound advice from Miranda. You could find me there at some point during every day. And on the wall is Wilbur/Ferdinand - a happy pig smelling the tulips. I loved that pig. And the lamp that STGD turned on every morning because no one else would and the bowls of candy. When I first started, I remember telling Mom, "There's always chocolate in the office!"

And really, in the end, you have to consider what your send off is like, and I couldn't have had a better one. A photo of me from karaoke was turned into the Ashleypalooza graphic (and thanks to STGD, I look foxy!). It was applied to t-shirts (including one for the office dog!) which everyone was wearing when I arrived at the party. If you ever want to feel a little famous, I suggest getting a group of your friends to wear your face on a t-shirt. There were daiquiries and hula hooping attempts and lots of photos taken. There was the copy of the funny quotes we keep in a book for me to take away. And the beautiful scrapbook of photos and memories. I've looked at it about 50 times since I left.

The goodbyes at the end of this party were among the hardest I had to say. I spent more time with these people over the past few years than I spent with my own family. Every day. Coffee, lunch and sometimes dinner. They were my family away from family. It was an unforgettable experience - all almost-six years of it. And they are unforgettable people. And the end of the party was the first "big ugly" cry I had during the leaving weekend.

I've still been doing some work for them during the transition. And every time I call, I feel a little sad that I'm here and not there. Not getting my second cup of coffee. Not yelling at my boss from my office. Not sitting across the desk from STGD starting out working and ending up looking at Perez Hilton. But I like to think a little of me is left behind. A little ghost of me making too much noise and bad puns and piling up papers and draining the coffee pots and coercing everyone into quitting their diet for the day to go to Chic-Fil-A. Typically, that's what I did.

Taking the Long Way (or The UnPlan Plan)

Two questions most asked since my departure from Wilmywood:

1) Are you enjoying having some time off from work?
2) Have you found a job yet?

Please don't think these questions are mutually exclusive. I'm often asked them back to back.

Here's the thing: I have followed the plan to the nth letter since I was 12 years old. I choose 12, because that's when I decided to go to Berry. And major in Communication. When I was 14, I started high school on the college prep track. I joined clubs. I did extracurricular activities. When I was 15, I took the PSAT. When I was 16, I took the SAT. Took it again when I was 17 and took the ACT, too - just for good measure. At 17, I was accepted to Berry and awarded a scholarship. At 18, I went to college.

In those four years of college, I stayed in the major I declared as a 12-year-old, and added three minors to it. I got a second scholarship in theatre. I worked at Oak Hill and was made supervisor. I applied to grad school. I did an internship. I graduated and went to Wilmywood. I got a job. At 24, I earned my MFA. And I stayed in my job, working full-time.

I have followed The Plan so very carefully. And now, for a few weeks of my life since I was 12, I don't have a plan. And it's a national emergency. I know it's what people think to ask, but I wish they wouldn't ask it like they're panicked for me. Like the time is ticking and the bank account is growing smaller.

There's a plan for everything. Your cell phone. Your retirement. The possibility that your workplace comes under a terrorist attack. Perhaps it's time to be liberated from The Plan.

On the way home today, I wasn't paying attention and missed the interstate I was supposed to take and ended up taking another way home. A longer way that I probably haven't driven since college. I missed a bypass later and ended up driving through a quaint little downtown. A drive that should've taken me an hour and a half tops, crested to just over two hours. But you know what? It was okay.

Sometimes, you have to throw the map out the window. Sometimes you have to get lost. Sometimes you just have to keep driving even though you don't know where you're going. Sometimes, the future - that far off destination- is too far away. Sometimes, right now, with the windows down and Keane turned up, is enough. It's enough.

Here's to the UnPlan Plan.

Adventures in Babysitting

Yesterday morning, I left my sister's house in approximately the middle-of-nowhere and headed to my brother's house with three small dogs. Jake, almost 9, a pomeranian poodle mix, and Eli and Zeke, two small black schipperkes almost a year old. Some of you may remember that my sister lost her first schipperke, Ben, last summer. And that these dogs are the loves of her life.

So you can imagine how I felt, about forty-five minutes after arriving, when I realized that only one of the three dogs was in the house with Eva and me. She had come in from outside minutes before, setting the dogs to barking. We were trying to keep them quiet because Dillon was napping. I kept fussing at Zeke, as he seemed the most agitated. But then, I realized he was the only one barking.

The other two were gamboling about in the backyard - unleashed. Jake was no problem; he comes when called. But Eli is a runner. After about an hour of chasing him around the house with Eva and me acting the part of the Two Stooges and trying all sorts of useless plans to trap him, Eli made a run for it. And disappeared.

At roughly 12:30, I broke down and called my sister and told her that he was lost. At roughly 12:32, I called my mother and had a hysterical breakdown. All the while, Eva is tromping through backyards with Dillon strapped to her front in the Baby Bjorn, and I'm cruising the neighborhood calling. And calling. And calling.

Finally, at 1:30, I spot him, thanks to a tip from a landscaper. He's crossed the main road and sitting in a yard in the adjacent neighborhood. At first, I'm not sure whether I should believe my eyes. I hadn't had anything to eat or drink all day. But there he was, sitting calmly in the yard, like it was his own. As slowly and calmly as I could, I got out of the Rav and approached him. And he ran. Ran like the devil was after him and vanishes around the corner.

I search another neighborhood. It is 90 degrees. My sister has left work and is on her way. I am nearing an absolute meltdown. Eva calls me and says that the dogs are barking at the front of her neighborhood. I drive back that way, and I see him. He's by a fence on the opposite side of the road. Now, when I was first shopping for the Rav, one of the salesman insisted on demonstrating its turning radius. I was fascinated at the time. But yesterday, I slammed the brakes, turned on a dime, and parked it in the ditch.

Eli chose that moment to go under the fence, but luckily, he took shelter in a fenced in backyard. Moments later my sister arrived. Moments after that, I was wiping the hysterical tears from my grimy face. In my defense, he ran from her a bit when she arrived. Bad dog. Very, very, very bad dog.

Moral of the story: The Dog Whisperer, I am not. I will be striking dog-sitting from my resume and subsequent job search.

On the Road...Again??

I must be a glutton for punishment. That's the only way I can figure out that I agreed to pack a bag, drive to Atlanta, and spend two days with my sister and brother. I will be dog-sitting for my sister while the realtor shows her house tomorrow, and then spending the day with Justin, Eva and Dillon. Several of you have inquired about Dillon since I've been home, so I thought I would post a couple of pictures I took when he was here last weekend. He's almost 4 months but already filling out the 6 months clothing. Cute as a button, too. Back on Wednesday.

A New Shade of Green

I worry a lot about the way we all use the world without a thought or care to what we're leaving behind for the next generation to clean up - or go without. I read this blog entry from John Mayer, and I thought it was an incredibly encouraging way to think about environmentalism. It's kind of long, but it's really worth reading and considering. Enjoy.

(NOT) WAITING ON THE WORLD TO CHANGE - ENTRY NO. 1

(Preface: Don't get turned off from reading this by any pre-conceived notions you have about the subject matter. I'll make you a deal. When something I write turns you off, then you can click the "x" button and go about your day.)

A year ago this month I wrote a song called "Waiting on the World to Change", in which I tried to express the feelings of helplessness that come with knowing what needs to change in the world but also knowing the futility of trying.

Since that song has been released, there has been one social issue I've kept particularly focused on, silently keeping notes in my mind about what needs to be fixed (and more constructively, how to go about fixing it) while hoping that someone else sharing my exact views would carry out the work without my ever getting involved.

Hey, I'm just being honest.

I'm talking about (see preface!) global warming. Wait! Don't move the mouse. Finger down. Please. Just give me a second. You can watch that video of a cat playing the piano in a few minutes. I just may surprise you with what I'm going to say.

In the "degree of difficulty" column, reversing the effects of global warming is a .5 out of a possible 10, at least in theory. You just get back by reversing the way you came. No accounting for a volatile political world stage, or clashing of belief structures. Just throw this bitch in reverse and we're home.

The trouble is, nobody has managed to come close to bringing this issue to you in a way that doesn't turn you off. At best, it's a bore, and at worst (toilet paper square accounting?) it's insulting to human autonomy.

It seems to me that when it comes to this issue, we've been given only two sides to pick from: side one says the future of global warming does not present a doomsday scenario, almost chuckling the matter aside. Side two says it is a dire issue (which it is), and then goes on to inundate side one with so many separate nakedly-scientific points that they make naivete' seem cozy by comparison.

So here I am, introducing a third side. A laid-back, panic free approach to environmentalism. One that believes the message of "An Inconvenient Truth" is sound, but that it's an incredibly un-fun name for a movie. A side free from the cry of hypocrisy, for it doesn't make sweeping promises. A side that drives an SUV on the way to the grocery store but then produces nylon mesh bags at the checkout line. A side that believes in bringing a change of perspective to our government but letting Carl Rove finish his meal first.

Ladies and Gentlemen, Fans and Friends, I submit to you a third way: Light Green.

No thinking about "offsetting your carbon footprint". No rallies. No brow-beating people who think the Earth just has a fever. Pick one thing to change this year, and keep the rest of your life the same. After all, the only message the charts with escalating red lines are meant to send is that the red lines have to stop escalating, not that hey have to drop to the bottom of the graph by next Tuesday.

Part of the Light Green approach will be the (attempted) introduction of products that are cheap, easy alternatives to cut down on plastics. In the next 90 days I'm going to see how many of these products I can get produced. If it works, great. If not, you'll at least have blogs to read. I'm going to make this one of the focus points of my blog for the next few months., and hopefully by summer there will be a few items at the merchandise stands that you might not have a problem switching to.

And to anybody ready to cut me down for this, here's my full disclosure: I drive a Porsche SUV, I still drink lots of bottled water, and I will be flying private charter several times during my summer tour. However, my bus has been converted to Bio-Diesel, and I'll be coming up with even more ways to adapt to the Light Green mentality before I set out for the summer.

Now go watch that guy getting nailed in the balls on YouTube, but think about it. It's all you've got to do in order to go Light Green.

JM

Missing My Cosmic Twin

All my life, I had a lump at the back of my neck, right here. Always, a lump. Then I started menopause and the lump got bigger from the "hormonees." It started to grow. So I go to the doctor, and he did the bio... the b... the bios... the "bobopsy." Inside the lump he found teeth and a spinal cord. Yes. Inside the lump was my twin.

-Aunt Voula, My Big Fat Greek Wedding

Dear STGD (aka S, the graphic designer),
Perhaps most of my readership doesn't know that you are, in fact, my cosmic twin. They aren't aware of the catalog of strange coincidental traits we share. Let's list, shall we? There's the rosacea. And the sweaty, sweaty armpit - just on the right side. The fast-growing fingernails and the ladder-climber sleep position. And the fact that when we're tired, we tuck our thumbs in our fists. Neither of us are particularly down with OPC (Other People's Children) or social situations we anticipate will make us uncomfortable. We share mad love for Dunkin' Donuts coffee and black cats. We never put garbage in its rightful place. I'm sure there are others I'm forgetting - like the many times one of us has told a story only to have the other say, "Me, too!".

Point is, I'm pretty sure my superpowers are waning now that we're apart. And since you well know that I'm tacky and unable to distinguish colors, it can only get worse from here. Aside from that, I feel like I might actually be assuming a more appropriate demeanor at home - I'm losing my edge, no longer burping aloud or making vulgar comments at every turn. I've even been wearing shirts that cover up my cleavage. I might actually be suitable for employment with *gasp* normal people soon. Quelle horreur! I'm quite certain you're the only one who might be able to rescue me. I just don't want to see my cosmic powers get 1031ed - you know what I mean?

If we could just try taking the form of supersonic flight, that would be great. Or else one of us is going to have to move. I did that last week. So it's your turn.

Love ya,
Ash

P.S. Wouldn't we look hot in these outfits?

The Dirt

By popular demand, I am posting a photo of the brown hair. Lest any of you think with the stand-alone picture that there was little change in the color of my hair, I'm posting the blonde for comparison. I will admit that while I'm not a brunette at heart, I don't hate the hair as much as I did last week. As predicted, the color has settled in my hair a bit and doesn't look so drastic. And...my mom bought Jonathan Antin's Dirt off e-Bay. It's good stuff, ladies. He really does know about great har.

The Shelter of My Single Bed

Until I was about 25 years old, I slept in a single bed. When we first moved into this house, I wasn't even sleeping in a "big girl bed" yet, so I naturally graduated to a little white-frame twin bed one or two years after we moved in here. My room is tiny and could never accommodate a bigger bed - not even an upgrade to a double.

When Anna went away to college, everyone asked me if I would move into the bigger bedroom. But I staunchly stayed in my little, little room. When Justin went away to college, the question came up again. And again, I stayed in the little room with the little bed.

Since then, I've gone away to college and spent four years on the standard dorm-issue single bed. When I moved to Wilmywood, I took one half of the bunkbeds my brother and sister shared once upon a time. I slept on that bed almost all the way through grad school.

But then, J. brought me a spare queen-sized mattress that his parents had recently replaced. I soon grew accustomed to having plenty of room to lay sideways or sprawl out. And factor in plenty of room for Kudzu to lay at the foot of the bed (although he typically chooses to lay on top of me).

So now I'm back, and I thought for sure that I could happily return to the little bed. In fact, I cannot. Apparently I like to roll up in the sheets to the left, and that puts the sheets sliding down between the bed and the wall and me holding on to approximately four inches of leftover sheet when I wake up the next morning. And if Kudzu chooses to sleep with me, he has no choice but to sleep on me like fifty pounds of dead weight, and I cramp from not being able to turn over or wake up with a sore back from where he's taken up residence on me while I'm sleeping on my stomach. Like everything else about me since I've left home, my sleeping habits have changed so much that I can't seem to fit them back into the mold.

I've finally drifted down the hall to Justin's bed. And like Goldilocks, if I find that it's not just right, Anna's is next.

Leaving: Part Two

Last night, watching American Idol, I couldn't help thinking during the recap of last week's show that I had watched it in my apartment. Particularly, the few seconds of Annie Lennox's cover of "Bridge Over Troubled Water" that nearly brought me to my knees last week.

The literal translation of deja vu is already seen. And we use it to talk about that feeling of having experienced something before. The recap wasn't so much a sense of deja vu, as it was that I had literally seen the show before. But at the same time, it was strange to be trying to match up the first experience with the second. With the window for saying "this time last week I was in Wilmywood" closing up fast, the opportunity for deja vu is going out that window.

But is there a word for the confusion of seeing something out of context? I've seen several cars this week that look like those of office mates and friends from Wilmywood. For a moment, the lines between time and place are obliterated, and I'm left standing there wondering where I am. Similarly, I see things here that belong in other parts of my life. Like Jackson Street, where a long-ago boy I liked used to live. I notice it - something in my brain flagging its importance - and deliberate briefly about whether or not it belongs in the present.

The neatly compartmentalized eras of my life are escaping their confines and blurring together. And without a clear direction - no address, no job, nothing to ground me - I feel like I'm just swirling around in all my different selves, able to be one or the other at any given moment.

Unexpected Insight

Read today in the romance novel du jour. A couple of lines that sounded all too familiar:

What I am is the confused product of a semipuritanical upbringing and a liberal education. Which means I think it's wrong for me to do anything but I think it's perfectly alright for other people to do whatever they want. - J.M.

When It Rain It Pours

Life has been going so well with the traumatic move and the disappointing hair color, that I couldn't help sharing the latest blow adding insult to injury. An article in the medical journal Epidemiology suggests that left-handed women die sooner. And are more likely to have cancer. Awesome. Great. Thanks for that pick-me-up. I'll be jumping right out of bed in the morning to greet the day. Sigh.

Second Question: Good or Evil?

The second of seven questions was released this morning by Scholastic leading up to the publication of Deathly Hallows. Is Snape good or evil? This question has been much debated since he Avada Kedavra'ed Dumbledore and fled. So which is it?

* Good and still a spy for the OOTP

* Good but in too deep with Voldemort

* Evil and has always been a spy for Voldemort

* Evil but only because Voldemort is back

At the moment, the first choice is winning at 45%. I'm surprised. A poll on Mugglenet shortly after Half-Blood Prince was published had Snape pegged as evil. I must agree with the majority here...if there's one thing we should've all learned by now, Rowling's scenes are never quite what they seem. I think there was more to "Severus, please" than a plea for life. And as for the look of hatred on Snape's face, Bellatrix told Harry that you can't succeed with the Unforgivable Curses unless you mean them.