True Story

{June 24, 2013}   Monkey Lately

True Story: I haven’t written about the monkey lately.

Well, I haven’t written about anything lately because I am SLAMMED. Very busy summer so far in real estate. This is a good problem to have.

Back to the Monkey lately. Is almost 6 the cutest age? I really think it is. Of course I’ve thought every age since his birth has been the cutest, but this is such a sweet time with him maturing and going to school. He’s still baby-ish but maturing quickly. Kindergarten really helped with that. I think sitting still while someone is lecturing you is very grown up. I struggle with it daily.

True Story:  eating lunch with him at school one day I got in trouble.

I opened the milk wrong and spilled it everywhere. I am pretty sure my name is on the board in his classroom.

I wish I could remember to write down all the funnies. Of course my kid is the funniest, cutest kid in the world. Just like yours. So you may be very glad I can’t remember to write them all down otherwise this post would be a book..

Monkey Lately:

1) Snowbirds.

So down here on the gulf coast winter is snowbird season. Northern retirees flock down to shake their tail feathers at the Florbama without the risk of slipping on the ice. They hang out at the post office (getting boxes or general delivery), the movie theater, the library (checking email), and restaurants and bars starting around 3pm for early bird and happy hour specials.

True Story:  I love snowbirds.

I really do. I spent almost every afternoon after school in elementary and middle school at my grandmother’s assisted living home. I am very good with the old folks. We really do appreciate their business down here and they are always welcome.

True Story:  There is one place snowbirds are not welcome:  The road.

Not being ugly here, I have real proof. First of all they bike in flocks, and many on recumbent bikes. It’s hard for an entire group of bikers to make a good decision about when to cross the road.

Secondly, they meander across the road to the beach. This is true for tourists in general. They all Meander/saunter/lolli-gag across a dangerous highway where people are drinking, driving and texting.  I lived across the street from the beach for 2 1/2 years. I ran for my life every time I crossed that street.

Thirdly, the driving itself. The birds just don’t always know where they’re going. Granted, your condo can sneak up on you when they all look alike. But the story I am about to tell you is inexcusable. I was going 50 mph down the beach road in the right, east bound lane approaching a glowing green light without a hint of yellow coming. Suddenly, I had to slam on the brakes in the middle of the road because a snowbird, who also happens to be in the right lane, has decided he needs to turn left. TURN LEFT PEOPLE, across a 45 mile an hour left east bound lane and 2 turning lanes lined with cars. Yes, $#*&%^$ snowbird, flew out of my mouth.

True Story:  Not long after that Ex-Pump calls to tell me that when he was driving our son he had to brake and G Monkey said, “what is it Daddy? Is it the $%^&*(# snowbirds?”

2) Every night when G Monkey goes to sleep he tells me that he loves me to the center of the earth and back and around the sun and double infinity. That’s just %#@$*& sweet isn’t it?

3) I may have a young diva on my hands.

He periodically walks into a room and screams, “This girl is on FIRE!”

Like most gyms, G Monkey’s Karate dojo has a mirrored wall. G Monkey can not help but to look in the mirror at himself, watching himself do his Karate moves. His Senei continually got on to him about paying attention and focusing, and to quit looking in the mirror. He laughed and told me I should get G Monkey a mirror for Christmas. Eventually, Sensei nicknamed him, “Hollywood.” Finally, one day he said, “Hollywood, why do you look in the mirror all the time?” Nervous, G Monkey said, “Because I’m so handsome.” 

He says, “I know that,” like you are a dumbass all the time.


ME:  It’s a beautiful day today.

GM:  I know that.

4) G Monkey is a budding young songwriter.

He told me he wrote a song the other day. I was so proud.


Beer, beer, ba beer.

beer, beer, ba beer.

I drink it in the sun.

I drink it on the beach.

I drink it on the porch.

I drink it on the islands.

I drink it while I Bar-be-que.

I drink it when I watch NASCAR.

Beer, beer, ba beer.

True Story:  The only comfort I can take out of this is that I was not his only muse. I don’t have a BBQ grill and I have never watched NASCAR.  His father perhaps?

{March 29, 2013}   Crossfit – A Review

True Story:  I do Crossfit.

I know. I know. Really? I’m sure you’re thinking. You lift weighted bars above your head and flip giant tires?


I also do reviews now. I mean again. I mean there will be more reviews in the future.

I think I’m a good reviewer and here’s why: When I like something it is the greatest thing on the planet and everybody should have one. When I hate something it is stupid and you should throw rocks at it.

Then again, I may not be a good reviewer and here’s why: I generally like every movie I see. I’ve only walked out of a couple in my life. One of them was one of those Pirates of the Caribbean movies because I couldn’t look at the dark under water gooey things anymore. I think that’s reasonable and understandable.

Since it appears I am probably just a C+ reviewer I am just going to pick random things and give them a score anyway. I think it’s better for all of us to know where we stand. I am just going to start scoring everything I eat, drink, use and individuals I meet. Please let me know if any of you are interested in volunteering for a review. I’m sure this site will crash with volunteers.

True Side Story:  Ex-pump once told a table full of people he thought it would be a good idea for each person at the table to say something they don’t like about each other.

He soon found out this wasn’t that fun of a game. People started firing off things like, “you have bad hair” and  “you’re too sexual.” I guess he still had lingering effects of the disturbing year of his life where he thought he was flawless. Don’t believe this actually occurred? Please read:

True Story:  So far there has only been 1 other review:

But I vow to continue flooding the internet with my unsolicited opinions. So stay tuned.

There are several reasons I really like Crossfit, and I’ll get to that. But first, I am going to tell you a few things you need to understand in case you feel like giving it a whirl. You may already know all this. I am aware Crossfit has been around a while. But this is my review so you can kiss it. I’m going to tell you about it anyway.

I mean when my 5-year-old son came home from school the other day and said, “Oh Mommy, I learned the coolest song today… John Jacob Gingle-heimer Schmidt.” I didn’t say, “Dude… That song is so old.” So, you can just bear with me.

1) The Beginning:

In the beginning you may puke. That is natural. We all think we work out, and we may be working out really hard, and when you look at the baseline (day 1 workout) it doesn’t seem like it will be all that hard. It is. It’s hard. That’s just all there is to it.

You will be sore for the first week or two. I don’t care if you run 10 miles a day, you will be sore. After the first couple of days I was standing in my office and I dropped a pen on the floor. I just stood  and looked around the room. Everyone was like, what?

Me:  Well, I can’t get that. I can not bend down and pick up that pen. I need one of you to do it for me, please and thank you.

I could only use bathrooms with handlebars on the wall for 2 weeks, because once I was down there was no getting back up.

2) You get mummified:

By mummified I mean, all wrapped up. You start collecting gear and bandages to protect yourself. Currently I wear an anlke brace, gloves, wrist wraps, a back support when I am lifting and I just added a brand new knee brace.

3) Official Crossfit Terms:


No joke. It is an official term. If you have never uttered that lovely word before in your life you will in the middle of 50 burpees.

Burpee:  Body on the ground, plank, jump your feet in, jump up and clap. Repeat.

Douche bag:  Anyone that acts like a douche bag in the gym. I don’t think this really needs to be explained.

Good luck:  Something you might say to someone who is walking in the gym all fresh faced while you are walking out sweaty and sick.

Paleo:  How you are supposed to eat, like a caveman. I am not very good at this part.

Box: The gym.

WOD: Workout of the day.

Snatch:  A lift move.

Jerk:  Another lift movement.

Are you seeing a pattern here? Thinking maybe these terms were invented by men perhaps?

True story:  We make fun of people who say, “Is your box open today? Did I miss your WOD?”

Another true story:  People really say that.

As you can guess, these terms make for a lot of jokes and laughter which is really good when you are dying from over exertion. It is also one of the reasons I really like crossfit and my crossfit gym in particular. This dirty bird fits right in.

True Story:  I give crossfit an A.

I really do enjoy it. It is definitely not for everyone but I think it is for me. You can not get bored. The workout is different every day, and they are short and painful. Key word here is short.

It is amazing the jump I have experienced in my fitness level. I couldn’t do one box jump when I started. I did 80 the other day. My body is tightening up. It’s interesting to watch that happen. I am committing to a year and hope to see major changes.

It also helps to cut down on bad habits because you CAN NOT do this workout after partying all night. Also, pretty affordable for what you get. It would be really affordable if I went every day.

True Story:  I do not know how I am going to handle the workouts in the heat this summer.

I read an article that some really smart scientists said a barley drink was good after a workout. I guess I could always try that.

True Story:

{February 19, 2013}   Car Talk

True Story: I’m real stupid about cars.

I’m smart about several things but automobiles are not included in that list. I do not care about cars. I don’t care to know how they work. I only drive one because I can not walk that far. I would prefer to helicopter my child to school in the morning rather than drive the 10 minutes there. Where is Christian Grey and Charlie Tango when you need them?

I enjoy a nice ride with beautiful scenery on a pretty day, but that is about as deep as my relationship with cars goes. I loathe pumping gas. I get bored to tears in the car if there is 30 seconds without a rocking song on or a stimulating conversation. I hate keeping them clean and maintained. I would rather stump my toe than pay for car insurance. Don’t even get me started on speed limits and tickets. Cars are bad for the environment, and now, it’s all more difficult and dangerous than ever to drive with smartphones in the mix. The desire to look at your phone is stronger than hunger I think. It is as involuntary as breathing.

In short, I’m holding out for a hover board.

True Story: I sort of ignored the fact that my oil light was on.

I KNOW. I know.  No need for lectures. Learned my lesson, sort of.

I would eyeball the gleaming oil light in the car and then move “get oil thingy checked out” from today’s to-do list to tomorrow’s. This went on for several days.

Finally I was driving down the road and the car just quit. I thought, “Oh sh*t, now I’ve done it. Idiot. Idiot. You dumb F*ck.”

What? Y’all don’t talk to yourselves like that?

I glided over to the side of the road and put it in park. I made a couple of deals with the powers that be that live in the sky during these times, crossed my fingers and attempted to crank the car…

It actually cranked with no funny noises or anything. I couldn’t believe it.

I eased back on the road plotting my next move. Surely, my luck wouldn’t be so good that I could just keep driving the car and this was a one time fluke. I wanted to believe I could wait until I got home to see my car people, but thought better of it. I googled a nearby place on my smartphone. Turns out I was about a block away from an auto repair/oil change shop. This is where the party starts.

In just a few short minutes after arriving I was fantasizing  about spending the ridiculous amount of money I was going to make on my reality show about this service station. It. Was. Awesome.

While I’m in the car with the motor running a lady wearing only shorts and a very thin camisole with no bra comes over to me and says, “We pay the power bill. A/C’s on.”

Oh yeah, this happened in the summer. I get out of the car and explain to the 3 people looking at me what just happened. A lot of head shaking follows.

LADY:  Honey, don’t let your car run out of oil. Ever.

ME:  I know, I’m stupid.

LADY:  I didn’t say that now, but that’s not a smart thing to do. Honey, if you need some oil just come on by and we’ll put some in her. Even if you don’t have no money… I’d rather put some oil in her than let her run dry.

ME:  Yes, ma’am. Never again.

They pull my car forward and start poking around in her. I just hear little grunts and sounds like, “Mmm huh.”

Not sounding good. I peak down the hole.

ME:  How’s she looking?

YOUNG MAN IN HOLE:  Don’t ever let your car run out of oil.

ME:  Yep. Heard that one.

Lady checks my mileage. I know what’s coming next. It’s pretty impressive. Only 100k for an 18-year-old car. I brace myself for the inevitable compliments.

LADY:  Whoo! Honey. She’s a buit! Don’t you go getting rid of her now. You call me before you do. I’ll take her off your hands.

I’m all like “awe shucks” and scuffing the ground with my shoe.

LADY:  Let’s just hope you didn’t burn her engine up.

Back to being a dumbass.

True Story:  It was an automobile miracle.

I didn’t kill the car. But, I am ready to get rid of her.

Time for a grown-up, showing property car. Hard to sell million dollar condos in her.

{January 22, 2013}   MIA

True Story:  Happy New Year! I’ve been MIA, and not just from blogging.

Hell, I’ve been working on this blog for weeks. I was going to post about a trip home from Vegas last month and then I thought you can’t just post out of the blue after months of a hiatus/coma/writer’s block without an explanation.

Brace yourselves: excuses coming. Busy, real estate work, Kindergarten (game changer), working on a screenplay, day dreaming, Netflix streaming (Gossip Girl. Don’t tell anyone), drinking wine, and if I’m honest, a little bit of depression.

You know how you don’t know you’re in the sh*t until your out of the sh*t? Examples: We don’t know we’re in a recession until 6 months into it. We don’t know our politicians can’t get anything done until it’s the night before their deadline. We don’t know 10lbs. is sneaking up until we can’t button our pants. You don’t know he’s cheating until you find the panties in the couch. See where I’m going with this?

True Story:  I haven’t been REALLY living any fun true stories to tell you.

Instead, I suppose I have been sulking and thinking and existing.

I had to start fighting my way out of this rut/depression/give-up, to even see that I was in the rut/depression/give-up. I have written many times here that the last few years have not been the easiest. Of course, after watching the horror of recent events in this country and throughout the world,  I really haven’t been through sh*t, have I?

Included in the personal trials of the last few years there have also been some very exciting times; like a feature film at Sundance, meeting all kinds of people and travelling, watching an amazing little boy grow up, and fun new changes for my family and friends.

Those upward turns to a positive, persistent personality like myself can mask the bad that’s going on. I have also mentioned here that I am a positive, never-give-upper to a point of detriment to myself. Meaning, the writing’s on the wall and I am in denial because it will turn around. Though definitely still this person, I’ll admit with age comes some sense of well, f*ck, maybe it won’t turn around this time.

I am finally ready to admit what Kenny Rogers has been trying to tell me for a long time, “you got to know when to hold ’em, know when to fold ’em, and know when to walk away.”

True Story:  I LOVE A NEW YEAR.

I don’t mean the party the night before. Think about it. In your whole life you can probably count on one hand how many fabulous new years eves you’ve had. The evenings usually have way too much build up, or you end up party chasing only to find there wasn’t a kiss at the end of the night anyway. I blame Nora Ephron (RIP), When Harry Met Sally, and all the other TV shows and movies for this new year’s eve myth of a perfect night.

What I love about the new year is a clean slate. I love starting over, second chances and Monday mornings to redeem yourself. I get very excited to buy my new day planner/calendar for the year and write things in it. I choose to believe it doesn’t matter if you have pizza or fried chicken on Sunday because you can always have a slim fast shake for breakfast Monday morning. My Dad and I always say, “it’s day 1.”

Alas, but where’s the girl that tells everyone to just watch and see, I’ll get it done? Where’s the girl that says don’t tell me I can’t be a filmmaker, a writer, transform my body with crossfit, or win the lottery?

The answer my friends, is 37. The answer is so many ups and downs that at some point you say “I don’t know if I can get back up this time.”

Like the real estate market, I do believe I have bottomed out and am on the upswing. There is just less gusto in that swing this time. I am sure folks older than me are laughing and saying, “you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

True Story: My attitude really pisses me off because I read a lot of inspirational quotes on facebook and nothing so far. Nada, no attitude adjustment at all.

I guess this new years I find myself a little bit jaded and gut punched. If I wasn’t so damn optimistic I would know just because you are up here one day, doesn’t mean you won’t be back down there again.

Examples: You work hard on a relationship and it ends anyway. You have a successful real estate business and fight through bubbles bursting, bad economies, oil spills and hurricanes only to find when the market improves you still have trouble getting to the closing table. You reach a pinnacle in Independent film only to find you got to come back home and start all over again and make another one.

That’s it! I’ve figured this whole life thing out: Do it. Do it again. Do it again. Then, do it one more time because no one is going to do it for you.

I don’t think that inspirational quote would get a ton of LIKES on facebook.

True Story: I love a comeback, and I am planning my own.

I am sorry I didn’t post to you loyal readers here for (I can barely bring myself to type this) 6 months. It took about 2 weeks just to write this post. 1 step at a time, right? I am saying it here and now, loud and proud: I AM BLOGGING, WRITING SCRIPTS, AND MANUSCRIPTS IN THE YEAR 2013 AD. Also, planning an upgrade to my generic vanilla blog design. I Welcome any ideas.

Toodles, until next time!

True Story: Facebook worthy inspiring quotes below.

‎”Determine that the thing can and should be done and together we shall find a way.” –  Abraham Lincoln

“The Best way out is always through” – Robert Frost

{July 22, 2012}   50 Shades of Ashley

True Story:  I took the bait.

Well, What are you supposed to do? Everyone’s doing it.

Don’t believe me? Just go out to a pool, beach, or park today. There should be several copies of 50 Shades of Grey lying around.

I kept hearing everywhere I went, “I couldn’t put it down.” My sister, who doesn’t read as much as many of us read the whole series rather quickly.

Going to BAM (Books a Million) is a favorite afternoon activity of mine and G Monkey’s. Of course the 50 Shades series is right up front. I wanted to text E. L. James and let her know my local BAM was helping her make $1 million a week. Damn! Fastest selling paperback series evah. Schwing! The sexual puns shall continue.

Hello my name is Ashley and I purchased a copy of 50 Shades of Grey. I am embarrassed to share my story with you but since we are among friends… Well, I have paraded it around the pool and beach. I have read it at traffic lights prompting dirty glances from other cars and winks from men. I have no shame.

True Story:  Since reading it, I have had a hard time understanding the hoopla.

I didn’t know anything about the story before reading other than there was some kinky business happening in it. I was quite shocked at the age of the characters. I guess I assume everyone in the literary world is my age. I didn’t expect the main character to be 21 and Mr. Grey to be 27. I also, kept waiting for some major plot twists. I suppose that is why I don’t read romance very often. I need more to happen than just the love story, unless, say the love story spans across continents and wars and death and such. Now that sounds exciting! Not just some kid’s thinky thoughts about her luvah.

I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy the book. I did. It was fun to read something different, and I am a print junkie. I think it is part of my ADD but I will read anything around me always. Just going number 1 in the potty is too boring for me. I will read the back of the aerosol spray for the 15 seconds it takes to urinate. I will read whatever is in the front seat of my car at a stop sign. You get the point.

True Story:  If you carry this book around with you it will prompt many discussions with women and men.

I may actually sell a house to someone because of 50 Shades of Grey. It started a conversation with 2 women at the pool who later referred a buyer to me. Does anyone have E L James’ mailing address? I need to send her a referral fee.

Another thing I discovered is the different reactions to the book from men. One woman told me the book caused a fight because her boyfriend said, “Oh you’re reading that book that teaches women how to cheat.”

RIDICULOUS. If you have read the book you know there is no infidelity what so ever in the story. Actually, you would be “punished” if you cheated on Mr. Grey.

If you take the S&M out of the book it is quite a virginal love story. They might as well be Edward and Bella of Twilight fame.

Another fun reaction I saw while hanging out at BAM: a woman picked the book up off the stand by the door and her husband jerked it out of her hand saying, “Let me see that.” Ha! Silly boys. If they only took the stance of most married men, which is this may be the best summer of their entire marriage with Magic Mike at the theater and 50 Shades in the hands of their women.

One woman told me at the pool, as she could see I was just starting the book, “You’re going to want a man around.”

Me:  I don’t have one.

She looked around.

Woman:  Well, the Florabama’s across the street.

Translation: Honky Tonk Meat Market

New Term I probably did not make up: Money Porn. Let’s talk about the money porn in 50 Shades. I am certainly not a gold digger. The two relationships I have had in my life were with men who didn’t have cars or jobs when I met them. (I know. I know. Life is about learning).

You have to admit the billionaire thing is one of the sexiest shades of Grey. A flogging every now and then might not be so bad if you can get dropped off to go shopping in Charlie Tango, Mr. Grey’s helicopter.

Same goes for Edward the Vampire. So he’s a little pale and dead. He has super powers and an endless supply of money.

Therefore, I shall read the next two books in the series just as much for the money porn as the dirty bird business.

True Story:  I am currently studying how to ghost write Erotica to make some serious cabbage.

Random True Side Story:  I received a text out of the blue from my sister. It read: Does G Monkey still eat his boogers?

I replied:  I’m pretty sure.

I have no idea what that was about.

True Story:  This will be the first second-hand story I have ever shared here. But I am told this is how it went down. I hope I get it right.

My son has a small repertoire of pop songs in his head:

1) Oh Sherry by Steve Perry

2) Apple Bottom Jeans by T-Pain

3) Rumor Has it by Adele

4) Man in the Mirror by Michael Jackson

It is absolutely fall on the floor hilarious to hear him sing them. For one, he either sings with major gusto or totally flat and emotionless. There are only two options. He is the pure essence of innocence, and that combined with the grown-up lyrics, well, is just good clean fun people.

Imagine that sweet little face walking in the room and saying very flatly, “Rumor has it he’s the one I’m leaving you for.”

He has had the great fortune (wink) of inheriting his mother’s raspy voice. Which is pretty awesome when he belts out, “I should have been Gone-on… Knowing how I made you feel…”

True Side Story:  I need to YouTube record G Monkey’s version of Apple Bottom Jeans. He could be the next Biebs or Tone-Loc.

A friend from far away was visiting and I was giving them a tour of the building I live in. Ex-Pump and I kept getting G Monkey to do his tricks. You know, show off smart or funny stuff to people who don’t have kids.

So I said, “sing Apple Bottom Jeans.”

GM: (Pouty) No! I don’t want to.

US:  Please. Please.

GM:  No. I want to swim.

ME: We can’t swim right now. I’ll give you a popsicle if you sing it.

GM:  No.

He pouts and sulks and walks behind us with his arms crossed. But apparently the need for a popsicle overtook him, because the next thing you know…

He starts singing “APPLE BOTTOM JEANS, BOOTS WITH THE FUR…” in a very deep angry voice.

It’s like Tone-Loc, Janis Joplin & Darth Vader all mixed into one. He is not happy about having to sing for his meal.

GM:  The whole club was looking at her. She hit the floor.

At this point G Monkey hits the floor, taking a knee and screams, ” Next thing you know…”

He starts pounding his fists on the ground.

GM:  Shorty got LOW LOW LOW LOW.

He stands up and growls at us.

The grown ups fell into fits of laughter. I really don’t think he knows what a shorty is, but he knows that b*tch gets low, low, low. It was worth 5 popsicles. It knocked us out. We laughed so hard that he now sings the song in “angry voice” just to get us to laugh.

So back to the story at hand as told to me by Ex-Pump via Summer Camp director.

Earlier in the week I had asked G Monkey if he wanted to invite anyone from camp to his birthday party.

GM:  Not really. Well maybe Ella and Kristie.

I asked him about some of the boys. He wasn’t interested in inviting them. He said they were not his friends for various reasons.

Well, later in the week his father tells me the following story. One of G Monkey’s classmates is really in to Michael Jackson. He wears the glove and all. The camp director was trying to get him to sing something of Michael Jackson’s.

Camp Director:  Come on. Come on. How about Beat it? Sing something.

Out of nowhere from a corner of the room G Monkey belts out, “I’m talking about the man in the mirror. I’m asking him to change his ways. No message could have been any clearer. If you want to make the world a better place take a look at yourself and make a change.” He screams that last part usually. And yes he says “talking about” instead of “talking to” the man in the mirror. He also says “I’m axing him to change his way-yays.”

Well, from what I hear you could have knocked the whole room over with a feather. The Camp Director was floored.  All the other kids wanted to be taught the chorus of Man in the Mirror. Rumor has it all the other camp classrooms, 1st through 6th grade, were leaning out into the hallway listening to the 5-year-olds belt out Man in the mirror.

G Monkey is somewhat of a celebrity at Camp now. His father said the next  day when he dropped him off all the kids were all over him and saying his name and asking him questions like, “Hey, you’re into Thomas right?” “Is it still your birthday?” “Can you sing Man in the mirror?”

That afternoon when I picked him up he wanted to invite a lot more friends from camp to his birthday party.  It was cute. Reminds me of when I would bust out in back-handsprings when I was a kid to win friends. Wait. I still do that. At his birthday party last weekend I dusted off my rusty diving board skills to impress people at the pool. I didn’t walk away with any digits but the young lifeguard did say,”that lady scares me.” Boo. That’s right. Watch out.

In other news, I have hit rock bottom. AGAIN. A 7-year-old girl asked me if I was G Monkey’s Nana.

Me:  Like his grandmother?

She nods.

Me:  No. I am his Mother. (Through gritted teeth).

True Story:  I am 36. There is not a gray hair on my head. Rock. Bottom.

{June 28, 2012}   Introduction to BuR Nation

True Story:  I have a friend named BuR.

He goes by BR, but after a few cocktails I like to call him BuR. After a few more cocktails an entire nation is created based on his essence and existence.

On my recent trip to the British Virgin Islands our crew, the 7 of us, accomplished an enormous feat. We actually created a new nation complete with our own language and currency.

I will give you a quick run down of what the BuR Nation is about. There will be more information later when I periodically post details of the BuR Nation birth amongst my other posts about my never-ending failure as a normal human being.

The following is an outline of our constitution, so to speak:

1) We are a peaceful nation. We set our bombs free. Literally.

2) Our national color is pink. You are rewarded for out pinking the other members of the tribe.

3) Our currency is pink and instead of “In God We Trust” it states “We Understand That” across the top. The exchange rate is 75%. We are worth it. We know you don’t like that rate and we understand that.

4) National holidays are often and “To Be Announced”. Mondays and Wednesdays are perfect for spur of the moment national holidays.

5) We speak BuRanease. It is basically English but with all words ending in ur, or RRRRRRRRRRR.

Example: Get smur and lur.

Translation: Get small and low. From time to time in BuRland you have to get small and low. Eventually, you will understand that.

6) We salute. You get lur (low) and put your right hand above your face like a sun visor. You can be kicked off the island for not returning a salur (salute).

7) We have picked out some land to claim in the British Virgins. We are going to take over the dogs. They are a rocky bunch of islands, so from time to time we may load the whole tribe on a floating vessel and become a nation on the move. When we are in port fun-loving people may come aboard, after exchanging their money of course, to be with the BuR people.

8) We go on mission trips. Sometimes, perhaps during a national holiday, we feel as though we should spread the love around. In this case we may moor up to another island or land mass, invade for a while, buy drinks, and teach our language and ideals to the natives. So far we have been met with some confusion with the language barrier, but then acceptance usually prevails. We have had no total conversions yet.

9) The BuR people do not judge. You may marry anyone or thing you like, including inanimate objects. If you enjoy the company of a beautiful boulder at sunset who listens to you, and think it would make for a suitable mate, by all means, the BuR people approve.

10) We import Pain Killers (famous Virgin Island rum drink) and export humor.

True Story: You are ready to move to BuRland aren’t you?

True Story:  It’s funny how your offspring view you.

Exhibit A above: G Monkey’s story about Mommy posted in the hallway at his preschool. Click on the picture to read first hand, then come back here for the explanations???

Preschool is at a church so lots of people get to read this on Sundays. Awesome.

1)  “My Mommy has green eyes and greasy hair”

Okay my hair can get a little greasy, but seriously, the kid is obsessed.

After I stopped to read his story at school his teacher called me over to see a picture he had painted of himself with his parents. See exhibit B below. I have brown hair and if you look closely you will see the green grease he insisted on painting in my hair. He actually told his teacher that he needed some green paint to make Mommy’s hair greasy like it should be. No abstract artist here. I think he is going for more of the portrait look.

To be fair to the kid doesn’t see me looking all that pretty very often. I work from home so I usually just throw on some clothes in the morning, run him to school/camp and back home to work. I probably only wear make up about 2 days a week, depending on my schedule.

True Side Story:  I had an appointment the other day and walked out of my bathroom dressed and told G Monkey it was time to Rocket. He hid his face in shame and said, “I don’t want to see you”.

Me:  Why?

GM:  Your make up. I can’t look at it.

He was so dramatic about it you would have thought I had been seriously deformed. It reminded me of that bloopers episode when Seinfeld was ending and Kramer says “don’t look at me. I’m hideous”.

Oh Seinfeld, how I miss you… Great Television. Now, other than premium cable channels, the TV is covered up with Jersey Shore and other reality crap.

True Story:  I have a hard time hiding my disdain for reality TV. It’s rubber-necking at it’s finest. It takes writing jobs away from writers. It makes untalented people famous. But most importantly, if I want to see people make asses of themselves I can just walk over to the Florabama on a Monday night.

Back to the hair. I have always been known for my “crazy” hair.  It is short and sticks straight up every morning when I wake up. It is a constant source of jokes for family and anyone else who has ever been lucky enough to wake up near me. About 12 hours after a washing it is greasy. Let’s just say I am a big fan of dry shampoo.

True Story:  A grandparent at preschool asked me if I was a late night nurse that worked crazy shifts?

Me:: No.

Grandparent:  Oh, you just look like you work crazy shifts.

Not so sure that was a compliment. Maybe I should step up my game. I’m certainly not going to meet single hot dad at school at this rate.

2) “I don’t know how old she is”

I really thought he knew how old I was because at bed time the other night I said, “night-night baby. I love you”.

G Monkey:  I love you too old lady.

I shut the door and thought, “who is that kid”?

3) “Her favorite thing to eat is salad”

Really? Salad? No. I mean I think salad is lovely but it certainly wouldn’t be my last meal. I guess he sees me eat a lot of salad because it’s easy and I am not cooking for just me. Plus, isn’t salad about 90% of most women’s food intake?

4)  “Her favorite thing to drink is diet coke”

Okay, I think we can all agree that I dodged a major bullet on the diet coke. Whew! The teacher said only 1 kid ratted their parents out on the booze, and it wasn’t mine. Score. It’s the little things that make me happy.

I have mentioned before that G Monkey calls all adult beverages beer. He will put a bottle of wine on the conveyor belt at the grocery store and scream, “here’s your beer Mommy”.

5)  “Mommy doesn’t do anything fun by herself.

Hahaha. Sweet, innocent baby boy. He would be so proud to see Mommy dancing at the Florabama when he is with his Daddy.

He told me I looked pretty earlier this week. He is either the sweetest kid in the world or he really knows how to BS. He also made homemade cards for some of his friends from school. Some, that is. Not all made the cut. I guess they might as well start finding out the truth about life in preschool. We don’t all make the cut all the time.

G Monkey is learning. The last day of spring break I took him to swim in the bay at a restaurant where a lot of kids and dogs run around. I saw him trying to hang out with these older girls on a raft. He came slouching all pouty out of the water and over to me.

GM:  They told me to go away.

Me:  I’m sorry Baby. Some kids are like that. There are some other kids out there to play with.

He sat down and picked up his slice of pizza and said almost to himself, “I hate when they do that”.


6)  “She works at her work and shows a paper”

I work at my work like most of you. I was thinking he would say I show houses as he has been to several last-minute showings with me. I had to think about “showing a paper”. Then I realized anytime that he is with me and we stop by my office I turn in paperwork or files. Those little observant cookie crumblers. I do show papers at my work!

7) “She make me laugh when she puts a towel on my head”

I have done that once. You never know what makes an impression.

8) “Mommy is special to me when she cleans up her trash”

Let me clarify.I clean up my trash when I am yelling at my first-born, The Demanding Paw. If she feels she has been inconvenienced at all in her precious little life she will get into my bathroom trash can and pull the trash out all over the floor just for a little “eff you”.

If there happens to be no trash in the can she will bite the end of the toilet paper and pull that out instead.

There is no crossing the Demanding Paw. You will pay.

My son thinks it is special to see steam come out of my ears while I pick up little pieces of trash all over the house and yell at the dog.

9) “I know Mommy loves me because I have $143 dollars”

Excuse me a minute.

True Story:  I promise I was not just digging through my 4-year-old’s room and piggy bank looking for $143 dollars.

It’s got to be here somewhere.

{June 7, 2012}   So this happened

True Story:  It should really be titled: So May happened, I mean the last few months, I mean the last 2-3 years happened.

Disclaimer:  Bullsh*t excuse coming.

I have been a total slacker on blogging. The last 6 weeks we have been re-writing the next film, I moved AGAIN, lots of G Monkey business, TRYING to sell real estate, deal with an international Prairie Love deal, and other general business.

Excuses are like buttholes, right? We all got em.

I have so much to share with you about the entire Month of May. It certainly will not all fit in this post. You would be reading for a week, and I am sure many of you have families to tend to.

First of all, this blog will have a sub-blog about the BuR Nation. I can’t get into too many details about it right now. Let’s just say I havent belly laughed about something so funny to me in so long, that it just feels right to share it with world. Stay tuned for more details of how you can join the BuR Nation. You will not like the exchange rate, but we understand that.

I had 2 family vacations this month that deserve their own sub-blog categories. But today I am just going to talk about 1 day in the recent sh*tstorm of my life.

Now, y’all know by now that I try to remain positive. The recent divorce, brokeness, oil spill, affair, moving, God the moving is the worst, have not broken me yet. But this day almost did.

You don’t have to believe or follow astrology to know something is going on around you that you can’t get out from under. I happen to follow Susan Miller’s She is one of the top astrology professionals in the world. She counsels governments, etc… Anyway, her monthly posts are very detailed and fun to read. Unless you are me most recently, in which she wrote, your life has been a sh*tstorm the last 2.5 years, and it’s going to get worse right now, and then you are coming out of it soon stronger ready for anything and everything. This last few weeks my birthdate in particular has been affected.

I don’t believe in luck. Luck is when hard work meets opportunity. I also don’t believe that everything that happens to me is caused by an outside force like planets. I happen to know that I’m a dumbass and screw sh*t up for myself all the time. But some things are true whether we believe them or not. And I have to admit along with the other Libras out there that some cloud has been following me around lately and I am ready to kick its ass.

So it is the week before I go to the British Virgin Islands for a week. I can’t afford to go but it is happening anyway. I am leaving a lot of balls up in the air to leave town: real estate deals, trying to unexpectedly deliver (turn over materials) to our foreign sales agent for an overseas Prairie Love distribution deal, take care of LLC and banking business for the new movie, and spend time with G Monkey. Oh yeah, and I had to be out of my old house before I left town and into my new house. So also moving and cleaning, which rocks as you know.

G Monkey happens to be in between school and summer camp this one week. Which is good because I get to spend time with him before I have to be away from him, but bad because I am so busy and forced to not be annoyed with him and play when I don’t really have the time.

Advice:  Do not move into the 1st floor of a fancy high-rise the week after their annual Home Owners Meeting. They are constantly fixing things and marking off the buildings “to do” list with contractors right outside my large see-in glass windows. This makes running through the condo dripping wet and naked from the shower to dig a towel out of a box difficult.

So one morning of this particular crazy week I get dressed wearing one of my favorite shirts and take the Demanding Paw to the dog walk area. She is doing her duty (get on the floor and give me some booty). Sorry the urge to write that song lyric was uncontrollable.

Anyway, all of a sudden on this bright cloudless day, I am hit by a rain shower. What’s more puzzling than that is that through my worthless nose which carries no olfactory glands at all, I can smell the bleach burning through my shirt.

They were pressure washing a balcony above me. Awesome. Good timing. I threw that shirt in the trash. One less thing to clean and fold.

True Story: They know me around this building.

I am not just saying that. They KNOW me. I got married here for God’s sake before it was even complete. I am in and out of it all the time.  Same management team for years.

With that being said, they know my car. You can not miss it. It is the only car in the parking lot that screams “Which one of us does not belong”. It’s an old piece of sh*t covered in bumper stickers. Not only do they know my car, they know I have a parking pass. Unfortunately sometime between the last time I drove it the day before and this morning the parking pass had fallen to the floorboard.

As I am walking by my car on my way in from getting bleached I see something unfamiliar. It is a giant 8×4 inch warning sticker in the middle of the driver’s side window. WTF? I peeled it off but by this time it had melted in the sun and now there is a white sticky film in the middle of my window which blocks my view. The car has been washed twice since. It will not come off. I have to roll down my window to see in order to pull out into summer time traffic. So that’s really great if you like awesomeness.

I stomped back inside the building, grabbed my packing tape, stomped back out to my car and wrapped the tape around the pass and rearview mirror 50 times. That mother effer’s not moving.

I started to shed 1 corner tear of frustration. Then said, “No. Universe, you can not beat me today”. Ironically, my new bumper sticker from the BVI says, “The beatings will continue until morale improves”. Fitting I thought.

So the rest of the day was spent fielding calls about a property I could have sold 25 times if it had clear title and trying to be fun Mom before I leave. There were more frustrating phone calls and emails, but I have blocked them from my memory.

Later that afternoon G Monkey and I stop in the Rite Aid. I am looking for some last-minute TSA pleasing travelling miniature items, and G Monkey is going to pick out a treat. I was spoiling him before leaving him for 8 days of course.

I am bent over looking at the travel stuff when I hear, “Uh, Mommy”.

Me:  Yes, Son.

GM: Uh, I can see your butt.

Me:  Don’t say butt, say bottom.

GM: Okay. Uh, Mommy.

Me: Yes.

GM:  I can see your bottom.

Me:  Okay. That’s fine.

Next thing I know I feel a little warm small hand on my big cold white bottom.

My shorts were split from top to bottom and I wasn’t wearing undies. My T-shirt did not go much further than my waist. @#$%^&*$#!$%^&&^%$$#*!!!!!!!!!!! WTF???

Me:  How long has it been this way? Did you notice before? Oh My God. I had no idea. I didn’t even feel it.

GM:  Uh Mommy. Can I pick out a treat now?

Me: Sh*t, sh*t, sh*t. Okay, stand behind me the whole time. Don’t let anyone see Mommy’s bottom.

I still had to go all the way to the back of the store to pick up a prescription that I needed for my trip. I saw some men’s shorts and swim trunks on a rack. I called out to the lady that worked there, “Ma’am, do you sell women’s shorts or skirts”?

She nods and walks away. She comes back with a pair of Barbie doll size tween beach shorts that wouldn’t fit on one of my feet. If I wasn’t holding my very large hand over my ass and the other hand keeping G Monkey from leaving me I would have started throwing things off the nearest shelf at her.

Me: Is that all you got?

She nods.

Me:  Awesome.

I make G Monkey walk behind me while I got the scrip and got the hell out of there.

True Story:  On the way out G Monkey started to run into the parking lot. For the safety of my child I let go of my pants and grabbed him. The man behind me had a hard time suppressing his grin when I turned around to see him and cover myself back up.

Honestly, I would have rather just walked in there totally naked and shopped instead of trying to keep the cheeks from scaring customers and scarring children. And the truth is, we really aren’t sure how long they were out there shining their whiteness all over town.

True Story:  If you have not received a return email or facebook message from me lately it is because of this kind of sh*tstorm I have been dealing with.

All you can do is drink after a day like that.

{March 26, 2012}   Big Boi

True Story:  My little fella is getting so big and funny, and ready for kindergarten. Or is he???

Red Shirting kindergarteners, heard of it?

Holding back a preschooler or kindergartener a year so they are better suited for school, social life & sports.

I had not heard the term Red Shirting kindergarteners until recently. But I am finding that when you have a summer baby, no matter what the situation, these days people ask you, “what are you going to do”?

This question of course refers to: Are you going to have them repeat K4 or go on to kindergarten as one of the youngest in the class.

G Monkey has, as it turns out, the unfortunate situation of being born on July 5. Of course to me he is the luckiest most awesome kid in the world. But as I research this business further, it seems people these days are even planning conception around when the child’s birthday would be for school and social purposes.

I am from the school of thought that your birthdate has more of a spiritual aspect to it. Like the planets lined up on that special night on a camping trip in a tent after 2 hot dogs and a bottle of wine to conceive your child. Who, by the way, will be born on HIS special day when the planets line up for his day of birth forming his perfect personality and life plan. But that’s just me.

I’m not starting a debate. I see both sides of the situation.

But remember when you were 5 and you went to Kindergarten, and there were all kinds of kids there: short ones, tall ones, fat ones, smart ones, loud ones, quiets ones, funny ones, mean ones, and they came in every color? Nobody cared because we all had to eat that sh*tty ice cream at lunch that was in the little plastic cup with the wooden “spoon”. What is that stuff? Does it even have sugar in it? I am pretty sure there has never been a vanilla or cocoa bean anywhere near the manufacturing plant for that nasty stuff. I traded mine for 2 cigarettes everyday of 3rd grade.

Oh, pardon me. I am just reminiscing of days gone by, before school shootings once a month and cyber bullying.

Here’s what I know. I was apparently incredibly lucky in the birthday department with an October Birthday. Making me one of the oldest in the class, except for those held back either because they were summer babies I guess, or that other reason you get held back. So as it turns out, I was one of the most mature people in my class.

Hahahahahaha! That former statement is not true in any way, shape or form. I am learning that the other issues to consider with the youngest in the class syndrome is maturity, driving & dating later than your peers.

I got my car and licence first in my class. Then it was taken away a month after my 16th birthday, and I don’t think I was allowed to drive again socially until my senior year. What did that October birthday get me? Nothing. Maybe had I been born in January I wouldn’t have liked to party, would have been more responsible, and could have kept my car.

Another thought, what about the parents? It never occurred to me that we wouldn’t go to kindergarten this fall until it was brought up by the preschool. What if another year of pre-school isn’t really in the budget? What if public school hours would really help a self-employed single Mom like myself be more productive, make more money, and more able to provide for said child?

SHAME on you Ashley! How dare you, parent of a 21st century American child, ever think of yourself. Every decision for the rest of your life should be what’s best for the child.

Really? What about the family unit? I don’t remember being coddled like this. I remember, “get outside”, “read a book”, “do your homework”, & “you’ll eat what I cook”.

Now a days, we bend over backwards to avoid any inconvenience for the little ones. GUILTY AS CHARGED here too. I tried every “convenient” contraption for him when he was a baby, I let him get away almost daily with chicken nuggets and pizza, and will allow an electronic device at a restaurant if I need to talk to other adults. I know G Monkey, for lack of a better word, is spoiled. Meaning, he doesn’t lack for anything and is made to feel all day every day how loved he is.

So we live in a fast food, MTV world of cell phones, tablets and video games. The big picture is if I raise a good human being who is kind, respectful and tolerant of others, all the little details of too many videos and honey buns here and there will balance out.

The kid has read since age 2 and everyone admits is a very bright child. But is he socially ready for the big bad world of Kindergarten?

I would say lately yes, if not we are getting there, and we still have 5 months till that 1st day of school.

He asks me for a playdate everyday. We recently had a lot of company for spring break. He was very disappointed if our company turned out to be of the grown up variety, preferring kids much more. He asked me if all future company could be kids.

We are playing T Ball, and I will admit he is THAT kid right now. He may, at any given moment, be lying on his back in right field counting clouds. But he loves playing with the other kids and really it is supposed to be about fun, right? Negative. It’s all about WINNING. Just ask Mr. Sheen.

We are going to camp 5 days a week this summer with other Big School Newbies and we are very excited about this.

True Story:  Kindergarten or bust!

Honestly, my biggest concern is him sitting still in a larger classroom and paying attention.

What I am not concerned about? That he likes to play by himself sometimes. I do too. besides, he’s an only child. He is very comfortable in his own company.

True Story: Kindergarten or not, everything will be fine. I’ll keep you posted on how Big School Boot Camp is coming along.

et cetera