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.

{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.

{February 29, 2012}   The Past

True Story:  We think about it a lot don’t we?

My horoscope said recently that because some planet moved into some house of mine, people and events from the past would start to reappear. Hmm. Interesting, or not? Let’s move on planets. I’m done living in the past.

In a matter of days this is how my past haunted me:

1)  I heard about the passing of a friend from another part of my life that shared my first name.

2)  An ailment in my body I thought was cured re-appeared.

3)  I reconnected with some old buddies. LOVE when that happens, like no time has ever passed between us.

4)  My 4.5 year old pooped his pants. Really? I thought we were done with that phase of his life. You aren’t supposed to do that again until the end right?

5)  I went to a Film Festival that Prairie Love attended and won last year. Stop living in the past Ashley. That was so 2011. Time to make another movie!

6)  Interesting moment from the past this last week. A friend that works at a restaurant needed to call me to get the Vampire’s Number. She had apparently left the restaurant forgetting to pay her tab and the only person my friend could think of that had her number was me. Ha! I found the number. Glad to be of help.

7)  I heard new stories of other indiscretions and disrespectful behavior by my ex-husband while we were married.

There are many ways to approach this subject.

Honestly, Ex-Pump and I should teach a class on how to be divorced. A lot of the reason we can still work together and jointly share pleasant custody of our son is my refusal to stay angry. I’m not being a martyr here, anger will eat you alive.

First of all, I am not going to raise my son in a heavy atmosphere. That is MISERABLE on the little ankle biters.

Secondly, it’s just not fun to be pissed all the time. It sucks. I see people that are mad all the time and I think you are drinking the poison. You! You are pouring it down your throat and everybody else has moved on.

Don’t think I don’t have to give this speech to myself sometimes. I believe that you are not responsible for how something makes you feel, but you are responsible for how you react to that feeling. Events and situations with other humans have to be given their proper amount of emotion from you, and then set aside.

I’ve always been the kind of person that would walk around and kick and scream for a while and get real mad, then, I am ready to move on pretty much in a matter of minutes. Remember the scene in Witches of Eastwick when Daryl (Devil) is ironing his own clothes and stomps around high kicking? That is me for about 20 minutes, then it’s over.

In a lot of these cases we are really just mad at ourselves, right? Why did I allow such ridiculousness in my life? Why do I not respect myself more? Why am I such a f*ck up?

That last part might just be me.

Warning:  You have to have some space from the issue to get that perspective, like I don’t know, 2 years. Don’t expect people not to stomp around like Daryl once a day for a while after an unfortunate event takes place in their life.

For example, something recently happened in my work life that I am still stomping around about. Not enough distance yet, I suppose. It felt like someone I trusted said, I like you but you’re just not good enough. For a couple of days I wanted to go outside and shoot 2 middle fingers at the sky and everyone that I saw. I got pleasure in people cutting me off in traffic and let 14 people skip in front of me at the grocery store when I was in a hurry. Why not? That’s what I’m here for people. Go ahead, just wipe your feet right there on my back.

But, this too shall pass, and if I think hard enough about it there is a lesson there for me, damn it. This learn from your mistakes business is really starting to piss me off.

Least favorite things from the Past:

a. Someone reminds you of something you did while intoxicated.

b. Pictures of you fat as a cow that resurface. Like the ones people insist on taking in the hospital 10 minutes after your baby was removed from your body.

c. Awkward grocery store run ins with people from the past you no longer associate with.

Me:  Hi

Them:  Hi

Me:  You still uh… work at uh…

Them:  Yep.

Me:  Alright, good to see ya.

Them:  Yep, you too.

d. Food you ate in the past that resurfaces.

e. Past Boyfriends you see that make you say WTF was I thinking.

f. Clothes from the past that no longer fit.

And Finally:

g. Money from the past no longer in your bank account.

True Story:  A drunk girl from High School I ran into once said to me, ” Move on Bitch”. At the time I thought she was a b*tch, but now I think she’s right. (PS: That particular story from the past will resurface another time).

I read somewhere:  The past is exactly that. Send it on down the river. Tie it up in a pretty package and ribbon if you must, but send it on.

True Story:  Whew! Glad that’s over with.

True Story:  I have been a bad, bad girl.

I have not been blogging like I should. But I have been writing. I’ve been working and editing a new script with Ex-Pump, selling real estate, and working on getting everything the distributor for Prairie Love needs. We are available on Video on Demand this month. Very exciting. Rent it!

Also, been doing lots O Mommy. The Monkey has been out of school for a year and a half (seems like). How come when I was a kid winter break was like a week. His Daddy went to the North Pole for Christmas, so it has just been me and the Monkey. Good thing it was nice and warm during the holidays. We went to the beach, park or indoor pool almost every afternoon.

There you have it:  My excuses for not posting blogs lately. Otherwise know as bullsh*t. A writer writes Damn it. Excuse me for a minute while I go in the closet and whip myself ala’ priest in the Scarlet Letter style.

I also posted today to tell you I will not be blog posting over the next few days. This is planned laziness.

I will be in Nawlinz roaming the streets horse from yelling Roll Tide!

If you live under a rock, or just purposessly know nothing about Sports, you might not know that LSU and Alabama are meeting up Monday night in New Orleans for REMATCH, the SEQUEL, Part DEAUX.

Well, I am headed over there as we speak. My suitcase holds the following:

Saint’s jersey, layers of obnoxious Alabama parqaphanelia, and a tiny, over the shoulder purse to hold money, phone & ID.

My liver is rested, and I lost 3 lbs, so I can eat well… Oh who am I kidding,  I’m going to be eating cart food. There is not a seat left in the house nor a room at the inn people… REMATCH ROLL TIDE!.

I have been an Alabama fan my whole life. My step dad took me to the games. I had heard of Auburn but all I knew of was Alabama football.

When I entered the University of Alabama as a student in 1994 they were still high on the 1992 chanpionship they had wom under Coach Gene Stallings. It was awesome. 

Then, came the “probabtion years”. Not cool. I don’t know how that happened? College Football is as pure as the driven snow.

Old friends have said the last few years, I didn’t know you were such a strong Alabama fan?

Answer: Always have been. I remember getting in a fight in the lunchroom in school over who was better Alabama or Auburn. I didn’t really know what a football play was, who the players were, or even the Coach’s name, but I knew you were a dumbass if you weren’t for Alabama. You see people, this is how we raise ’em down here.

The probabtion years were tough, and I lived out of the south 8 years. But now that I am back, and we happen to have an awesome team, I’m a huge fan. Come on, it’s fun to win.

Here’s the real joke.

My son should be a Bama fan by birth. There is only 1 Auburn fan in my family, my brother in law. G Monkey doesn’t see him all that much so I don’t think it is his influence that is steering my son to the dark side.

True Story: His preschool had an IRON BOWL DAY.

They had a pep rally and put the kids in a section of the auditorium according to clothes they were wearing. Of course I dressed my son in an ALBAMA sweatshirt.

I was dumbfounded to find out that he had pitched a fit and the teachers had to take him out of class to find out what was wrong.

Apparently, “He pulls for AUBURN”. That’s what he told them. He was so upsaet he had  to disrupt the entire program and be replaced under the AUBURN banner at school.

Clearly, someone in his family is doing me a dis-service. I’m not naming names, his father & grandmother, but someone is sending my kid down the wrong path, and it has to be stopped.

Exibit A, he was given an AUBURN shirt and hat for Christmas this year.

Excuse me! You people are from the North Dakota, why are you participating in our SEC battle?!?! It is hard not to take it personally.

True Story: G Monkey lives in Orange Beach, Auburn.

Leaving the library the other day I asked the Monkey where he lived. He said, “Orange Beach, Auburn”.

Me:  Alright, that’s ENOUGH. No Sir, you do not. You live in Orange Beach, ALabama. Auburn is not a state. it is a stupid school and town. Get with the program kid.

True Story:  I got Auburn Legacy too.

My 2nd cousin was the quarter back during AUBURN’S 1957 National Championship. Last year he got to carry the crystal football to the 50 yard line when Auburn (Cam) won. 

If Alabama wins Monday night I get to tell G Monkey that the great state of Auburn has won the BCS Championship 3 years in a row.

{November 11, 2011}   Shoes & Dating

True Story:  Can a girl really have 2 stories about shoes and 2 stories about dating that are necessary to share?

In my world, yes.

Shoes #1:

So you know I have been traveling a lot this last year. Well, I got this sh*t down now. I mean a good traveler is like an artist. I’m always jealous of those perfect travelers that just have like a back pack with them when they check in at the airport. How do they do that?

I used to travel like Kim Kardashian, 16 bags and all. Except they were from Target instead of Louis Vuitton.

I finally realized I didn’t need all that crap and got it down to one bag.

This last trip I bought nothing. I mean nothing, except 2 lottery tickets and a pair of cheap sunglasses because I had left mine at home. In fact, I’m pretty sure I lost some things while away. YET, yet, when packing to leave I could not fit all of my stuff in my suitcase.

After sitting on the bag 3 times to zip it, I still found crap lying around the hotel room. Really? How does this happen.?

True Story:  I had to use a gift bag to carry 2 pairs of shoes through the airport to get home. Sometimes I just piss myself right the you know what off.

Shoes #2:  While sitting in a dark movie theater with 2 friends a very interesting thing occurred.

My male friend was sitting between myself an another female friend. He reaches down and pulls something out of his shoe. He hands it to me and says, “what is this?” 

I take the “string” from him and try to figure out what it is in the dark. I whisper, “It appears to be some sort of string.”

Male friend:  It’s been in my shoe all day, driving me nuts.

My female friend on the other side of him grabs it and goes, “That’s my bra strap.”

AH Hahahahahaha.

That’s what I wanted to do. But because I am in a dark/quiet theater, I had to suppress my uncontrollable laughter.

Okay, this thrills me to no end. Because, come on? That is some good stuff. Pure awesomeness for someone like me that loves incidences like this.

On the other hand, I was green with envy. I mean, really? Who can snap off a fancy bra strap and have it land in a guy’s shoe? I so wish I could do that.

I have to have a team of professionals come in and un-strap my over-the-shoulder boulder holders. I don’t even know if the 4 inch straps that hold my goods up are even able to detach from the main rig.

Man, that’s some hot stuff.

True Story:  2 things of importance to note here.

1) Ladies, pay attention. If you can learn this trick you won’t have to leave an earring behind, or in desperate measures sometimes, your phone or driver’s licence to get a guy to call you again.

2)  My friend had showered, changed clothes and socks since the bra strap had landed in his shoe. Oh, I hope I never forget this story, even when I’m like 8O.

Dating… Online Dating to be specific.

True Story: I’m done.

I do have to be honest with you and tell you, that  I didn’t try very hard, and was extremely picky. But here are 2 reasons I am through with this business.

1) The only guy I met in person was an idiot, and the date lasted 21 minutes. I met him at a local establishment for an after work drink. Within 20 minutes of meeting him he asked me if I was on birth control.

Is there anything else to discuss here?

2) I met a guy on and started chatting. He was funny. It was going well. I gave him my phone number and we began talking/texting. A few days later my phone rings with a local number I don’t recognize. This usually means a real estate call. So I answered.

Me:  Hello, this is Ashley.

Woman:  Hi, my name is Tracy… Um, this is awkward, but why have you been texting my boyfriend Chris?

Me:  Oh, well, I have a very good answer for you Tracy. Because I didn’t know he had a girlfriend.

Tracy:  Well, how did it happen?

Me:  How did what happen? Nothing happened. Look, I’m really sorry about this. I have never met him in person. We were just chatting. Again, real sorry. I will not be speaking to him anymore.

Tracy:  But can you tell me what’s going on? I mean, I am so confused. I just don’t know what is happening.

Really? Now I am a couple’s counselor?

Me: I’m sorry. I really can’t help you. You two need to work this out. Okay, got to go now. Good luck. Bye now…

Tracy:  Wait, wait… I just need to understand.

Me:  Okay, good luck. Bye now.

I hung up.

True Story:  This is some bullsh*t.

{October 24, 2011}   Disney World – The Final Word

True Story:  I forgot the most important part.

Driving home I asked G Monkey what his FAVORITE part about Disney World was.

GM:  Playing with leaves.

Me:  Awesome. We got leaves at the house.

True Story:  Santa’s gathering a pile of leaves for Christmas.

{October 21, 2011}   Disney World

True Story:  G Monkey took his first trip to Disney World.

In no particular order:

1) I broke 2 toes.

Now as the mother of a 40 pound 4-year-old boy I walk around daily with separated ribs, a broken nose, and many other injuries.

The toes were attacked by furniture.

There was an oddly placed chair in the living room of our condo that wanted a piece of me. I broke 2 toes on it very soon after arriving. Then bumped the other foot, my knee and my hip. Dad moved it after that. 

2) It took the Monkey until his last day in his last 30 minutes in one of the parks to walk up to a character by himself and ask for an autograph. That would be miss Minnie Mouse.

The first character we tried, Goofy, who is one of his favorites, he had a small melt down. When we finally made it to the top of the autograph line he had chocolate all over him from a power bar and I had to let several people go in front of us while I cleaned him up.

Then, once clean, it is our turn again. Now he has the last half of the power bar in his mouth and refuses to swallow. He just won’t budge and won’t swallow. I just about lost my mind. I had been waiting in this line for at least 30 minutes, sweating, and now he has chocolate soup seeping out of his mouth. Not only is this gross but it makes it difficult to understand what he wants when he just stomps and points.

Then, he finally swallows the food, but sits on the ground and points for me to go get the autograph, which I do.

THEN, after getting out of line, he decides he could maybe hug Goofy if I was holding him.

I thought they were going to call security on us.

So, you can imagine by the last day it was the sweetest thing to hear him say, “Excuse me Minnie Mouse, could I have your autograph please”. I was going to kick her ass if she was mean to him.

No need. Minnie’s a sweetheart.

One thing that led up to the more assertiveness with the characters on G Monkey’s part, was a breakfast that he and I had with Mickey, Pluto, Lilo and Stich.

2 observations here:

a) I realize they probably have about 50 “cast members” that play each character. They would have to to have them in so many locations and give them all pee and smoke breaks. But I would think they would have someone with a little more giddy-up playing Pluto. He’s a dog for God’s sake. He may even be a puppy. This “Pluto” that came to our table was dragging a leg. He might have been as old as Walt Disney himself.

b) Stitch kissed Mommy on the head and squeezed my shoulders just a few hundred times too many for this Momma.

3) At the end of one very long day as we road back to the parking lot on the ferry boat the Monkey began to whine. We were all very tired and our dogs were barking and the last thing we wanted to hear was, “I don’t waaaaant to go home. I don’t waaaaant to do that. Whaaa. Whaaa. Whaaaa.”

So Dad and the Ma’am and I started whining too.

“I waaaant a cocktail.”

“Whaaaa, I want my money back.”

“I want to kick my shoes off and never sweat again. Whaaa. Whaaa. Whaaa.”

If you can’t beat em’, join em’.

4) We stayed off Disney property in a nice timeshare condo that my brother very generously donated. It was 1 mile from Disney World. I repeat 1 mile.

We got lost every single day coming and going. It’s a trap down there.

5) On the 7 hour car trip home G Monkey and I sat in the back of the school bus. This is what we call my Dad’s Tahoe. We were in bucket seats, as you are in a school bus, so it was very hard for me to “hold you” when G Monkey wanted to be held.

The following are excerpts from the conversations that went on between G Monkey and I while I tried to read.

GM:  Aaaaaahhhhhhh!!! Sorry, I just screaming.

Me:  Please don’t scream in the car.

GM:  Aaaahhhhhhh!!! Sorry, I just kidding.

Me:  Practice whistling.

GM:  Mommy, What does “A” plus “T” equal?

Me:  Oh, well that’s easy. It’s “Q”. Everybody knows that.

(This game goes on for at least 2 hours. Him asking me similar algebra questions. He may have dipped into some trig as well.)

Well, he is definitely asking the wrong person as I can not do 3rd grade word problems. I do not know what happens when the train leaves the station.

GM:  Mommy.

Me:  Yes.

GM:  I want to call you Momma.

Me:  Okay. Whatever you want.

True Story:  He has not called me Momma one time yet. I am still waiting.

True Story:  I only open my mouth to change feet.

I am very aware of this fact and therefore do a lot of apologizing and telling myself that God gave us 2 ears and 1 mouth yada yada…

I am still knocked out by some of the things people say to me.

Some reading this may say, “Now Ashley, you’ve got the biggest potty mouth on the planet.”

This is true, and I have even been called “wildly inappropriate.” So this is not the crazy, stupid, gross stuff said late night in bars or on a Sunday afternoon at the FloraBama. These are the fun things that you tell other people about and they think you made it up, or give you the “Elaine Bennis” shove, including a “SHUT UP.”


1) Housekeeper that walked into my house one day:

“Oh look at this. This is going to be fun. I love looking through people’s stuff.”

True Story:  She let Ex-Pump get blamed for a hand-made wine glass he heard HER break.

2) No shocker here.  Men say all kinds of dirty stuff all the time. This one caught me off guard though, because it was a first introduction, and not at 2am. Sitting at a dinner table with a group of people at 7pm one night a friend introduces me to this man who was sitting with us. The following occurred:

Friend: Ashley, this is guy (insert male name here). He’s down from Tuscaloosa.

Me:  Oh hi, nice to meet you. You guys got some great weather this weekend…

Me:  So what do you do in Tuscaloosa?

Guy:  Nice rack.

Me:  Oh… You’re a rack observer. That must be cool… Does it pay well?


3) I received an email from a guy from an internet dating site. The guy’s username was… Are you ready for this?

Lord of Passion and Candles in the Night and your Desire

Again, this was not the subject of his email, but his account username.

More than what kind of freaky dude in a cape is this guy, I am wondering what chicks reply to an email like this? Possibly:

Oh Lord of Passion, you have finally found me. I am the Gatekeeper.

Reminds me of the movie Ghostbusters. I think I should probably get off the computer and try my luck at the bar, or the library, or the post office or something.

True Story:  Speaking of capes. When I was in Orange County, CA earlier this year I passed 2 Super Heros smoking in the parking garage. I looked at them.

Dude in cape #1:  Super Heros need nicotine too.

Me:  Of course they do.

4) I met a woman at a party recently. This is how she introduced herself:

Woman:  Hi, I’m Connie, Lesbian.

Me:  Oh, is that how we are doing it these days. Okay, awesome. Ashley, heterosexual. Nice to meet you.

True Story:  She then told me about a time she was driving after partying and decided she couldn’t drive anymore. So, she pulled over, threw her keys in the woods and went to sleep under the truck. When inevitably a cop came around poking at her, she thought to herself. “Oh, here I go. I’m about to pull crazy”.

PS: I can’t wait to “pull crazy” on someone.

I immediately went inside to tell my friend this story after meeting this woman because I knew what my friend’s answer would be and he didn’t disappoint. 

My Friend:  Oh yeah, I’ve done that.

Hahahaha. It’s the little things that make me smile. 

5) This was not said to me personally, but never the less, needs to be shared with the world.

My sisters pulled up at a Taco Bell drive through some years back and ordered some tacos.

Drive Through Cashier:  Nope. Sorry. Meat Hose is broke.

True Story:  You’re welcome.

{August 31, 2011}   North Alabama Vacation

True Story:  I live in LA.

That would be lower Alabama. But, I was raised in North Alabama, therefore I can make fun of it later on.

G Monkey was out of school for 3 weeks and I needed to be in North AL 3 weekends in a row, so we decided to take a little 10 day North AL walkabout.

Things that happened:

1) Dog Boy

The Monkey and I, along with some family, camped for about a week on Lookout Mountain, in the northeast corner of the state. Not tent camping, but relaxing in the woods in cabins camping. For most of the time we had 4-5 dogs and 3 small kids with us.

What used to transpire on these trips to Mentone, AL, was long lazy naps and 1-handed Champagne croquet. Now, with motherhood, what transpires is the following:

I am in the cook house which is sort of like the “living room” cabin of the property where everyone gathers. I look out the front door on to the path leading up to the door and see my 4-year-old son standing there with a dog leash clipped to his shirt and his pants at his ankles. Hmm, I think. I should probably investigate this.

 I stand to look out, and am not very happy to see a very large, human turd behind him on the ground. That’s right. I don’t know any other way to describe it.

Me:  Monkey, WHAT are you doing?

G Monkey:  Being a dog… I go poopy on the ground like the dogs.


I look around for anything… Anybody to blame this on. There are dogs around but there is no hiding what this really is. It’s also right in the human walk path.

I consider for a moment kicking or throwing it into the bushes. Fertilizer right?

I decide that is not moral. Where is a husband around when you need one?

UGH!!!! What else to do? I grab a LARGE wad of paper towels and the “thing” in one hand (I can’t bring myself to type that other word again), and my son’s hand in the other.

I drag him across the property with his pants around his ankle. He is trying to quick run with his little legs to keep up with me.

I run into the big cabin where a bathroom is. My stepmom is blow drying her hair in the bathroom. I run into the room very quickly shouting over and over, “I’ve got a situation here. I’ve got a situation”.

She doesn’t say a word, just puts the hairdryer down and walks out.

Oh, good times.

2) Dog Boy #2

Only G Monkey and I, and about 4 dogs are on the property. Everyone else had gone out for a little while. I was feeding the Monkey his lunch in the cook house when all of a sudden I hear a man yelling, “HEY! HEY! STOP! JAKE!”.

I step out the back door just in time to see a Jack Russell stop suddenly in front of me. I reached out to snag his collar as it occurs to me that this might be “Jake”. Just as I got an inch from him he took off again.

A few seconds later his human daddy came running by, “Did you see a dog?” he panted breathlessly.

Me:  Yes, I just missed him. Sorry…

Before I could get it out Doggy Daddy was off again.

Me:  He went up that hill.

I pointed up a thickly wooded hill, well, small mountain really.

As the man runs up the hill all I hear are desperate, painful, wailing cries, “JAKE! STOP! OH HE’S GONE!”

I thought, man this guy is serious about it. 

A few minutes later a car pulls onto the property. A woman gets out with a leash and some dog treats. I walk down to her. She looks at me desperately. I point up the hill.

Me:  They are up there.

She begins yelling at her son up the hill, trying to help.

He wails back, “Forget it Mom, he’s gone. He’s GONE!”.

She looks at me with a tear in her eye, “I just left the door open for a minute and he was gone. They just came up for the afternoon, oh what are we going to do?”

Me:  It’s okay. He will come back.

Mom:  No, no you don’t know this dog.

For about 10 more minutes I console this woman and her husband who had by now driven up. The entire time we are listening to sobs from on top of the hill.

Dog Daddy finally appears out of the woods. He is missing a flip-flop, sweating, crying and has scratches on his face from running blindly through the woods.

Me:  Listen, our dogs run up those hills all the time. He’ll come back. It’s hot as hell. He’ll come down for water or food or to hang with our dogs.

Dog Daddy (wiping tears):  No he won’t. He’s gone. You don’t know this dog. It’s over.

He stomps off down the road with one flip-flop. Not only is he a cry baby but he’s a bit of a brat as well. Did I mention this guy is about my age, 35 maybe.

His mom yells after him and he whips his arm back at her to leave him alone and continues the pout walk.

I exchange numbers with Mom and Dad and tell them not to worry, I’ll return the dog if I see him.

True Story:  5 minutes, maybe. Might have been 3 minutes after they leave the property, I look over and lo and behold if it isn’t little Jake sitting there panting like crazy from his romp through the woods.

I said, “Hey Jake, want some water?”  He follows me to our community dog water bowl while I slip a leash on his collar.

I grab G Monkey and tell him we are about to go make someone very happy. The 3 of us, me, Jake, and the Monkey head down the road to a cabin “Mom” had told me they were staying.

We get about half way there when an SUV pulls over suddenly in front of me and blocks traffic on the entire road. Dog Daddy hops out of the car, still crying, and goes,”No way. NO WAY. God bless you. Oh, wow, thank you so much.” He gives me a sort of sweaty, tearful hug. I told him no problem, as I know how dogs can be.

In my head I thought, “Good Lawd, get a grip.”

So later on I tell the rest of the crew this story when they get back.

I had also mentioned earlier in the day that today was a full moon, and supposed to be one of the sweetest ones of the year. Also, I might mention, my horoscope said it would be my most romantic time of the year. I didn’t really see how this was going to work out for me as I was camping in the woods with my family.

I know what you’re thinking. Well, you are in Alabama. When in Rome, right?

My Dad decides that this has to be full Moon fate. It has to be:

1) My dad has the same first name as the Doggy Daddy. 2) Jake is my dad’s alter ego’s name. 3) It’s a full Moon. 4) The dog was a Jack Russel just like my dog, the Demanding Paw.

My answer?

I’m way more of a man than that dude is.

True Story:  There are more stories and observations from North Alabama Vaca to come later. But I am too dog pooped to type them right now. Pun intended.

{August 3, 2011}   Mr. Bill

True Story:  Some years back Ex-Pump brought home a Weimaraner.

I know, right? WTF? That’s what I said too.

We lived in a 1000 square foot house with a 13 pound dog that wanted absolutely no other animals in her castle.

So, it would only make sense that Ex-Pump would show up with this giant dog. Not sure if you are familiar with the breed but the are very large, beautiful, and CRAZY. This one was only about a year old to boot. And had apparently tormented his way through many homes across the south before he found us. So, no real training whatsoever.

There were 3 major events that lead to Mr. Bill’s going to “a nice farm in the country where he could run”. I can not remember in what order they happened or even how long he lived with us. It was all a nightmare.

Event #1) This is really 2 character flaws I found with this giant dog. One, he demanded on sleeping in the bed with us and kicking us out of a queen size bed. This dog weighed 650 pounds and his giant paws were like bear claws hitting you in the back until you either submitted or were knocked unconscious and slept.

Second, he was tall enough to reach the kitchen counters and would eat anything sitting out on them, including about 40 Christmas cookies I had cooling on the counter.

Event #2) Our dining room table at the time had an iron base. At the bottom the iron rods came together. My dad and ma’am were over visiting when all of a sudden we heard the highest pitched dog yelping you have ever heard. You would have thought Michael Vick was over training in our back yard.

We discover the problem. The 700 lb. dog has 2 toes of his giant paw stuck between the iron table base support rods. He is thrashing around bleeding and screaming. The 4 of us jump in and try to help. It took about 7 minutes to free him. When it was all said and done. I was bleeding from a dog bite. Ex-Pump had 2 puncture wounds we considered having stitched, and everyone’s nerves were SHOT!

Event #3) Ex-Pump was out-of-town. I left Mr. Bill and The Demanding Paw at home for a couple of hours to run errands.

Upon my return I walk in the house to find dog diarrhea EVERYWHERE. When I say everywhere, I mean EVERYWHERE. It was sprayed up on the refrigerator, countertops, floors, walls, carpet, furniture, etc… 

I am not sure how or why this happened. I don’t believe that God punishes us, but I look back on this day as one of my “tests”. I am dry heaving as I type this.

I cry about twice a year. I think I have mentioned before that I am cold as ice. Well, I went outside, sat down, and cried like a baby.

I gathered myself, called Ex-Pump and freaked out for a while. I think he laughed. That might be why we are divorced.

Then, I went to the store and bought everything that they sell that will clean something.

I entered the house and put the dogs in the back yard (where they stayed for a LONG time, and I periodically went out there to kick them. Just kidding. Not really…)

I had a dew-rag on my head and one over my mouth. I dragged all rugs and furniture into the front drive. I scrubbed the house from top to bottom all the while tears running down my face. Why me?

I had to reach 2 feet above my head to cut down some blinds that were covered in poop. I repeat, 2 feet above my head. Did the dog stand on his front legs to spray his poop? I think he did it on purpose.

I scrubbed every piece of furniture outside and had a carpet cleaner I couldn’t afford come over and do the rugs. My neighbors would drive/walk by and ask what happened. I waved them on and told them to save themselves.

I finally got it all cleaned up and scheduled 3 appointments for interviews with Mr. Bill’s “new parents” for in the morning before I cracked a beer after the hardest labor day of my life.

True Story:  I don’t really know if it was the poop day or the high-pitched, slow building scream that the Demanding Paw would do every time Mr. Bill got within 6 feet of her. I just know that this suppressed memory just resurfaced, and I had to share.

et cetera