True Story

{July 14, 2011}   Online Dating part Deux

True Story:  Really?

New observations:

1)  All men online are looking for their soul mate, princess, or someone to treat like a queen.

Really? Puke. Are they sure that’s not just what they think we want to hear.

2)  All men are bald.

I do not have a problem with baldness at all. Find it sexy on many men. I just didn’t realize that every man in America was bald.

3)  You can be talking with someone and getting along and they just disappear. Like gone. Account deleted.

This can only lead me to believe wife or girlfriend caught them online. I’m not jaded or anything, right?

4)  I appreciate humor online, and even find the ridiculously honest/vulgar guys funny.


A.  user names:  LoveBigBoobsDD, BushMaster (Really?), and BlueOrbitals…

The best is the guys only looking for “intimate encounters” whose marital status is “Married”…

 Really? I thought that’s why they made bars. Seems like a lot of work to create an online profile just for that.

True Story:  Heard from a guy whose profile said:

interests:  Sex

First date idea:  Anything where we end up with your legs in the air.

Hahahahaha. You guys should try this just for fun.

{July 7, 2011}   Film Festivals

True Story:  I have been on tour this year as a guest filmmaker screening Prairie Love.

Why I love Film Festivals:

1)  You meet the most amazing, colorful, passionate people.

Filmmakers are the only group of people in the world that will work 3 jobs, refuse to get a “real” job, max out credit cards, and alienate friends and family to create something that may or may not reach an audience, and will most likely cause them to lose money and/or something else important.

2)  You get to go to really awesome places.

This year I have been to Park City, UT; Oxford, MS; Ashland, OR; Newport Beach, CA; and Little Rock, AK.

I have had Oregon Pinot Noirs, celeb watched in Park City, dropped a hundo at Oxford Books, experienced real housewives of Orange County, and toured the Arkansas River on a music and booze filled river boat. Did I mention it is only July?

3)  You get to see Kickass movies that you don’t always have an opportunity to see through other venues.

INDEPENDENT, meaning we found our on money to make this movie, so eff off. We can make it about whatever floats our boat. Whether it be an experimental short, a documentary about a subject matter that fascinates us, or explore the boundaries of narrative filmmaking, we can, and do make these movies.

Probably not, but a film festival may be the only place you can catch a movie with the title: CoDependent Lesbian Space Alien Seeks Same.

Just saying.

Why I hate Film Festivals:

1)  I have to get a liver transplant every time I get home from a fest.

The only thing filmmakers like more than their coffee and Red Bull is booze. And man do film festival coordinators know this. They make sure that you have a lounge to hang in all day to drink beer and talk with other filmmakers, a happy hour usually starting somewhere around 4pm and of course, a cocktail party in the evening. Thank goodness I have had some practice in this department. I would hate to disappoint my fellow filmmakers.

2)  I have to wash my mouth out with soap.

Every time I get home from a fest I am talking like a sailor or a trucker, or a filmmaker in front of my son. Conversations go like this at film festivals:

FM # 1:  I f*cking hated your movie.

FM # 2: That’s f*cking awesome. Why?

FM # 1:  Because it was so f*cking good.

FM # 2:  F*ck yeah!

3)  I miss all my besties that I make.

I make besties at every festival. Which is awesome, because I like people, especially crazy people. And because I have friends all over the country, my facebook friends are an amazing variety of real estate clients, conservative southerners, artists, liberals, and more. I never get bored on facebook.

Also, I may work with many of these talented individuals in the future. Can you have too many friends? I think not.

True Story:  I am not so sure that festival directors, coordinators, and volunteers feel the same about me as I do about them. I think sometimes they are ready to see “Alabama” go home.

 Too bad. I’m coming back!

{June 18, 2011}   The Rite Aid

True Story:  Only in the south would a lady in her 50s explain going #2 to me.

So I am standing in line at the pharmacy counter for a prescription at Rite Aid the other day. G Monkey is running around the store with a 4 pack of toilet paper yelling, “I love toilet paper” over and over. The pharmacist assistant is trying to check out someone in front of me while trying to suppress her laughter at G Monkey. 

What???  She’s never seen a kid that loves toilet paper before. At least he doesn’t loves snakes or faberge eggs. Saves me a lot of head ache that it is just soft paper he loves.

It looks like it’s going to be another 10 minutes or so before my scrip is ready. I decided I could go to the restroom and reign G Monkey in to go too.

I turn the door knob to find it locked. This is something the Monkey can’t understand.

G Monkey:  (Very loudly) It’s Lock -aah – ocked Mommy.

Me:  Yes, that means someone is in there. We have to wait our turn. Go play with the toilet paper some more. I’ll call you when it is our turn.

G Monkey:  Ok.

He grabs the toilet paper and runs off.

The bathroom door opens and a middle age, woman, reminiscent of Paula Dean,  comes out of the bathroom. She grabs her grocery cart and stands in front of me as her scrip is ready and mine isn’t. About that time G Monkey runs up and grabs my hand and says, “Mommy, let’s go to the bathroom now”.

Paula Dean turns around.

PD:  Oh, I am so sorry Honey. I am so sorry. I had to go. Normally I would wait until I got home, but it was bad, and I had to go.

Me:  Umm, oh, that’s okay. I understand.

PD:  Well, there wasn’t any spray either. I’m so sorry.

My thoughts:  Awesome. Thanks lady. I don’t even have a good smeller, but now with the powerful power of suggestion, even if I don’t smell it I am going to feel nose raped by this lady’s business.

G Monkey is tugging on my arm.

G Monkey:  Mommy, Mommy, let’s go to the potty.

I look at him and look at this lady. What would you do?

If I tell him no, we can’t go now, she will know I am scared. And, what if he really needs to go? If I go in there I may die, or worse, G Monkey may yell out, “Mommy it stinks like poopy in here”. Everyone in the store already knows he loves toilet paper.

Ya’ll know this is a serious dilemma. At Rite Aid, there is only the 1 bathroom by the pharmacy with the 1 stall.

In the end, I looked at the lady, she looked sheepishly back at me, and we went in.

True Story:  In most cases I really believe it is better to ask forgiveness than permission. I wish this lady felt that way.

{June 7, 2011}   So, this really happened

True Story:  We are all pressed for time every now and then.

9am on a Wednesday morning I drop my son off at preschool. I go across the street for a coffee.

I am exchanging pleasantries with the 2 ladies behind the counter. A young lady comes in and is clearly wanting to interrupt our conversation. We stop and look at her.

Young Lady:  Excuse me, is there a sex store around here?

Myself and the cashiers look at each other.

Us:  Yes.

Young Lady:  How do I get there?

Cashier #1:  Well, there is one in Foley up the road.

Me:  You know what? There is one in Orange Beach, just down the road here.

Young Lady:  which one is faster?

We all look at each other.

Me:  Well, I think with traffic you can probably get to the one in Orange Beach faster.

I start to give her directions… She interrupts me.

Young Lady:  Can I get there in 10 minutes?

We all look at each other again, trying to suppress giggles.

Me:  You know what? I think about 10 minutes is what it will take. I don’t know if they are open at 9am…

She runs out the door before I can say anything else.

At his point a friend of mine steps up behind me that I didn’t know was there.

Friend:  Where are you giving directions Ashley??? Ha ha ha.

Me:  Well, the girl needed a sex store.

The 4 of us just fell out laughing.

The punch line here folks is that it was 9am, and she had to get there in 10 minutes.

True Story:  My day could have started out much worse.

I just hope she’s okay.

{March 29, 2011}   Vistitors and Vacations

True Story:  Sorry I haven’t blogged lately.

I got taken out by a kid with a stomach bug, a Mom visit and a sister visit with 2 younguns.


Lessons Learned:

1) Kids with stomach bugs suck.

I said it. I will shout it from the roof tops. It’s no fun… I don’t care who you are, cleaning diarrhea is not cool. (Hey, you never know what people are in to).

But more importantly, how empathetic you feel for the little fella is worse… God strike me down. Just please don’t let my baby feel wretched anymore.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: There is no point in cleaning your house before three 3 and unders get there. All you are doing is cleaning the base for the new dirt. It’s like burning yourself for the first time each summer and calling it a “base coat”.

In the first 24 hours my nephew peed in my bed and my niece pooped in my yard and dragged it into the house. Good thing I had a clean “base” on the floor for the new poopy.

It is not a vacation for my sister and I. We wrangle children, try to keep them alive with food,  videos, sunscreen, videos, not drowning, videos, treats, and videos… Until they finally fall asleep somewhere around 9pm.

Then we pound wine on the deck pretending we want to stay up and talk and catch up, but we know deep down that we have to go to sleep so we can do the above mentioned activities again starting at 6am the next day.

When you live at the beach, in the warm months, you have a lot more “family” and “friends” than usual. Naturally, they assume you are “on vacation” like them. If you live at the beach you must live permanently on vaca, right? Not so much. For proof, read this blog from the beginning.

So it sucks when you have to do actual work when you family and friends visit. First of all you are jealous of their ability to lolly-gag and goof off (drink beer on the beach) when you have responsibilities.

2nd, you feel guilty for missing work opportunities when you lolly-gag with them (which you will inevitably due, because hello? Drinking beer on the beach is a lot more fun than work).

3rd, time with family, friends, and the children in my life is precious.

True Story:  I am taking a real vacation next week to Ashland, OR, to screen Prairie Love. There will still be Oregon winery wine pounding, but much more relaxing this time.

{February 4, 2011}   Excerpts from Sundance

True Story:  I just spent 12 nights in Park City, UT. The following are excerpts from this trip:

The hot tub was really cool the first couple of nights, then it went out of style, and then came back in style at the end of our stay.

Hot tubs make me puffy.

It takes 4 days to acclimate from sea level to 8,000 feet.

During strip poker only one guy got down to his compass. No, you dirty birds. He actually wears a compass around his neck under his clothes.

I had 9 people sleeping in my bedroom on at least 1 night.

“Everybody snores, but you take it to a whole new level. You’re sleeping in the closet”.

“Hey, James Franco and Scorses’ daughter just walked in at sat on the front row of your premier”.

The buses are free.

“Text me where you land on Main Street”.

“Well, we’re drunk again”.

“Can someone call somebody and see what we are supposed to be doing”.

“Has anybody seen my…”

“Who did you see today”?     “Danny Glover”.     “Cool”.

$213 for a Doctor to write me a scrip for an antibiotic for a bacterial infection probably caught from the hot tub… No out-of-state insurance allowed.

Again, I don’t think there is anything wrong with this country’s health care system… Sarcasm raining.

“Cheers to Prairie Love”!     “TO PRAIRIE LOVE”!!!

On the plane ride over, Ex-Pump is reading aloud to me from Entertainment weekly:

Ex-Pump:  The Hang Over 2 set was so hot and miserable that all types of “douche-baggery” ensued.

Me:  What? Douche-baggery? Let me see that.

I look over his shoulder to read.

Me:  It’s “debauchery”

True Story:  Douche-baggery was the theme of the festival. Anytime anyone was acting up, they were causing lots of douche-baggery.

{January 9, 2011}   Christmas Memories

True Story:  One of my favorite Christmas memories happened this year, during my 35th Christmas.

Fav Memory #1

The weekend before Christmas, Gray and I went up to North Alabama to have Christmas with the family.

We did immediate family night on Friday. We have lots to celebrate at the end of one of the worst years in all our lives. Baby sister got married in November to a great guy, so we got a new bro in law; Mom has a clean bill of health after a health scare; Middle sister and bro in law get to move to a new city with a great new job; And my film got into Sundance. So good Times!

Saturday night we did extended family fun. We have a long tradition of playing Dirty Santa with the extended family on Christmas.

Not that kind of Dirty Santa you dirty birds. I know we are from the south where it is completely acceptable to be “dirty” with your first cousin… But that is not how we roll.

This dirty Santa means you can steal gifts from people.

We are cleaning and putting food out and getting ready for family to show up. Just about the time folks start coming through the door G Monkey comes up to me and says, “there’s something wrong with my pants, Mommy”.

Me:  What do you mean?

G Monkey:  Uh, huh…

I look in his pants… Full on diarrhea everywhere. Nasty!

Me:  Come on. Come on, let’s get to the bathroom, quick.

My niece and nephew have jack and Jill bathrooms. I take Gray to my nephews bathroom. Running in there, I find my nephew and Bro in law washing their hands and looking very frustrated.

J:  We’re in here Ashley.

Me:  Sorry, emergency.

I turn to run the other direction with G Monkey, but have to stop short as I am standing in 2 inches of water.

Me: Hey, What’s this?

I point to the toilet water I am standing in.

J: Oh Sh*t.

Apparently Nephew and his Daddy are still learning about the proper amount of toilet paper use.

Now toilet water was flowing down the hall and into the living room where guests were arriving.

I back track out of there and push G Monkey down to my niece’s side of the bathroom. I precariously take his pants and underwear off. I think I’ve got it all together with no mess, when… Plop. The whole pair of underwear flipped out of my hand and flat on the floor. Gross!

I start yelling for help. J is yelling for help on his end. Both 3-year-olds are just staring at us. All the while I am dry heaving at the distusting-ness of it all.

I yell for help again while I keep G Monkey from touching anything until I can get the floor and toilet cleaned up, and am able to get him in the bath.

My sister runs back and forth to each bathroom bringing disinfectant wipes and towels.

I finally get G Monkey in the bath and we get both bathrooms cleaned up.

We come out sweating to greet our family members.

This is when I announce that this really is my favorite Christmas Memory, and a really special time we should all remember. One of those, make sure “you live in the moment moments”. 

True Side Story:  One of my uncles lives for Dirty Santa. I think he thinks about his Dirty Santa gift for most of the calendar year.

Unfortunately, this year he didn’t think he was going to make the party due to a funeral, and was unable to get a Dirty Santa gift in time.

We knew he wanted to play really badly, so we told him to just go wrap something up.

His gift you wonder?

$30 stuck in a colorectal cancer testing kit… Yes, that’s right. I said a colorectal cancer testing kit. 

Uncle B: This is serious business. You could really use this thing… Sounds to me, like we could go swab those bathroom floors and see if either of these kids is unhealthy.

This is true, we could have. I don’t know how much faith I have in those disinfectant wipes.

Fave Memory #2:

My sweet, sweet, giving and grateful little boy.

I got all my shopping done early this year. G Monkey knew who every present under the tree was for. Every time someone came over to the house that had a gift under the tree he would run and get it for them and say, “You wanna open yo-were present?”

Santa gave G Monkey a Globe, a rocking horse (pogo stick) and a guitar. He comes out Christmas morning and sees what Santa has left.

G Monkey:  Wow, a guitar. Hey, I could use that.

Famous and Ma’am Juwee won the best present award. They gave G Monkey all the Mickey Mouse characters. 8″ Donald, Mickey, Goofy,Pluto, Minnie, and… Hey, Where’s Daisy?

Apparently there was a run on Daisy at Toys R Us.

They had wrapped each character doll in individual boxes. So after a couple of characters G Monkey caught on to the pattern. After he had opened them all but Daisy, he would open every gift after that saying, “Maybe it’s Daisy?” Even if it was clearly a book or a gift for someone else.

I hear he did this with every gift later in the day at his Daddy’s house as well.

He continued this “Maybe it’s Daisy” business for the next couple of weeks. Every time I opened the mail box or unloaded grocery bags, “Maybe it’s Daisy?”

We told G Monkey that Daisy was on a cruise.

Yesterday he was sleepy. It was about 4 o’clock. We were going to change clothes and go to the park. I pulled up to the mailbox to check the mail and guess who popped out???


Yes! She is home from her cruise.

Well, the park was out of the question after that grand surprise. We HAD to play with Daisy… That elusive Ducktress.

True Story: rocks!

{January 2, 2011}   It’s a New Year Baby!

True Story:  2010 sucked.

I could write an entire book on the last 12 months alone. I feel like a new woman and 110% better about 2011. I realize I probably think this every new year. I famously claim that all years, are going to be “My Year”.

To show how much I’ve grown I actually toasted a friend yesterday and said, “I think this is going to be “your year”. See how sweet I am?

Now that I think about it the last decade has been pretty tough and I am looking forward to smoother sailing.

2010 Sucked and here’s why:


Oil Spills




The Iron Bowl

Losing cherished Family Members


Shall I go on?

2011 is going to Rock and here’s why:


Cute Boys

New Opportunities

Alabama whooped Michigan State on the first day of the year. Roll Tide!

G Monkey

I’m thinner

 Robert Redford

Shall I go one?

True Side Story:  I spent New Years day with family and friends watching football, eating good food, drinking bubbly, dancing and laughing.

Our dear friend, BC, passed away a year or so ago. I happen to notice my friend DP was wearing an extremely funny ball cap yesterday. Let’s just say DP enjoys “the sauce” and leave it at that. His hat was plain, and across the front said “Betty Ford Clinic”. When I pointed this irony out, my Dad said, “You know who’s hat that is?”

Me:  Who?

Dad:  BC (our dearly departed friend).

Me:  You know what? He still had my car keys, that SOB.

True Story:  If God brings you to it, he’ll bring you through it.

Every dog had his day. We all have good years (decades) and bad ones. The good news is the sun rises most days.

I am extremely grateful for the challenges 2010 brought me. If I hadn’t experienced them I wouldn’t have appreciated the coming success and grace from God. God Bless and Happy New Year!

True Story:  Let’s kick 2010 to the curb. Bias out.

{December 14, 2010}   Mondays

True Story:  When you wake up in the morning, you just never know how a day will turn out.

I woke up this particular Monday morning a little tired, but ready to tackle the day. I had a ton of real estate work to get to, I was feeling good about it, ready to scratch off my to-do list and make some money.

G Monkey was with his Daddy so I could have slept in, I repeat COULD have, but my internal alarm clock will not allow such a luxury.

True Side Story:  I don’t wake up well. Usually takes a good 6 hours or so before I feel like talking to anybody.

And lately, I don’t stay up well. After bartending much of my adult life, living the life of a night owl, I traded that in for Mommy duty… So now I am like an old farmer, I rise with the sun, and go down at dark with the help of a few glasses of wine. So, really only contact me around lunch time, that’s about when I feel like talking… But then of course, I’m eating, which is the most important time of my day… So I guess I’ll talk to you… Let me get back to you on that.

I don’t know if I have mentioned this before, but I currently drive a 1995 Toyota Corolla with a tape deck, and covered in bumper stickers. It’s embarrassing really, but you have to express yourself.

I also suffer from a little bit of OCD. My car doesn’t have one of those fancy “beep beeps” of the last 2 decades where you can open/lock your car from the outside. I have to manually push the lock button.

So, although I don’t need to lock my car at 9am in Orange Beach, AL to go into the gas station for a minute, I still do. because I’m crazeeee.

So this particular Monday morning I decide to stop for a fountain diet coke on my way into the office.

True Side Story:  I had decided it was too much pressure to try to keep beer, wine, milk, juice and diet coke in the fridge at all times. So I cut out the diet coke. Now I stop in the morning to buy 1 for the price of half a 12 pack.

Sucking down my coke (diet coke, but in the South all sodas are coke).


Me: You want a coke?

You:  Yeah

Me:  What kind?

You: Mountain Dew.

So on my way back to my car sucking down my coke (diet coke) I see my keys glistening in the sun hanging from the ignition. I quickly dart my eyes to all four doors. Locked. Locked. Locked. Locked.


I have my wallet in my hand. I’m brilliant. Yes! I always carry a spare key in my wallet. I pull the key out and stick it in the door. Nothing… It’s to another car that Ex-Pump drives currently.

Double sh*t.

I immediately think of my phone… Which is resting on the passenger seat of my locked car.

I go inside the store and start asking people whether they can get into a locked 1995 Toyota.

Then, I gather myself and ask the cashier to borrow her phone. With the look she gave me you would have thought I had asked her for her first born…

I take the greasy phone in my hand and start dialing… Who am I going to call? I know no one’s phone number.

I don’t know if you have suffered from this trauma in the last 10 years, but if you try to call someone from a land line now you are screwed! We don’t know telephone numbers anymore. EVERYONE is programmed.

I call Ex-Pump… We argue for a minute. I try the Police. They don’t do these types of things anymore. Getting the phone book from the cashier was like I asked her for her 2nd born to boot.

I am trying to avoid a ridiculous ($65) lock smith. I spend some time with an old milk delivery man. He gets out the ol’ coat hanger. This has to work right? It’s a 1995 Toyota. He and I spend about 30 minutes sweating to no avail.

True Side Story: This is the most annoying thing during this whole ordeal, my sweat. It’s the end of November why am I sweating???

I have since recanted that statement, as I am currently freezing my ass off.

I finally decide to call the Ma’am, that’s my step mom. I know she is at the Art center, not too far away, and that is a public number that I can look up.

She comes to get me to take me home to get my spare.

We arrive back at the gas station, laughing at my predicament that I am soon to be out of. I pull out my gorgeous original key to this 14-year-old car out and put it in the lock…

That’s right, it broke off in the lock… Why you say??? Because it is 14 years old and I suffer from Murphy’s Law, of course it broke off in the lock.

She hangs with me for a while… 3 surfers try to break in the car for me. They ASSURE me that they have done this plenty of times…. No luck.

Eventually the Ma’am has to go back to work and I decide the inevitable… I have to call a locksmith.

I wait on my car for 45 more minutes. My work day is wasting away and the 60 something cashier is about to call the Police on me because obviously I am up to no good.

Eventually, my little locksmith shows up. This is when the fun begins… I expect him to just shove a slim Jim in the car and open it… No. He decides this is the time to try all of his friends inventions. He’s got wire with funky shaped rubber bands. He pulls out things that don’t look like in any way shape or form they could unlock a car door, all the while telling me about his love life.

I’m like dude, I’ve been here 2 hours, do I look like I care?  meanwhile, I could tell you what color panties his ex-wife and 2 girlfriends wear…. FINALLY, he gets my door open. I write a ridiculous check and head off to the office.

I am so behind at work and trying to catch up. I run in the office, throw my purse down, start the computer and reach for my phone… I pull out my $500 Smartphone covered in ink, along with everything else in my purse. WTF?

I pull out 10 pens before I find the culprit. This is some bullshit right here.

Skip to 5:30pm. It seems like 7:30pm since the time change. I feel like I have a target on my back. I am negotiating with people on the phone and Ex-Pump beeps in… I’m thinking, good Lawd, what else?

I click over…

Ex-Pump:  We got into Sundance.

Me: What? Eff U! Don’t mess with me right now. You don’t know the day I have had.

Ex-Pump:  No really, I’m serious… We got into Sundance.

True Story:  You never know how a day will turn out… Sometimes at the end of the day, your dreams come true.

{December 2, 2010}   Transparenting

True Story:  When you get divorced in Baldwin County, Alabama, and you have a minor child you are required to take a “Transparenting” class.

You have to take the class before the judge will sign your divorce decree. It was only offered one Saturday at 8am near Ex-Pump and I so we signed up for the same class.

It’s almost like you are being punished for getting a divorce. Okay, you want to end your marriage and you have a child, well then you have to go to a boring ass class on a Saturday morning in a cold government building. So, there. You remember that next time you decide to get married, have a baby and throw in the towel.

Yes I will…

Funnies from Transparenting class:

1) There was a “super student” up front. A man about 40 something raised his hand every 5 minutes and had lots of “input”. Pa-Leeze… This is a court-ordered class that we all just want to get our graduation certificate from and get the hell out of there.

2) Ex-Pump and I wondered if we would be the only somewhat amicable couple divorcing in class…. Apparently not, the Mom of the couple next to us would hit her soon to be ex and roll her eyes and go, “Mmm hmm”. Every time the teacher said something of relevance.

3) The couple in front of us couldn’t appear more in love. Ex-Pump wrote me a note on our “workbook”:  “This class brought them back together”.

We finally decided he must be new Step Daddy… Some people move on faster than others, seeing as how you have to take this class before the judge will sign off on your divorce.

4) It was a big SEC game day. LSU and Auburn, 2 undefeated teams at the time. The guy sitting next to me was wearing an LSU shirt. During a break I said, “big game today, huh?”.

Ex-Pump:  Please don’t start dating in front of me.

True Story:  They told us where we could go to support groups and asked that we please not try to get laid there.

et cetera