30 Day Meme — What You Did Today

Day 6: What You Did Today In Great Detail

So this week I had these Really Grand Plans about how I was going to BLOG and I was going to get on a SCHEDULE and do this thing in a way that proves how much I actually love blogging and writing and stuff (because I actually DO, despite what my entry calendar says) but then I got sick and barfed up orange foam and spent three days in bed. So. Best laid plans of mice and men and fat chicks and stuff.

mice and me

But I am climbing out of the stench pit that is my bed and getting myself together by continuing on with that long-ignored 30 day meme thing. Day 6 is “Your Day in Great Detail” and I had initially planned to a day in the life photo thing, but then decided that would probably be EVEN MORE BORING than just reading about what I did today.

So today, I got up and ate breakfast when my gf left for work because I had a headache and needed food to take Advil without barfing, but then went back to sleep and slept late-ish and had SUPER WEIRD dreams about fighting with my friend and then got up and dicked around on the internet a lot (I spend lots of time on Tumblr, like any good internet-human at this moment in time, and also caught up on my greader stuff) while monitoring whether I had a fever or not and also being mopey and kind of smelly even though I took a hot, happy shower last night and made sure to scrub all the foldy places at least twice. Illness, what a bitch. And also watched some HGTV and TeenNick because basically those are my life right now, OKAY.


Then my sister came over and I got attacked in a loving manner by her dog which is actually a fucking MOOSE pretending to be a dog. And we hung out and made fun of my mom (who was present, obviously, we aren’t terrible children) and watched the Michael Jackson doctor trial and talked about OJ and how televising trials is icky and weird and uncomfortable. Then we had lunch and hung out some more and I showed them the trailer for the MissRepresentation thing because they talked about it on Ellen and then my sister left and I spent a large portion of the subsequent hours painting my nails.


Then updating my iPhone and then playing with new stuff and being PIST that I can’t put Newsstand into another folder because I really and truly am so anal retentive that this is what my iPhone situation looks like:


Home and lock screens have to be coordinated, only three things on the dock because those are the only three I absolutely use every single day, and NORMALLY only one page of apps. BUT AS YOU CAN TELL BY THAT SECOND DOT. Newsstand lurks now on page two, just out of sight, but never out of mind… haunting me…

Then I ate dinner with my gf when she got home and watched some tv and laughed at the dogs and then I helped her sync her phone and iPad and ALL THE THINGS and fought with her shitty laptop because I am a real good gf. Then I spent time fixing our tv so it would stop making us click through channels that we don’t subscribe to. And examining the many things we have on the DVR that we need to watch because it’s getting full. And then we watched nothing instead.

I put her to bed and then I sat here on the internet and wrote some stuff and made some stuff and ate an ice cold cheeseburger from McDonald’s because I truly enjoy the finest things in life and am now drinking a Diet Pepsi with fresh squeezed lime juice in it and after I post THIS will go dick around on Tumblr and queue up some posts until I get tired enough to go to sleep in like an hour or so. [EXCEPT FOR WHERE DREAMHOST DECIDED TO DO SERVICE BUT I NEVER GOT AN EMAIL ABOUT THIS SO I DIDN’T GET TO POST IT UNTIL AFTER FIVE AM. I HAD TO FILL THE TIME WITH LIVEJOURNAL AND DISNEY CARTOONS FROM THE 2000S AND ANGRY TWITTERS OH GOD.]


Fun fact: the pictures where my palms are turned up are REALLY HARD AND PAINFUL for me to take because both of my wrists have scar tissue in them from being broken that kind of prevents them from working the way normal wrists work. The things I endure for my ART.

30 Day Meme -- What Is Love?

Day 5: Your Definition of Love

UGH. Again. I mean, seriously, meme. Failing me yet again and yet again, here we go.

I think this is probably not a TERRIBLE topic for someone who is into emotions and feelings more than I am, but I’m just not. Emotions are for other people to think about and for me to have and be really good at hiding, THANK YOU.

Anyway. I didn’t believe in romantic love or marriage or any of that stuff until the love thing happened to me. I think this is a normal/common/average thing coming from people who are weird/ugly/fat/geeky/outside the traditional norm because you just kind of get disenchanted about the whole thing. Love is an illusion! A shared hallucination!

I still believe that, I just get to participate now.

I knew that I was in love with my girlfriend because I wanted to be around her A LOT. And, like, let’s be honest: I did not, nor do I now have a lot of friends.

I have talked about being unlikeable before! I’m NOT LYING. And I spent a lot of time with those few people who WOULD put up with me.

But Crystal… I don’t know. We spent a truly astounding amount of time together and yet, when she was gone, I still really, really missed her. It was actually pretty disgusting and I tried not to talk about it to other people because it embarrassed me that I had feelings at all, let alone this weird needy desperate ones.

I think I realized in like, August of 2007 (four months after we met) that I was basically in love with her, whatever the fuck I thought that actually meant. I wanted to tell her one time, while we were walking around my grandma’s backyard, but I pussied out because I still wasn’t sure she was gay. And I thought she was a slut! (No joke! Untruer thoughts have never been had.)

And it was basically like, “Well, I guess I’m in love with this dumb bitch.” And she was my best friend and we didn’t start dating until May of 2008, so I spent a lot of months feeling really tortured and unhappy and TERRIBLE. Because you are not, NOT supposed to fall in love with your straight, slutty best friend. Especially when you don’t even believe in love.

I was all fucked up.

Basically, I know/knew that I love(d) my girlfriend because I want(ed) to be with her. I liked being with her. Spending a day with her was comfortable and satisfying and good. And even though I was miserable and hurting and wanting because I didn’t have her, because she didn’t love me back, it never once (ONCE!) occurred to me to just… stop hanging out with her.

Also, I like to hold her hand.

I have never in my entire life liked holding hands. I hold hands with my mom sometimes in public because she gets embarrassed and says, “ASHLEY, people will think we’re lesbians!” But otherwise, handholding is not an activity I ever engaged in. But now I want to hold Crystal’s hand all the time. Not kiss, not touch her boobs. Hold hands. In public and not. It’s gross. And I hate myself.

Also, the idea of not being a couple makes me uncomfortable and unhappy. And the idea of her dying makes me miserable in the vomiting all over myself and having a panic attack kind of way.

I think love is whatever the fuck you make of it. The girlfriend and I have figured out a life together that makes us pretty happy and I think the person you manage to do that with is worth hanging on to, generally speaking.

I think loving your family and loving your friends is just as important as loving your partner. I think cultivating relationships with people who will laugh at your jokes and take you to the airport and drive you around for three hours when you’re crying and losing your shit because everything is awful and buy you ice cream in the middle of the night is incredibly hard and important and scary and amazing.

Vulnerability is literally the hardest thing in the entire history of human beings. Being straight up honest about the fact that you have feelings and that you NEED things, the entire idea that you need things from other people? That’s fucked up! And awful.

Which is exactly why I prefer to leave emotions to people who are better at having a lot of them. Like… Mexican soap opera actresses and teenagers.

30 Day Meme – What You Ate Today

Day 4: What You Ate Today

I am not even going to address the inanity of writing about what I ate today because I was all, “FUCK YEAH, GONNA GET BACK TO BLOGGIN’. GONNA BE AWESOME.” and then I consulted the handy list of shit I need to write about and it was like, “Day 4: What you ate today, in great detail” and I was like, “Fucking, god damn, gonna have to give up on the 30 Day Meme on day four.” But no. Here we go. Gonna do this bitch.

We don’t have any decent food in the house right now and I just got back from Las Vegas yesterday where I ate a bunch of boss meals, so I was NOT digging the idea of having to make myself a sandwich. FUCK THAT. So basically I grazed on death food all day.

I had the following over the course of the day:


wal-mart cupcakes

pig in a shitty cornbread blanket


crockpot pot roast — the bomb

I had so much sugar today that I sort of want to stab myself in the face repeatedly until a fountain of granulated sugar and frosting pour out of the holes where my eyeballs used to rest. Like, I don’t even LIKE CUPCAKES. But they were there and I was hungry and the rest is history. I am sure I will further regret the sugar consumption when I inevitably crash in a couple hours, but right now I am basically just at peace with my inability to just suck it up and make a sandwich.

I HATE MAKING SANDWICHES. I hate making sandwiches almost as much as I hate going to the bank. There’s the bread and the mayonnaise and the other shit that constitutes sandwich filling and I am supposed to arrange it into some sort of delicious and functional arrangement! That’s just too many pieces and too many tasks.

I don’t do jigsaw puzzles, I don’t make sandwiches. Life’s too short for that shit.

30 Day Meme — Your Parents

Day 3: Your Parents

I picked this picture because we all look equally terrible.

My parents are awesome. My parents are so awesome that the greatest guilt I have ever felt in my entire life has basically been that I am not a good enough daughter and that I have not been grateful enough for everything they’ve done for me.

Awkward admissions of offspring-guilt aside, my parents are awesome people.

My mom is one of the funniest people I have ever known, sometimes intentionally even. Her verbal filter is… minimal, so she says whatever she is thinking and never refrains from asking even the most honest and awkward questions. She has giant, giant boobs that neither me nor my sister inherited. Tragically. Or gratefully. I’m not really sure. She is really sharp, but really unobservant. She is the Occam’s Razor in the family.

She’s also one of the strongest people in my life and she’s survived, literally and figuratively, more than anyone else I have ever known. She also puts up with me and my sister and my dad and we are huge pains in the ass, so it’s really just another testament to her strength.

She likes to talk about her and my dad having sex or about the sluttier days of her youth because she knows that it HORRIFIES her daughters. We cannot drive east on Route 66 without her going, “I’ve had sex in that motel and THAT one and that one and THAT TEEPEE RIGHT THERE” because she is twisted and cruel. And was also kind of a whore. But a classy-ish one, I imagine/hope.

She loves animals and gets REALLY ABNORMALLY UPSET when people are mean to them. She has the BEST LAUGH EVER and if you get her laughing long and hard enough she will probably pee herself.

Fun facts: Mom doesn’t drive, drink, or think as highly of herself as she should. Because she’s awesome. She loves soap operas. And reality TV. And Elvis. And telling stories about getting stoned and/or drunk with her friends when she was in high school. She was the mascot at her middle school. She loved doing sports. SHE MAKES THE BEST BAKED SPAGHETTI ON EARTH. We are incredibly different, but eerily similar.

My dad is also really funny and smart and weird. He likes outlandish theories and tells everyone that he thinks Jesus was a time-traveler. He’s always been really, really good at his job and it’s something I was always really proud of as a kid. We were never rich, but I was always like, “YEAH, WELL, MY DAD’S CUSTOMERS LOVE HIM AND HE WINS AWARDS AND STUFF.” Because I knew how to throw down. My dad and I have always been really close and I look, sound, talk, and make an ass of myself just like he does. A lot of time when someone sets up a joke unintentionally in conversation, he and I both blurt out the same thing at the same time. And it’s usually stupid. And about poop.

My whole life I’ve been hearing, “OH, WELL HE SURE CAN’T DENY YOU, CAN HE?” every time that people see us together. And it’s still as annoying as ever. HE WOULD NEVER DENY ME BECAUSE I AM FUCKING AWESOME OKAY. Even though I grew up thinking the Japanese gardener that took care of our front lawn was my real dad. NO JOKE.

My dad was a slacker and a stoner and his stories about growing up are the BEST. Like how one time he broke his best friend’s face and how he fell on a stick and the NAIL JUTTING OUT OF IT stuck it to his face and how his mom (my sometimes uptight grandmother) got stoned with him one time. HIS STORIES ARE THE BEST. Or how one time he got an F in art and that same grandmother stormed into the class and was like, “HOW CAN YOU FAIL SOMEONE IN ART?! ART IS SUBJECTIVE!” and the teacher showed her what my dad had done in class and she said, “Oh, okay” and left.

My dad tries to be good at the internet and he has an angry political blog! And he’s pretty passionate about the US Constitution, which is a decent thing to be passionate about if you have to get all passionate and shit.

Fun facts: my dad collects guns (for target shooting) and likes the History and Military channels. He is really good at saying the right things. He played baseball in high school and was a boy scout. His high school principal called him Line Drive. He and his sister (my awesome Aunt Sisi) are a year and ten days apart in age. He is a really good cook and loves to fart. We are eerily similar, but incredibly different.

I was conceived on the Fourth of July 1984 shortly after my mom had her trusty IUD removed. They had sex (UGH GROSS — FOR THE ONLY (my sister and I have different dads) TIME EVER — DENIAL DENIAL I LIKE DENIAL) and my dad said, “Well, that made a baby.” My mom said that if she didn’t get pregnant by her thirtieth birthday, she wasn’t going to have another kid (my sister was already eight). She turned thirty on August 14 and I was already 1/9th of the way to being ripped out of her abdomen with medical instruments. TAKE THAT, AGING.

My parents are awesome enough that at different points over the course of my sister’s and my lives they have let one of her friends, one of her boyfriends, two of my friends, and my girlfriend live in their home. They’re letting me mooch off of them in my lost twenties. They have always encouraged me no matter what stupid thing I wanted to do. They bought me booze when I was underage in college. They used to come to my college apartment, buy us groceries, wash all of our dishes, clean our kitchen, and MAKE US MEALS.

These are good people, seriously.

I don’t know how I got so lucky, but if there’s any balance to the universe, I will probably have the worst children ever to be conceived. Like, the antichrist. JUST ANOTHER REASON TO NEVER HAVE ANY.

More narcissism here.

30 Day Meme — Your First Love

Day 2: Your First Love

I’ve talked about her before, extensively, but my girlfriend Crystal is my first love. We had a really weird and complicated courtship because we were friends for more than a year before we finally talked about dating and I thought she was straight and she didn’t think I wanted babies/marriage (I didn’t/don’t, but I tricked her good!) and she made me promise that I would at least consider the possibility of children and marriage before she would date me. (She will say that I am lying and that “it wasn’t like that” but she will be lying through her fake front teeth.)

And then we did like lesbians do and moved in together really quickly. Or, rather, she moved in with me and my parents. Granted, we’d already planned to live together as roommates once we got our shit together, but that still hasn’t happened and we have sex, so I don’t think you can really call us “roommates”.

We’ve been together for two years, three months, and three days. We plan to eventually get married — she cares about the marriage license-y part where I have to legally agree to share my life with her, I only care about the awesome party — but I have a really complicated timeline that I deem acceptable for the development of our relationship and I don’t think we should get married for at least another three years. Or at the very least until we’re not living with my parents anymore. Which will probably be like, ten years at this rate.

I love Crystal because she is funny and smart and generous and takes care of me even though I usually fight her about it. I threaten to break up with her about once a week over both trivial and serious shit. Sometimes I’m joking, sometimes I’m just trying to make her cry. Because I’m a dick.

We like a lot of the same things and we get on each others’ nerves a pretty significant amount, which I constantly have to convince her is normal. (She thinks people who are in ~love~ should never fight or bicker, but let’s get real here.) We live in a 13×12 room together, so we’re on top of each other a lot and it’s hard when we want our own space. I was a SUPER SOLITARY person before we started dating/moved in together, so it is still weird for me to have someone around all the time who wants to hang out with me. I DON’T EVEN WANT TO HANG OUT WITH ME.

She’s pretty big on personal hygiene for herself so she usually smells nice and has soft hair, but is kind enough not to care if I don’t change my clothes for three days or if I have B.O. Also, she laughs at all my jokes, which is REALLY IMPORTANT. And she always supports my writing even if I get all pissed at her because she was TOO ENTHUSIASTIC or NOT ENTHUSIASTIC ENOUGH or MAKING TOO MANY SUGGESTIONS or NOT CARING ENOUGH GOD DAMN IT.

She puts up with my fickleness and my insanity and she buys me stuff ALL THE TIME.

My family loves the shit out of her too, which would be a 100% dealbreaker if they didn’t.

Anyway, she’s my first love basically because she has boobs and she lets me touch them. Usually whenever I want. She’s the best.

More narcissism here.