The Yacht Club

Courtney called me last night, "Hey! Do you wanna go to the yacht club for some Oktoberfest thing?"

Of course I did.

We walked to the club from her house and upon entering I realized two things: Firstly, that I was slightly overdressed. I was wearing nice boots and a lacy top, while most people there were wearing much more casual gear. And second, besides Courtney, I was probably the youngest person there by at least 20 years.

Trying not to be conspicuous, we hovered around the entrance for a moment while Courtney looked for her friends. A man playing an accordion wearing what I assume was some sort of traditional German getup saw us and said, "Come on in girlies!" and waved to us while everyone in the vicinity turned to look at who he was talking to. Slightly embarrassed, we walked through the middle of the room towards the table where Courtney's friends were. As soon as we arrive, Courtney says Hi and then two small boys appear out of nowhere.

"Hi Courtney!" They exclaim, then give her a hug. I am introduced to everyone at the table including the kids, and then we go over and grab some food from the buffet style arrangement. Since there are not tables available in the main room, we head over to a more secluded area and sit ourselves down. The two boys immediately join us at our small table.

"Hi." I say. "What are your names again?"
"Jerome." Says the boy on my right. "I'm ten. I'm making mush, see?" And yes indeed, he is swirling his ice cream around in his bowl, making it into a soft serve consistency.
"Nice, that's how my sister used to eat ice cream. How about you?" I ask, looking towards the smaller kid.
"I'm Nolan. I'm eight years old."
"Ashley has a brother who's eight!" Courtney says to him. "But he lives far away."
"Where?" Nolan asks. "China?"
"Not that far." Says Courtney.
"South America?"
"No."
"Where then?"
"Philomath."
"Where's THAT?" Nolan asks. "Is it very far?"
"It's about two hours south."
"Oh." Says Nolan. "That's not that far." Then Nolan proceeds to spill a drop of ice cream on his shirt.
"Oh no dude! You got a little somethin-somethin on you." I say, pointing. Nolan notes the ice cream, grabs his shirt and brings it up to his mouth. He sucks on it until the ice cream is gone.
"Ahh, much better. You look good now!" I say.
"I can look even better! Hold on a second." And Nolan runs off into the other room. I turn to Jerome.
"What are you doing?"
"Playing Asteroids."
"What's that?"
"It's a game where you fly around space and shoot things."
"Cool. I play Candy Crush sometimes. Do you play that?"
"No, but my mom does!"
"Look!" Nolan returns to the scene and he is now sporting a clip-on tie under the collar of his button-up shirt and a cream-colored fedora.
"Wow! You DO look good!" I say, impressed. Nolan crosses his arms in front of him and drops his chin a little bit. The essence of cool. "I love your hat!"
"Everyone says that." says Nolan.
"That's because it's awesome."
"I know."
"Nolan, do you have any good game recommendations? I play Candy Crush, but I want more games."
"Yeah! Clash of Clams!"
"... did you say Clash of Clams? What is that?" I ask, confused.
"Nooo, Clash of CLANS." He says. "You fight people and make castles and join up with other people playing and raid villages, all my friends at school play it.You should get it and then you could play with them!"
"That's right, me and a bunch of 8-year-olds, battling others for glory."
Nolan giggles.
Courtney brings me a beer and I take it gratefully.
"Do you like beer?" Nolan asks. Jerome is still playing his Asteroid game.
"Yes I do."
"Me too."
"WHAT?!"
"Yeah!"
"When did you have beer?!"
"My dad let me try it! But I don't like Boneyard."
"Yeah, me either, it's an IPA so it's really bitter. You would probably like a pilsner."
"Why?"
"It's lighter and not bitter."
"Ohhh."
"OR," Courtney chimes in, taking an interlude from her adult conversations with her friend, "You would probably like apple cider."
I almost say, "Yeah, hard cider! So good. You would like that." but then I realize that Courtney is trying to get this conversation back under control and stop me from discussing alcoholic beverages with an 8-year-old. So instead I say, "Yes, apple cider is great."
Nolan nods, and Jerome nods too, still looking at his phone. Then Courtney hears someone say something about playing the Chicken Dance. "Yes! Let's play the chicken dance. Do you guys know that song?"
"Yeah!" The both chime. Courtney and I then start singing it and doing the little dance. They follow along.
"Where is the music? I want to dance the Chicken Dance. Are they gonna play it or what?" Courtney says huffily.
I turn to the kids. "What kind of music do you guys listen to? One Direction? Selena Gomez?" Jerome instantly looks up and says, "I like Dr. Who."
"What is that?"
"It's this old BBC show from the 1960's."
".......and.... how do you know about that?"
"My dad showed me." Jerome then opens up YouTube on his phone and starts to play a weird, space themed and electronic song. "This is the theme song from the show, he travels through space in this purple phone box and has all kinds of adventures. This theme song is extended for just one of the episodes in 1963, so it's longer than the normal one" I am baffled. Jerome is staring at the swirling vortex of the purple phone box, which looks like it is traveling through a black hole, as though he's being hypnotized. Peeling my eyes away from the swirling effects, I turn to Nolan.
"And what kind of music do you like? I can bring a song up on my phone if you want."
"LMFAO."
"Nice. What song?"
"LMFAO, I like them."
"Okay, but what song?"
"....LMFAO."
I stare at Nolan. He stares back. "....What about Party Rockers?" I suggest.
"What is that?"
"..... an LMFAO song." This kid does not seem to know what LMFAO is.
"I like classic rock." Nolan says.
"Oh. Why didn't you say that before?"
Nolan shrugs.
"Okay here is a good song, Living on a Prayer."
"What song is that?" Nolan asks. I show it to him. "I've never heard that song."
"Well what song do you know?" I ask, slightly exasperated but amused by this kid.
"ACDC." Oh no, are we going to go through another LMFAO episode? Choose a song, kid!
"Ohh, I like ACDC too! Here's a good song." And I played Shook Me All Night Long. Nolans eyes light up. Thank God, he recognizes it! And not only does he recognize it, he starts dancing. But not just any dancing... we are sitting near a dance floor and Nolan takes full advantage of it by busting some moves and then running and sliding on his knees or on his stomach, then twisting around, standing back up and busting some more moves. I hold my phone out so he can hear the music better, and Courtney is filming the whole scene. "WOOOO!" We shout as Nolan wiggles his hips and kicks up his knees in time with the music. Then suddenly Courtney shouts, "WHERE IS THE CHICKEN DANCE MUSIC?!" I look at her incredulously. I have never heard someone so passionately demanding the chicken dance in my life.
"What is wrong with you?" I ask casually. She shrugs.
"I just want the chicken dance."
"Yeah, I got that."
We then grab some Shirley Temples for the kids and walk outside into the dark and look at the marina where all the boats are. That yacht club was FANCY. But without those two kids there to entertain me all night, it would have been just okay. But those kids were AWESOME. Sometime I have more fun hanging out with kids than adults... though I should really check the settings on my personal censor.

CAUTION: HANGOVER AHEAD. MAKE DETOUR TO BETTER DECISIONS.

"Being hungover is the best! I love feeling like a moldy half-baked hot pocket filled with cat vomit!" Said no one EVER.

Most people's mantra when hungover is, as we all know, "I am NEVER drinking AGAIN."

And then we go and do it again. Why is that? You think we would have learned the first twenty times it happened, right? You would think that, when someone suggests a third drink, you might sit back and think, Hmm. Let's take a step back for a second. Remember the last time you had more than two drinks? It turned into six and then you almost smashed your roommates computer with a stick and then tried to come in to your other roommate's room to hang out with her and her boyfriend, who very well could have been not wearing clothes at the time, though you wouldn't know because you were oblivious to your surroundings and to normal social conduct? Yeah. So maybe put that third drink down and grab some WATER, FOOL.

But no, by that third drink, we are having such a great time that for some reason that Good Decisions for the Future sensor turns off and has gone out dancing, leaving you alone to make your own decisions with no foresight. "Adios, muthafucka" it says as it waves to you from the back of Word Filter's motorcycle, and the two ride off into the dark together leaving you to fend for yourself, with only PartyRockerTime and Obliviousness as your companions. But you don't care, because Good Decisions for the Future has left you with nothing.

So you party, and you dance. And, of course, you drink more. And you say things you don't mean and you do things that are plain stupid. And the next morning, PartyRockerTime and Obliviousness have deserted you like an ugly one night stand, and you are left with your head in your hands while the other two are back, whispering in your ear, What the hell were you THINKING. We leave for a FEW HOURS and you do that?! You idiot. Here, you deserve this. It's called a hangover. HA. Good luck, sweetie. Bastards.

So I'm going to make a list, to remind myself of why I don't EVER want to get wasted AGAIN:

1. Acting like a fucking idiot. Examples:
          a. Throwing water on myself because I was mad at Julie.
          b. Texting my friend rude things that I really did not mean just because I couldn't find her at the bar.
          c. Eating soooo mannyyy fries.
          d. Showing my roommates my underwear a little too long because I thought they were cute.
2. Blacking out. Doesn't happen so much anymore because I'm a lady (mostly), but I want to remind myself of how shitty it is to wake up and think, Huh, how did I get into these pajamas? And how did I get this injury? And where did this taco come from?
3. Being unable to deal with unexpected and dramatic situations. When the night dissolves into drama, as it sometimes does (though rarely these days), being wasted and upset makes me resort straight to crying. That's pretty lame.
4. HANGOVERS. Specifically:
          a. Pounding headaches
          b. Being so dizzy it's hard to walk
          c. Severe dehydration
          d. Feeling like you want to PUKE EVERYWHERE, for HOURS
          e. Being unable to sleep because you are in so much pain
          f. Not being able to do anything but lay around all day because moving causes waves of nausea. That is a waste of a perfectly good day! Plus, weekends are meant for relaxation and fun, NOT the constant threat of barfing.
5. The feeling of being too drunk and not in control of myself. I don't like that.

Luckily for me, this stuff doesn't happen much anymore. Mostly I just have a few nice drinks with my friends and get a little happy buzz going on. But every couple of months, for some absolutely unknown reason, I seem to feel the urge to PAR-TAYYYY and end up paying a pretty big price (see 4. HANGOVER). But hopefully the NEXT time I say, "Let's go out and get drunk tonight!" someone will wag their finger at me, shove this list in my face and say, "Read this, you MORON." Let's just hope that Good Decisions for the Future hasn't already fled the building.

Sangria + a bag = Profit!

"You know what we should do?" I ask.
"What?" Julie responds.
"Sell this sangria in a bag."
"Brilliant! This sangria is so good. It will be like an adult capri sun!"
"Yeah, we would have to charge like $50 dollars though because after we buy all these glasses of sangria for $6 we probably won't even fill up a bag... we need to make a profit you know."
"That's not really BARGAIN alcohol though, that's kinda what we were going for... We will have to ask the restaurant to sell it to us at a good price. Or we could make it ourselves."
"Are you kidding? We can't make this. Nothing could compare to this. We are amateurs."
"Ahh, you're right."
"We would have to empty out a bag of boxed wine and pour the sangria in."
"We should probably just drink the wine then, rather than dumping it out."
"That's very economical."
"I know."
"We could call it 'bagaria!"
"...Uhhh... we'll work on the name."
"Fine." I say. Bagaria is a great name! She doesn't know what she's talking about. It's better than Claire's idea for a name... "Sag." Yeah, right.
"Remember when we ordered a whole pitcher of sangria at Salvador Molly's for just the two of us?" Julie asks, reminiscing.
"Remember when we paid for a whole box of wine with just quarters?"

Back when Claire and I were living in Tualatin and Julie lived in Lake Oswego, Julie would come over and we would have wine nights. Unfortunately, that night we were out of wine. We sat dejectedly at our kitchen table, trying to think of a solution.

"...How many quarters do you guys have?" Claire asks. Our eyes light up and Julie begins to empty out her purse while Claire and I rush to our rooms and collect as many quarters as we can find. We then drive 2 minutes to the Fred Meyers, grab ourselves some Chardonnay in a box (because we're classy like that), and rush to the self check-out. We figure that it would be more polite to pay for the box of wine in quarters ourselves rather than make some poor check-out person do it.

So we start shoving the quarters in the machine, but it doesn't take long before we realize...
"The thingy isn't taking our quarters!" Julie cries mournfully.
"Yes, it is, but like only every other time... look," Claire says, shooting a quarter in with her finger. It falls through to the coin return. Then she shoves another one in, and it stays.

We all look at each other, then start shoving in as many quarters as we can, grabbing from the Ziploc bag we filled and alternatively from the coin return as quarters shoot out, the poor little rejects. Unsurprisingly, this process takes much longer than it would normally, as we are paying $12 with coins and only half of them are actually being accepted. We are uncontrollably giggling as we continue with our frenzied attack against the self-checkout machine, making a huge racket.

We all look up as we hear a sales clerk comes over, stare at us for a few seconds, then states, "Wow, you girls really want that wine."

"Yes ma'am. We really do." Claire says. We all grin at her, then return to our assault against the coin sucker. After about 5 whole minutes of this, we are finally successful in paying for our boxed wine, and we indulge in our reward for such fine, hard work.

Anyways, I actually need to mention that a place in Portland already makes Sangria In A Bag... Hoorah for Portland! Did I mention how much I love this ridiculous city?

Tooth Torture: The Story of How I Escaped Being a Hillbilly and Other Dental Horrors

"Oh, I can feel you are tensing up when I get around this area," the dental hygienist says, poking the gum around my front tooth. "Don't worry, the crown won't fall off." I resist the urge to reach up, snatch his metal torture sticks out of his hands, grab the front of his shirt and yell, "Well stop touching it then, little man! YOU know my dental history! YOU should know how I feel about this! GET. AWAY. FROM. THERE." Then I shoot him in the eye with his little water sprayer and shove the air sucker up his nose.

I instead make a non-committal noise, as his hands are still stuffed in my mouth, and close my eyes. I may have slight PTSD from previous dental experiences. But there have been far too many of them for me to escape without developing some sort of irrational fear. It all started with a surgery on the skin between my two front teeth when I was in middle school. I had to miss school for a few days while my mouth was healing and I was on pain medication. I cuddled with a purple teddy bear to get me through it. Then I had a root canal on a dying front tooth (which, if you don't know, is when they drill up into your tooth and take the nerve out. Not pleasant... and surprisingly bloody), then I got the crown on that same tooth. Then braces. Then I had my wisdom teeth taken out, and I think most people can agree that this is a crap-tastic experience.

Then, last summer, my dentist found out that three of my molars were decaying under the sealant that had been on there since I was a child, and I underwent four hours of cavity filling, in which I had to be re-numbed three times because one was so deep. Three. Goddamn. Times. This is something I would not wish on anyone, not even Justin Bieber, not even Rush Limbaugh... maybe. But that guy does deserve a massive wedgie at the least. Anyways, I am laying in the chair having to deal with a deep vibration coming from the drilling tool; it is uncomfortably rattling my brain around so that I have to close my eyes because they might jiggle right out of their sockets. Then suddenly a shooting, electric, overwhelming pain zaps through my whole body from my tooth and I flinch horribly... and that is the moment when I think, "No wonder so many people died from tooth problems before there were anesthetics! I would rather die than let someone continue doing that." And this happened THREE TIMES. By the end of it I was so tense, bracing myself for another Zap of Horror, that I had fingernail marks in my palms and I was sweating from how fast my heart was racing. Just when I would start believing that the anesthetic was actually working and start to relax a little bit, ZING! "DON'T GET TO COMFORTABLE," the pain was screaming at me, "BECAUSE I WILL RUIN YOU WHEN YOU LEAST EXPECT IT." It nearly did.

But the reason I cannot stand someone messing around with my crown is because that tooth stars in some of my worst nightmares. I have had horrendous dreams about my front tooth falling out. In middle school a kid smacked my tooth with his elbow in volleyball and consequentially murdered it. The root canal done afterwards couldn't save it from turning a sickening grey color, so in the summer before my senior year of high school it was decided that I would get a crown.

This didn't seem so bad at first; they took a mold of my real tooth so they could have a model to build my new one from before they drilled my front tooth down to a stub. Then they placed a slightly rubbery, fake tooth around the stub, which looked pretty much like my real tooth, to temporarily hold the spot where my real crown would be while they constructed it. It took about two weeks to make the smooth, beautiful crown that would look exactly like my real tooth and stick there (hopefully) forever. But those two weeks in between were HELL.

The first time the fake tooth fell out, I cried hysterically and shut myself in my room, because I had made the mistake of looking at myself in the mirror and learned to NEVER, under ANY circumstances, look at my tooth stub again. "I'M HIDEOUSSS!" I screamed to my mom through the door, but the missing toothy parts made me have a slight hiss when I spoke. "I look like a HILLBILLY!" It was truly a scarring experience, and though I imagine my mom was laughing on the inside, she kept it cool in front of me. The image of my face in the mirror with the tiny tooth stub is still burned into my memory like a sunspot... I can almost see the hay sticking out of my hair and the denim overalls as I ride a cow to pick up the newspaper.

The second time it fell out, I was working my shift at the local Dairy Queen. I was horrified. I felt it coming loose while I was making someone a blizzard. No no no no, not here! Not now! Not in the peanut butter cups! But I knew it would be falling out at any moment, so I frantically rushed to my purse, grabbed my retainer and shoved it into my mouth. Thankfully it held the fake tooth in place long enough for me to finish my shift and barge into the dentists office for a second time, demanding a new tooth-stub cover with a slight tone of hysteria.

It fell out one more time before I got my final crown put on. This time when I went to the office to get a third temporary tooth, I was on the verge of tears and of going slightly crazy. I felt constantly paranoid and twitchy and was careful not to eat ANYTHING that would disrupt it, sure that it would fall out at any time and I would be left looking like a freak yet again. "WHERE'S YOUR COW?" I could hear townspeople yelling already, "DID IT GET LOST IN THE COTTONSEED? OR DID YOU KILL IT FOR IT'S HIDE?" Stupid townspeople, cows don't play in cottonseed, GROW UP. There is only so much time I can spend looking like a hillbilly, and I had exceeded my life limit in those two weeks.

When I finally got my crown put on, I was cautiously relieved. As the days went on I realized that this tooth was here to stay, and I slowly became more confident that it wouldn't be popping out at any random time. This tooth is a BAMF, this tooth has my back, this tooth will not desert me! But since that time I have had dreams where I am thrown into a state of panic as I feel my tooth fall out and I wake up clutching my mouth in horror.

So YEAH, Mr. Dental Hygienist, even though you are probably totally correct in your assessment that I have nothing to worry about in regards to my crown jumping ship, I can't help but be completely and irrationally paranoid when you go poking around my cure for hillbillyism. Just leave it alone! It's doing a great job; I'm so proud of it that I just sucked my lips inside of my mouth to give it a backwards kiss. It's not every day someone gets one of those! Well done, tooth!

In the Heart of the Gorge

I never knew how interesting it would be to look at my city from a tourist perspective. The other day my boss, my co-worker and I took the day off and went on a "company-wide outing." I had found some discount tickets for the Heart of the Gorge tour through the Portland Spirit and convinced Rachel that we should use them for some bonding time, to which she agreed. For some reason I had assumed that we would be on the actual Portland Spirit, a nice little cruise ship that goes up and down the Willamette, but when we got there we realized that we would instead be on a jet boat called The Explorer, with speeds up to 45 mph. Our little group and another couple were the only people from Oregon on the boat; Everyone else was from other cities, like Austin, Texas, or even other countries; there were three girls traveling together who were from France, Switzerland and Thailand. I then realized that this was a very tourist-y activity for us to do; I don't know how I didn't realize that before, but we decided to just roll with it.

In true Portland fashion, just as we were beginning the boat trip we had to stop and wait for a moment while the captain called the police; someone was hanging off of the wrong side of the waterfront railing over the Willamette River. He may have taken the "Keep Portland Weird" motto a little too seriously, but I've seen weirder. One time during a single lunch hour I saw a midget in a suit, a man carrying two parrots, and a guy holding a fishing pole with a plastic cup hooked to the end, holding a sign that said "Fishing for a buzz" while wearing a toadstool hat. Also, one time an old dude asked me out to lunch because I said "Hi" to him on the MAX (I politely declined). ALSO, someone once begged me to marry him while I was walking by to catch my bus. "Will you marry me? PLEASE??" I said, "No, sorry." Hopefully he wasn't too put out. One time a woman walked by my house yelling, "He'll be sorry he cheated on me! I poured bleach on all his clothes, that'll teach him!" as she dropped the ruined clothes all over the neighborhood. The guy came by later with another girl (the mistress?) to pick up his "wannabe gangster clothes" (his words, not mine), cussing and shaking his head the whole time. This city baffles me less and less the more time I spend here. Does that mean that I'm getting weird too? I DID spend last Sunday sitting on a blanket on my lawn drinking mimosas with Claire. But that's not weird, that's just awesome.

The St. Johns Bridge.. the prettiest bridge in Portland!

Anyways, as we floated up the Willamette River through downtown, our tour guide talked all about each different bridge and some of the city's history: the three towns that eventually banned together to make the Portland we have today; the brothel owner who had her business on a boat because that was technically not within city limits, where prostitution was prohibited; the incident where two streetcars didn't realize the bridge was up and crashed into the river below. However, what I found most interesting was the story about crimping, or shanghaiing.

There was a point in the river where a large tube was sticking out into it. "That there is one of the only remaining entrances into the underground tunnel system that Portland used to use. The tunnels came straight from the docks and went to the basements of many of the businesses and shops in downtown; it was much easier to bring merchandise to the shops this way, rather than trying to bring them up and navigate them through all the streetcars on the roads above." The tour guide explained.

However, it was quickly discovered that not only could these tunnels move products, but people as well. At this time in history there was a huge shortage of able-bodied men because of the war as well as the gold rush, so to bring sailors aboard, the captains resorted to "crimping," or kidnapping men and forcing them onto ships using the underground tunnels. Most of the men were taken from bars in the middle of the night. And, the most incredible part was that this was LEGAL! No one criminalized it because the ships needed sailors THAT BAD. And once the men were on the ship, it was illegal to leave it during a voyage; if they did, they could be incarcerated. Portland became one of the most popular cities for crimping on the West Coast.

I know there is a bar in downtown Portland called the Shanghai, and they offer tours of these underground tunnels upon request. I think I'm going to have to contact this bar and report back on more details I discover about this crazy-ass practice.

As we went further down the Willamette River, we left downtown and began going through the industrial areas of Portland, including all the ship yards. From this point out, this trip baffled me with the incredible things humankind has invented and built. Ships alone are an impressive feat, especially ones as huge as those that are docked in the Port of Portland. To work on and repair these ships, someone invented this sort of air dock; huge boxes of metal shaped in a U so that the boat can ride into it, where the metal boxes are pumped with air, lifting the boat right out of the water to grant easy access to every side of the ship. Who thought of that?! Brilliant!

The tour went up the Columbia River and ended in Cascade Locks. Since the fourth grade, I've heard about the lock system on the river when we did our Oregon History unit, and this just topped off my human-invention-fascination that I had been experiencing that day. We actually went INTO the locks! Okay let me explain: they have created dams on the Columbia River for one reason or another. To get up beyond these dams, boats go into this chamber which is filled with water and let out on the other side when the water is equal to the river.

So that is what we did. Our little jet boat slowly entered the chamber, which was HUGE. These massive concrete doors, probably 100 feet high, admitted us into this enormous concrete box measuring 665 feet long by 84 feet wide. We went into the chamber and the doors shut slowly behind us, trapping us in. The damp walls rose up eerily on either side of our little boat. The vastness of the chamber and the high concrete walls trapping us in made me feel as though we were awaiting some terrible fate. Then we sat. We waited. And suddenly, we were rising. Millions of gallons of water flooded into the chamber from somewhere underneath us, and in about 10 minutes we had risen 75 feet and were floating at an equal level to the river on the other side of the walls. As impressive as that was, it was a relief to be up in the sunshine again with only a few feet of concrete separating us from the open air.

The door shutting us in!

The same doors, after we floated to the top.

 

From there we went just into Cascade Locks, had some lunch, then headed back. If you feel like you would like to experience Portland in a different way, I would suggest this tour. It was really informative, and since I've only been living in Portland for a few years it was nice to actually learn about the history involved. Now I feel like I know my city a little better, and even though this place is a little crazy, I do love it dearly.

I am what I am and I am a writer!

Do you ever just sit down, put your head in your hands, and think, What the hell am I doing with my life? Where am I GOING?

I do. All. The. Time.

I want to be a writer. A REAL writer. But I don't really know how to go about doing that. There are no clear steps to becoming a successful writer, so I figure it's just about throwing stuff out there and seeing what happens. Kind of like this blog. If I pretend to be a writer, maybe I will actually become one.

Like my boss. She is a lawyer. Many years ago when she was first starting out, she would take any case she could get, but she really wanted to be an immigration attorney. One day, someone called her and asked, "Are you an immigration attorney?" And she said, "Yes. Yes I am." Even though she had never taken an immigration case in her life and knew basically nothing about it. But because she SAID she was an immigration attorney, she stepped into the role of BEING one, and then she was.

So maybe I'm going to have to start doing that. Hi, I'm Ashley. I'm a writer.

Also what I've noticed about writers, and people in general, is that if you feel invested in them, you tend to want to keep up with them. Take, for example, the Bachelorette. When I first start watching the Bachelorette, I think: Ha ha, this is such a ridiculous show, let's watch these men all fight for a girl they barely know. Let's see what kind of crazy-ass drama will happen to this girl, because what a weirdo to put herself in this position.

But then I start to have feelings. After I watch the show for awhile, I get to know this girl. I've watched her struggle through the chaos created by inevitable assholes that try to sabotage her quest for love, I've seen her get all giggly and excited about some of her suitors, I've laughed with her as she's put her boys in ridiculous situations just to see how they react (making rap videos, playing games of dodgeball, pretending to be cowboys... you know, normal date things). (Sidenote: I always think that it would be a really good idea to put the contestants in real-life situations. I mean, of COURSE you will fall in love if you are surrounded by hot men and you are travelling all over the world together. There is the drug of being in love, and THEN there is the drug of travelling, and both give you a high and make you feel giddy and excited. I say they should see how these guys deal with stressful situations, because THAT'S when you find out someone's true character... have someone steal the girls purse, or have their car break down, or have someone throw tomatoes at them. You know, real life stressors.) I've watched her make out with all the hot boys and try to imagine myself in her position. I watched her heart break when the guy she thought she loved left the show because he didn't feel the same way. I've seen her joy and her tears, and by the end I am crying in happiness with her when she finally chooses the man of her dreams.

Damn you, ABC. How did you make me care so much about a stranger on a dating show? Because you grabbed my head and forced me to sit in front of the TV and learn about the stranger. And then she was no longer a stranger to me, she was like a cousin who I just wanted to see succeed in life. I just want Desiree to be happy.

The point of this story is that once I got to know Desiree, I wanted to see what she did next. So maybe if you feel like you know me, you will want to keep reading what I write. And maybe that's one way that people become successful writers: People want to read your stuff. I'd say that's a success.

But my next question would be, what do people like to read? Are people entertained by these rambling stories I have of my life, or should I actually have a POINT? Some people blog about specific things, like being healthy, or photography, or travelling the world on a panda, but I don't do any of those things enough to be able to write a whole blog about it. What I have are stories about photo wars and tortilla-wrapped protein bars and getting mugged... and you know what? I actually think that's enough. I think that's why people love shows like How I Met Your Mother and Friends, because it's based on people living life and the weird quirks that come along when you bust out on your own with your own friends and own struggles. I know some of my friends get tired of me quoting these shows all the time, but it's because I can relate; I know what it's like to make bets at bars and have terrible dates and fill my wine glass up to the brim after a hard day. I too have friends who would order two pizzas for dinner and drink margaritas at girls night and stay outside wrestling for a football because they are THAT serious about winning. Both of those shows are at set at a time where each person is trying to figure out what the hell is going on in their lives, but really, they are already living the best times of their life. Right now.

So yes, I will write about my random life because everyone needs to be reminded that the future will come, someday you will become the person you want to be, but right now is the perfect time to love what we have going on because someday we won't have this anymore. Right now I live in an amazing city in a house with my friends and I have a job downtown with an incredible boss. I exercise and explore and eat yummy food and drink delicious drinks and party with all sorts of friends and spend fun times with my family, and I think that is all worth sharing. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy experiencing it. Now, I'm about to go eat some yummy tacos so actually this is one instance that my experiencing it and your reading about it will probably not be equal, and to avoid creating any further jealousy I'll just leave it at that!