Accident Prone

As a small child, with nothing on my mind but entertaining myself, I had on many occasions made poor life-decisions. I will have illustrations to accompany my stories to entertain those of you who secretly miss when your books didn't make you paint a picture in your mind. There was just one there and you didn't have to stop and be like "Ahh Jesus, that's a shit-ton of adjectives and I don't feel like picturing each and every thing in my damn mind so I'm just going to make up my own shit and hope it works." But usually in that scenario a movie comes out using that story as a base and everything you'd imagined is completely wrong and you get pissed off because it's better in your mind and you should write these stories because you know what you fucking want and the author and director have come together to ruin your EFFING DAY! Edward? You were supposed to be a GODDAMN EMO KID. But then I started hating Twilight so all is well in Ashleyville..... As I was saying....
Poor life decisions, I've made many but these two really deserve a prize.


My scoot scoot
I had this small little mode of transportation that I called a scoot-scoot. This was a green little worm-like thing that was kinda like a giant "U". Well I was pretending that I was in a horse-race in my kitchen and I was going back and forth like a fucking champion! I was like "AND ASHLEY ON SCOOT SCOOT ROUND THE CORNER AND THERE'S A VICTORY YESSS! WINN! SUCCESS!" However one of the times I got a bit too excited and scooted a bit too hard, hit some chairs, and came crashing down on my effing chair that for some reason had a decorative SPIKE. I know that whenever I design kitchen furniture I think "Huh, one thing that would look really nice on the leg of this chair would be a spike because not only is that kid-friendly but it says "We're loving people who want to invite you into our warm homes to eat pie and sit on our medieval torture devices.""   I was bleeding from the side of my eye and even now my crazy ass face scar is still there, which is super attractive. It's like a large indent and then a smaller on next to it right below my eyebrow.

Yes, I was brought to the hospital where I received stitches and I believe my auntie lynn brought me a popsicle. or maybe she brought me one after the next spectacular move I pulled like a freaking winner.



The reason my lip doesn't have a connector to my gums.

I had one of those big pillows that was in the shape of a raccoon, exciting huh? Yes that's what I thought. You know what else I thought would be exciting? Sliding across a floor on that pillow like I was surfing, because the pillow was smooth and the kitchen floor was smooth so this little journey would be just as smooth. This little douchebag move of mine made me feel like a dumbass. Here's why: This did not run smoothly, no it did not. What ended up happening was I slid off the front of the pillow, smashed my face into the kitchen floor, and busted my lip open. I remember the sight, it was.... horrifying.

The people at the hospital asked my mother questions because it had looked like I had been violently beaten. Truth is I am just a retard and make really poor life decisions. But of course how is the hospital supposed to know when I'm in hysterics and bleeding from my face. Who believes I injured myself with a pillow? Who thinks that somebody is stupid enough to do that? Which probably made them question the face on chair story. Sorry mom for that....

Awkwardness seeps through my pores

I am not the most uhm.... social person on the planet. I've considered myself anti-social for a long time. I don't go out with friends and make such fantastic memories that I'll never forget them because I don't get out much. I mean sure I could if I wanted to but... I'm not gifted socially. In fact if you had to sum up my existence in one word it would be "Awkward" because that is what you're going to feel whenever you have a social encounter with me. At times it will be so overwhelmingly awkward that it will sting slightly in the pit of your stomach as you try desperately to find an escape from me. Now that I've moved to a new school I have felt awkward all day, every day. Even in pictures I've seen I have a pained expression on my face. I've loosened up a bit though, I don't even want to know what I was like the first 2 weeks. Now we're into week four and I've had a few more encounters that I wish I could take back. Just in the past week: A kid said "hi" to me, and I gave a smile in acknowledgment and apparently that was not sufficient because he said "Fine, don't say anything back" at which point I began mumbling trying to recover telling him that the smile should have been enough for him but then he said things back that I couldn't hear so I kind of ignored the fact that he was speaking to me an returned to my desk. I was half-tempted to write an apology note...
Second oops: Today in French class I was conversing with my cousin and her adorable friend and we were having a nice conversation in my opinion, things went more smoothly than they typically go for me. Maybe once I warm up to everyone I'll be more flow-y with my banter, but for now I'll take choppy with a few silences as a success.So anyways, I was happy with that conversation, then 2 hours later I saw my cousins friend again and she said "Hello Ashley! what's up?" and she was walking away from me, so I didn't know what to do with that situation. I had to think quick. I knew I wanted to throw in "Hi! not much" but then for a second or two I thought "Would it be rude if I didn't ask how she was?!? she might think that I don't care about her. How am I supposed to make friends when people think I don't care about them?!?" so when she's like 10 feet away in the library I'm like "h-h-how are you?" and she's like "uhmm... good" as she tried to make it flow well. I appreciate her effort, she handled that situation very well.

So to those who have ever had to deal with me and my awkwardness, I really am sorry. I mean I love you guys and all and me being awkward isn't because I don't like you. It is because I am socially retarded. I don't know how to respond to you when you tell me stories, I don't know what to tell you when you say you look fat, I don't know how to smoothly transition from one topic to the next. Example:
Innocent Acquaintance: Hey Ashley, what's up?
Me: Not much. I'm just tired
Innocent Acquaintance: Oh, me too. And last night I ate a bunch of cake so I feel fat.
Me: I'm sorry.... I like cheese. Preferably sharp cheddar
Innocent acquaintance: That was really random
Me: Oh... The weather is nice today
Innocent Acquaintace: Its raining.
Me: I have to go to *mumbles* to *mumbles*
Innocent Acquaintance: Do you want me to come with
Me: uhm.... no.

Yea. That's not an actual situation but that's how it would play out, more than likely. If anybody has a "Casual banter in America for Dummies" book, I would love to borrow your copy. I would study it inside and out. Or one of those create-your-own-adventure style conversational guides, I would keep it with me at all times so eventually I could come back with responses that flow. I could never rap. I'm sure if I had a conversation with a rapper I would feel very comfortable because they would take care of me, they could sit back and do the work while I casually threw in a response or two because they craft things to perfection. Whereas me, I'm going to write down a quick rhyme that comes to my head

I like trees
that look like these
and baby pees
I meant bees
and there was a bee
in the class you see
it almost stung me
and then i was hungry
and i ate a bagel.

To the flies that insist on mating upon my person

Dear Flies,
         I barely tolerate your existence. I am however willing to let you live your short, stupid lives in peace if you would please do me one favor. Stop. Fornicating. On. Me. I am repulsed by the idea of it. Don't act like you don't either. I know that one of 2 things would be going on if I got on top of another human and began violently buzzing. Care to take a guess? Sex and Rape. The only difference between the two- one isn't consensual. which I'm fairly certain is the case in this house. I personally do not see pleasure in the eye's of the victim. Nor do I see it in the dominatrix's eyes. Perhaps because flies are not capable of expressing such things with their stupid little faces. regardless. Sex on my arm, leg, head, fingers, toes, it's not okay. So unless you want me to keep my flyswatter by me at all times, taking out everyone, even the innocent ones (assuming there are innocent ones, which I highly doubt), stop!

. So little flies, its up to you. Death because you like to have sex on me, or a long life where you can fornicate anywhere else. Heck, I'll even let you use my room! as long as you put a rubberband on my doorknob so I know you've got a "study partner" in there.

sincerely, the other, very irritated, resident.

Update that makes me sad and grossed out: I just found a crusty dead fly stuck in between 2 of the keys in the keyboard... I don't know how long he's been there. I hope he didn't read my blog and become irrationally upset and take his own life so I would think before I hurt another creature's feelings. 

Why I'm Afraid of Chipotle Burritos

I am not a hip person, although young, I lack an "awesome" factor. Therefore I had only been to Chipotle once before this past Sunday. At Chipotle I recall ordering fairly harmless tacos, that didn't make me think they wanted to eat my soul and all. This time around, I thought I would be daring and try a burrito. That was the biggest mistake of my life.
1- I get up to the counter and my mom had told the man I wanted a burrito (yes, I still require the assistance from my mother when ordering from fancy eating establishments). I was actually quite shocked that he heard over the BLARING music. So he throws down a beastly tortilla. Okay, maybe he's going to cut my burrito wrap out of that intimidating piece of flour. He didn't.

2- I was sent down the line to another person who worked at Chipotle and they asked me what I wanted on my burrito. How was I supposed to know what anything tasted like so I spouted off the first things I saw on the menu that looked pronounceable. "Black beans, chicken, rice, guacamole, cheese, sour cream". For those of you who have never been to chipotle, they take giant beating spoons from the 1800s and use them to put the ingredients in your Scarrito. (That means scary burrito in Ashleyism) and they managed to fit the heaping pile of various whatnot's into the burrito without an explosion.

3- I take my burrito back to my table and prepared myself with plenty of pop to fall back on in case one of my ingredients became too much for me to handle. The burrito was surrounded in a layer of tin foil that, for some reason, did not register in my head as being something to assist me in the conquest of this particular food item. I opened it, couldn't think of a plan for attack, so just decided to go in for the kill. I was not successful. The burrito started tearing, too much tortilla came off, there was an overflow, and there was no protruding corner for me to easily take a bite off of it.

4- I was upset, my mother then filled me in on the fact that the tin foil was there to keep the burrito in check. You see, that makes a lot of sense, yet at the time I was slightly upset by the suggestion. I am capable of eating by myself mom, I'm 16. Apparently I am not capable of such things because even with the foil surrounding the burrito that I wanted in my tummy more than anything, the fact that I had torn off a large chunk of tortilla was irreversible. Inside the tin foil I would have to use my tongue to spoon out the rice, beans, and meat. If I rolled the tin foil down, the contents would spill onto the table.

5- I walked quietly over to the area where you would get a pop refill, got myself more coke because stress had caused me to consume my entire glass, and grabbed a beautiful transparent eating utensil. I made a bowl shape with the tin foil, used my fork to deliver the food to my mouth that did not have a protective layer of tortilla, and when I'd eaten a decent amount, rolled up the last of the tortilla around the last of the insides, and I finished a chipotle burrito.

I dropped to my knees, threw my hands above my head, and tossed my noggin back. I had done it. I had proven to myself that eating a burrito was not impossible to achieve. I had made sure that I took careful steps so that the contents did not spill out and bury my loved ones at the table. However, I also realized once I left Chipotle that others around me had been eating their burritos as if it was nothing. You know what I like to call those people? I like to call them show-offs. If I had a video of the first time they ever ate a chipotle burrito, I would probably piss my pants laughing.

And that, my loves, is how you conquer a burrito the badass way.