Saturday, January 31, 2009

Thursday, January 29, 2009

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Monday, January 26, 2009

.:28/365:.

happy anniversary brooklyn!
you've made me so happy this past year.

i lurve you.

Sunday, January 25, 2009

Saturday, January 24, 2009

.:26/365:.


trippin on acid-wash

Friday, January 23, 2009

.:25/365:.


just in case i get in late...

Thursday, January 22, 2009

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Monday, January 19, 2009

Sunday, January 18, 2009

Friday, January 16, 2009

.:18/365::part2:.

.:18/365:.

I went to the bank in Chinatown today. After battling my way through the cold & tourists buying Chanels and Rolexes, I found my branch bumping with everyone cashing their checks from payday. I walk up to the table to fill out my deposit slip and this guy next to me is using the wrong pen!

Ok- Standard desk: you have your desk, your stacks of deposit & withdrawal slips, the little plastic thingy that tells you the date, and your two pens on chains.


This man is taking his sweet old time on the left side of the desk with the pen from the right side (MY SIDE) of the desk. So not to be rude, I stand and I wait. The longer I stand waiting for the pen, the more I think... "He's doing this on purpose!". By the time he's actually done filling out his slip, I swear to all things HSBC - he is boxing me out.
(BTW - the other pen was not out of ink, I checked.)

Though that was the end of the pen ficaso, the bank adventure does not end there, how could it? Being in a hurry, I scribble my name on the back of my check. "Ashly R Th" was pretty much all I got out. I've gotten in a habit of leaving the "e" out of my first name... aaaaand about 5 or 6 letters of the back of my last. I acredit this to all the sushi deliveries I've signed for in the past year.

Finally at the front of the line (yay! *little party in my head*)I walk up to the teller at the window and hand her my check & slip. So she's typing and looking at me, and typing and looking. And then she looks at my signature on my check and then looks at me. And THEN she spins her monitor around to face me and says, "this doesn't look like your signature." So I take a look at her computer... Well of course it doesn't numbskull, A.) I'm in a hurry so I wrote fast, no thanks to the Pen-Nazi and 2.) That signature on your screen is from EIGHTH GRADE!!!

You would think the banks would update their info every 10 years or so. I was surprised they didn't still have my employer down as Joe Sundae's.

So the teller hands me a pen and a blank sheet of paper and asks me to rewrite my signature. So I do it again, keeping in mind that I'm 13 years old, and hand it back to her. She goes "Mm... no." What?! WHAT! I have never felt so helpless. I think I actually said under my breath, "Well I wrote fast because I was in a hur..". After handing over my ID, bank card, social security card, wallet, keys, first born child; she finally deposits my check. I really hope she's not that stubborn the next time a stranger wants to put money in my account.

Dang.

Thursday, January 15, 2009

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

Monday, January 12, 2009

Sunday, January 11, 2009

Saturday, January 10, 2009

Friday, January 9, 2009

.:11/365:.

a nod to jim fiscus, it's the best i could do buddy.

Thursday, January 8, 2009

.:10/365:.

country girl in the city

Wednesday, January 7, 2009

.:9/365:.

About a year ago, I was in a Japanese restaurant in the East Village eating sushi and drinking enough sake to make Celebrity Rehab look like Disneyland. A family of three came in right as I finished my spicy tuna roll and sat at the table adjacent to mine.

There was a father, mother, and son.

The son was the biggest wiener I have ever come across in my life. He had to be no older than 13. He was such a wiener. He looked crossed between Kurt Cobain, all three Hanson brothers, and the Olsen Twins during their "grunge stage".

{Now I'm not knocking flannel. I wore it in 5th grade and I wear it now. I got it in the men's section of Target, it's black & white buffalo plaid, and it happens to be one of my favorite shirts. And yes, I wish it was baggier sometimes. And yes... being a lumberjack for Halloween was just another excuse to wear flannel.}

He was such a wiener. I'm having a hard time believing that the conversation he was having with his rents, wasn't the first time he's had this conversation with them...

Wiener: "But what is art? I mean who is to say? You?"

And then I says to myself, I says: "Ashley, this is going to be good."

It went on and on. The Cobain twin, the Hason quadruplet, the Olsen triplet; trying to make a point to his parents. The point was that...

Wiener: "Graffiti IS art!"

Wiener's Mom: "Yes, honey. Lower your voice. Graffiti is art, but there's no need to vandalize everything you see."

Wiener: "No MOOOM, you don't get it! What makes graffiti art, is the run from the police. That's why it's art."

Wiener's Dad: "I think I'm going to get the edamame does everyone want edamame? ...I want edamame."

Wiener's Mom: "Well, yes, technically graffiti is a kind of art."

Wiener: "Yeah, the BEST kinda art."

In the end, I was half annoyed and half impressed by this little guy. Annoyed by his girl jeans, and impressed that he could be so jaded at the age of 13.

To each wiener his own.
Thanks Mrs. Ryan.

Tuesday, January 6, 2009

.:8/365:.

welcome to my world.
change of scenery in a couple weeks.
stay tuned.

Monday, January 5, 2009

.:7/365:.


Spotted: 'A' sittin a lil 2 close 2 the tv on a monday nite.

Sunday, January 4, 2009

.:6/365:.


"A" is for Ashalina
Michael's in Long Island at 6:45 on a Sunday night = empty.

Saturday, January 3, 2009

.:5/365:.


Not even a week & I'm already running out of ideas.
Two TTVs in a row? You slacker.

Friday, January 2, 2009

.:4/365:.

I got water up my nose today. It stung right up into my tear ducts. And as much as it hurt I couldn't help but think back to swimming lessons when I was younger. I think someone is siphoning chlorine into my shower head.

Summer mornings have never been so cold. The brick shack that they called a locker room was a room, sans lockers. A more appropriate name is "basket shack". Because that's what you were handed, a rusty basket, for all of your belongings. I don't recall there ever being any light in there. Maybe there was, but coming from a sunny morning into a dark dank little room, retinas screaming, it was hard to tell. So you throw your towel, your shorts & flip-flops in the basket to keep safe, dry, and rusty, and hand it to the teenager with the whistle on other side of the seafoam green cement counter
.

Walking from the basket shack to the pool could have been the worst feeling ever. Sure, it only took a few large, carefully calculated steps to the shallow end (trust me, I know), but already having texture issues as a 6 year old, the thought of everyone's feet on the same wet, gritty, ground as mine skeezed me out to no extent.

It was always bobs first accompanied by the classic myth that they told all shaking, blue-lipped kindergartners at the break of dawn, "It's not that cold. Just stick your head under & you'll warm up."

Lies. All lies.

I dreaded the morning of the "deep end". Those words still echo in my head in baritone voice. It all happened very quick. Someone put me in a life jacket and someone else shoved. Yep, shoved. It's a miracle that I don't have a phobia of water or blocky orange life jackets for that matter. However, I do have an unadultrated hostility to the name Wendy. She was the one that shoved.

Don't shoved, it's not nice. And it's even not nicer at 7:30AM on a summer morning in Western NY.

Thursday, January 1, 2009

.:3/365::part2:.

.:3/365::part1::HAPPY NEW YEAR:.


I just might have the best friends ever.



my friend bob just tagged this picture of me on facebook (1/27/09). i need to come back & add this pic to the NYE post. i know it doesn't count because 1. i didn't take it myself, and B. i'm uploading it a month later, but it reminds me of how great my year was and it makes me smile.