My mom and step-dad's 25th Anniversary was this week, and my brother, sister, and I put together an Anniversary dinner for them that's going down this evening. This is the video I made for them to show tonight. I'm really just posting this so my sister, who lives in South Dakota and won't be able to make it back to Kansas, gets to see it. But anyone else is free to enjoy it as well. It was, admittedly, hastily done, and I could have done a better job if I hadn't been figuring taxes all week too, but... Without further adieu:
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
Time to catch up...
I haven't written here for a while, and quite a few things have happened in the meantime. Let's recap, shall we?
A. My bestie, who is training for a triathlon, talked me into doing a 5K run with her in 5 weeks. Yaaaaaaaaaay. First off, I'm a smoker who was supposed to have quit 3 weeks ago. Second, I have always lived life under the ideal that running is strictly for escaping from burning buildings. Anyway, I said yes because I'm an idiot. Surprisingly, training for it has been pretty rewarding and semi-enjoyable, if you don't count the shin splints that make me want to puke. We'll see what happens.
B. I have officially put in my notice to quit my full time job as Office Manager for a real estate firm to do the Realtor thing full time. Sounds stupid, huh? (Trust me, it sounds even more retarded when it's typed out in black and white) Well, there are a lot of reasons for it, the biggest ones being that I'm sick of babysitting grown ass people, and I currently don't have time to market myself and respond to prospective buyers and sellers of my own in order to get any business established. AND, I figure that if I can make it work in this freaking economy, I will be some sort of housing rock star when it gets back to normal.
C. I finished reading "Fractured" by my favorite author, Karin Slaughter, and am eagerly awaiting her newest book which comes out in July (I pre-ordered!)
D. I started reading "Scar Tissue" by Anthony Keidis (of Red Hot Chili Peppers fame). It is freakishly weird and I can't put it down. My bestie, who lent it to me, told me she actually called in sick to work one day so she could keep reading that book.
E. I got a new (used) vehicle, after driving my lump of crap Cavalier for 10 years. YESSSSSS! It's a 2004 Chevy Colorado, very nice, and compared to my old, dented-up piece of shit, it makes me feel like a stone-cold pimptress.
H. I got a new cell phone, and I now have texting for the first time. Yep, I finally dumped my giant Zach Morris phone and made it happen. I'm waiting for a whole bunch of people to be blowin' up my cellie, but the only person who texts me is my husband.
I. I got Strep Throat. The back of my throat looked like a pair of tits.
J. I got over Strep Throat by drinking a Six-Pack of Corona.
K. I blogged. Now we're caught up.
Check ya later.
A. My bestie, who is training for a triathlon, talked me into doing a 5K run with her in 5 weeks. Yaaaaaaaaaay. First off, I'm a smoker who was supposed to have quit 3 weeks ago. Second, I have always lived life under the ideal that running is strictly for escaping from burning buildings. Anyway, I said yes because I'm an idiot. Surprisingly, training for it has been pretty rewarding and semi-enjoyable, if you don't count the shin splints that make me want to puke. We'll see what happens.
B. I have officially put in my notice to quit my full time job as Office Manager for a real estate firm to do the Realtor thing full time. Sounds stupid, huh? (Trust me, it sounds even more retarded when it's typed out in black and white) Well, there are a lot of reasons for it, the biggest ones being that I'm sick of babysitting grown ass people, and I currently don't have time to market myself and respond to prospective buyers and sellers of my own in order to get any business established. AND, I figure that if I can make it work in this freaking economy, I will be some sort of housing rock star when it gets back to normal.
C. I finished reading "Fractured" by my favorite author, Karin Slaughter, and am eagerly awaiting her newest book which comes out in July (I pre-ordered!)
D. I started reading "Scar Tissue" by Anthony Keidis (of Red Hot Chili Peppers fame). It is freakishly weird and I can't put it down. My bestie, who lent it to me, told me she actually called in sick to work one day so she could keep reading that book.
E. I got a new (used) vehicle, after driving my lump of crap Cavalier for 10 years. YESSSSSS! It's a 2004 Chevy Colorado, very nice, and compared to my old, dented-up piece of shit, it makes me feel like a stone-cold pimptress.
H. I got a new cell phone, and I now have texting for the first time. Yep, I finally dumped my giant Zach Morris phone and made it happen. I'm waiting for a whole bunch of people to be blowin' up my cellie, but the only person who texts me is my husband.
I. I got Strep Throat. The back of my throat looked like a pair of tits.
J. I got over Strep Throat by drinking a Six-Pack of Corona.
K. I blogged. Now we're caught up.
Check ya later.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
A shout out to my bestie...
Please allow me a moment to blogify about a person who has had my back (quite literally) for 23 years. She first had my back in 2nd grade on Halloween when she was the only person to tell me that my homemade poodle skirt made of felt was tucked severely into my underwear while standing at the chalkboard in front of the classroom. She had my back in high school cheerleading when she dove to catch me from a 12-foot-high stunt gone wrong. She made sure to sit me down and explain to my broken heart that my 3-year-long high school crush was indeed, fucking ugly. She's told to me to quit hanging out the window talking shit when bike cops pulled her over while she was attempting to drive my drunk ass home from the bar. She's held my hair back while I puked, she makes me laugh until I pee my pants, and every time I open my Facebook page, there's always a fresh "poke" waiting for me from her.
To learn more about us and about our daily retardocity, see us at The Bung Blog.
It's not a simple feat to still be besties with your childhood friend after 23 years, and through everything, I wouldn't trade mine for 400 pounds of pudding, or any other really important thing that you could barter with.
Happy 30th Birthday to my bestie, co-founder of The Original Bung Book, The Hunger Speech, and The Bung Blog.
You'll always be "Jeans and Shirt Ashley" to me.
Now, for your viewing pleasure - a very small sampling of our journey together... so far.
To learn more about us and about our daily retardocity, see us at The Bung Blog.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
My Valenties Day...
If you're expecting to read about roses, candy, and candlelit dinners, you might as well hit the back button now. And I'm not complaining - flowers just die, candy makes me fat(ter), and personally, I enjoy seeing what I'm eating. I think my Valentine's Day was much better than that.
My husband and I left the kid with my dad, packed up, and headed out of town to go to a Cross Canadian Ragweed concert with ten of our closest friends (five of which I had never met before). It was basically a sausage fest, with seven dudes and three chicks, so testosterone and lots of beer carried us through the evening.
Our group of five arrived at the hotel first, so we all cracked a beer and lounged around in the room. When all three guys collectively looked up at eachother and realized that they had been watching "How to Lose A Guy in 10 Days" for the past 30 minutes, they decided they needed an activity that was a bit more macho. So, we all went into the other group's hotel room and switched the box springs on both beds to sit on top of the mattresses, and remade the beds. For future reference, this is a fantastic idea... Think about it - what's the first thing you do when you get into your hotel room? Sit/lay/flop/jump on the bed, right? Well, this particular group of guys (who had consequently been tying one on all afternoon) tested them out by body-slamming eachother onto the beds as soon as they entered their room. A good time was had by most.
Since all that bed moving made us thirsty, we grabbed some bro-skies and headed outside to have a smoke. While outside, a hearse pulled into the parking lot, and three questionable-looking guys started unloading some of the weirdest contraptions I've ever seen. By questionable-looking, I mean a 5-inch long "flavor saver" type beard and a padlock earring. By weird contraptions, I mean steel cage-looking devices. They even asked my husband and another one of our guys to help them carry some of the stuff inside. The "weird stuff" turned out to be some sort of sex torture chamber. The questionables turned out to be the hosts of a swinger's party just down the hall from our hotel rooms. Now for me, nothing says love quite like taking your significant other to a party and doing someone else - Happy Valentine's Day, honey! We were even invited to attend the free instructional seminar (yes, they have instructional seminars prior to swinger parties). We didn't go, but it's just not every day that you run into something that bizarre - they later brought dogs in. Use your imagination. Sick - okay, now stop.
By this time, we've all got a good buzz on (except for the other pack of guys who are just plain drunk) and we decided that we'd better get some grub before we chewed eachother's arms off. So, we piled into the trucks and headed to Buffalo Wild Wings. This was my first time to eat at BWW, and it will now also serve as my last. We waited fifteen minutes before I finally found a waitress and asked if we could get a couple menus. It was even longer before we got drinks, and even longer yet before we got our food. So, we ate, drank (and drank) and were merry. Apparently a little too merry, because one guy in our group was told that he wouldn't be served any more drinks. Since drinking is way more fun when everyone participates, my friend bought another beer and handed it to Mr. Cut-off. The manager didn't like that and started talking a gang of shit. Out loud. Just walking around talking to herself out loud about how unruly we were (I truly believe that we weren't being that naughty). Well, since I thought that the bitching was highly inappropriate and because sucky customer service pisses me off, I set my beer down on the bar, let little miss Pissy Pants know that I wouldn't be spending another blankety-blank penny in her blankety-blank establishment, and went ouside. Right after that, my husband very nicely asked Pissy Pants if she needed to change her tampon. That must have been a big hit, because she kicked him out of the restaurant. He complied with her request, and politely laid his full, open beer on the bar (on it's side) before he exited. My husband's best friend thought that looked like a pretty good idea, and did the same. Pissy Pants got really fired up after that, and started talking some more shit. So, while she's busy getting in people's faces, my new crazy friend takes a huge swig of beer and proceeds to power-spit beer point blank into Pissy's face - I'm told it resembled a whale shooting water out of it's blowhole. The rest of our group was helped outside shortly after that, and after a teensie little shouting match and a couple (okay, many) expletives, we headed on down the sidewalk to the concert.
Shortly after we got to the concert and started mingling around, we noticed a few cops milling around in the crowd with flashlights, as if they were looking for someone. That someone turned out to be our Turbo-Spitter - Yep, Pissy Pants called the fuzz. So, after some shirt-swapping, a little questioning, and a bit of blending into the crowd, we bellied up to the bar and got drunk while we listened to some live noise and looked at the backs of people's heads. The beer and shots started to take their toll, and my husband and his best friend had a disagreement and started a smallish fight in the middle of the crowd, and before we knew it, we found ourselves on the sidewalk again, taking care to not let the the door hit us where the good Lord split us.
At this point, the details of the evening begin to get a tad blurry. The remainder of our evening was pretty standard, consisting of more beer and a few WWF-style wrestling matches in our hotel room. My friend even got to meet the hotel manager, who came up to personally introduce herself, and to remind us that it was in fact 5:30 in the morning, and that there were in fact other people attempting to sleep. That was nice of her.
The only casualty of the evening turned out to be the door to Room 540, which was kicked in by our very own Turbo-Spitter. Apparently, at some point in the wee hours of the morning, he couldn't find Room 514, so he wandered down the hall, kicked in a random door, and passed out. It was, fortunately, not occupied at the time. He came down the hall in the morning to let us know he'd found us again - wearing a hoodie, a pair of boxers, and cowboy boots.
This is a true story - I couldn't make this shit up!
Happy Valentine's Day!
My husband and I left the kid with my dad, packed up, and headed out of town to go to a Cross Canadian Ragweed concert with ten of our closest friends (five of which I had never met before). It was basically a sausage fest, with seven dudes and three chicks, so testosterone and lots of beer carried us through the evening.
Our group of five arrived at the hotel first, so we all cracked a beer and lounged around in the room. When all three guys collectively looked up at eachother and realized that they had been watching "How to Lose A Guy in 10 Days" for the past 30 minutes, they decided they needed an activity that was a bit more macho. So, we all went into the other group's hotel room and switched the box springs on both beds to sit on top of the mattresses, and remade the beds. For future reference, this is a fantastic idea... Think about it - what's the first thing you do when you get into your hotel room? Sit/lay/flop/jump on the bed, right? Well, this particular group of guys (who had consequently been tying one on all afternoon) tested them out by body-slamming eachother onto the beds as soon as they entered their room. A good time was had by most.
Since all that bed moving made us thirsty, we grabbed some bro-skies and headed outside to have a smoke. While outside, a hearse pulled into the parking lot, and three questionable-looking guys started unloading some of the weirdest contraptions I've ever seen. By questionable-looking, I mean a 5-inch long "flavor saver" type beard and a padlock earring. By weird contraptions, I mean steel cage-looking devices. They even asked my husband and another one of our guys to help them carry some of the stuff inside. The "weird stuff" turned out to be some sort of sex torture chamber. The questionables turned out to be the hosts of a swinger's party just down the hall from our hotel rooms. Now for me, nothing says love quite like taking your significant other to a party and doing someone else - Happy Valentine's Day, honey! We were even invited to attend the free instructional seminar (yes, they have instructional seminars prior to swinger parties). We didn't go, but it's just not every day that you run into something that bizarre - they later brought dogs in. Use your imagination. Sick - okay, now stop.
By this time, we've all got a good buzz on (except for the other pack of guys who are just plain drunk) and we decided that we'd better get some grub before we chewed eachother's arms off. So, we piled into the trucks and headed to Buffalo Wild Wings. This was my first time to eat at BWW, and it will now also serve as my last. We waited fifteen minutes before I finally found a waitress and asked if we could get a couple menus. It was even longer before we got drinks, and even longer yet before we got our food. So, we ate, drank (and drank) and were merry. Apparently a little too merry, because one guy in our group was told that he wouldn't be served any more drinks. Since drinking is way more fun when everyone participates, my friend bought another beer and handed it to Mr. Cut-off. The manager didn't like that and started talking a gang of shit. Out loud. Just walking around talking to herself out loud about how unruly we were (I truly believe that we weren't being that naughty). Well, since I thought that the bitching was highly inappropriate and because sucky customer service pisses me off, I set my beer down on the bar, let little miss Pissy Pants know that I wouldn't be spending another blankety-blank penny in her blankety-blank establishment, and went ouside. Right after that, my husband very nicely asked Pissy Pants if she needed to change her tampon. That must have been a big hit, because she kicked him out of the restaurant. He complied with her request, and politely laid his full, open beer on the bar (on it's side) before he exited. My husband's best friend thought that looked like a pretty good idea, and did the same. Pissy Pants got really fired up after that, and started talking some more shit. So, while she's busy getting in people's faces, my new crazy friend takes a huge swig of beer and proceeds to power-spit beer point blank into Pissy's face - I'm told it resembled a whale shooting water out of it's blowhole. The rest of our group was helped outside shortly after that, and after a teensie little shouting match and a couple (okay, many) expletives, we headed on down the sidewalk to the concert.
Shortly after we got to the concert and started mingling around, we noticed a few cops milling around in the crowd with flashlights, as if they were looking for someone. That someone turned out to be our Turbo-Spitter - Yep, Pissy Pants called the fuzz. So, after some shirt-swapping, a little questioning, and a bit of blending into the crowd, we bellied up to the bar and got drunk while we listened to some live noise and looked at the backs of people's heads. The beer and shots started to take their toll, and my husband and his best friend had a disagreement and started a smallish fight in the middle of the crowd, and before we knew it, we found ourselves on the sidewalk again, taking care to not let the the door hit us where the good Lord split us.
At this point, the details of the evening begin to get a tad blurry. The remainder of our evening was pretty standard, consisting of more beer and a few WWF-style wrestling matches in our hotel room. My friend even got to meet the hotel manager, who came up to personally introduce herself, and to remind us that it was in fact 5:30 in the morning, and that there were in fact other people attempting to sleep. That was nice of her.
The only casualty of the evening turned out to be the door to Room 540, which was kicked in by our very own Turbo-Spitter. Apparently, at some point in the wee hours of the morning, he couldn't find Room 514, so he wandered down the hall, kicked in a random door, and passed out. It was, fortunately, not occupied at the time. He came down the hall in the morning to let us know he'd found us again - wearing a hoodie, a pair of boxers, and cowboy boots.
This is a true story - I couldn't make this shit up!
Happy Valentine's Day!
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Yeah, write...
Since I can remember, I have always wanted to be a writer. Children's books, poetry, crime fiction, etc. So, since I'm turning 30 in a couple months (okay, LESS than a couple months) it might be time to actually give it a shot... for real. And so this blog came to be. I realize that I don't have a normal mind, and I think of really weird things - REALLY weird. And since they are strange and random and I really can't just walk up to anyone and say them, I figured that this would be my spot to jot, if you will. And at the same time, I am hoping to get more habitual about my writing.
I may not always make sense. I may not even have a point (like right now). I'm just pushing myself to write something, anything, until something worthwhile comes out.
I may not always make sense. I may not even have a point (like right now). I'm just pushing myself to write something, anything, until something worthwhile comes out.
Friday, January 23, 2009
A bong, bong time ago....
Actually, it was only last week that I became a Realtor. I've worked really hard to get my license, and waited seemingly forever for my little slip of paper that makes everything legal. So of course I was really excited to go on my first official showing. I would have been downright nervous if it wasn't for the fact that I was showing houses to a very good friend of mine. He was looking to buy an investment property to either flip or rent, and I had a handful of forclosures that just popped up for sale.
The first house we went to was at the top of our list only because there were tenants living there, and I had scheduled a showing time with the three guys so they would be out of the house when we were there. It was three blocks from the University campus, and I realized these tenants were a pack of college dudes as I tripped over beer bottles while making my way up the sidewalk.
The interior was beyond my comprehension. It had that college guy funk about it... A sort of 0f beef stew-like mixture of beer, sweat, sex, and Lysol covering up something else that I couldn't quite name. It wasn't a "Bachelor's Pad" - it was a shrine to Keystone Light and naked bitches. Crunched beer cans were strewn about the end tables, couch, beds, toilet tank, etc. My shoes stuck to the hardwood floors as I walked through this fantastic display of not living with mommy for the first time. The Christmas tree in the corner of the living room was made completely out of beer cans... with an empty Barton's Vodka bottle on top. Beer boxes adorned the do-it-yourself bar area built in the dining room like wallpaper. Pieces of beer boxes were taped to the ceiling fan blades. Beer boxes were taped over the windows to serve as either curtains or insulation. Posters of naked chicks were everywhere - in fact, the 20 plus pairs of bedroom eyes looked as if they were following me and pretty much creeped me out. The bedrooms smelled like vomit and drunken skanks. In the kitchen, what looked like a half-eaten sandwich jumped up and scurried away when I entered the room.
But the crowning jewel in this man cave was actually found by my client (thank God I wasn't showing to a random stranger!). Right there, sitting on the coffee table like an artistic center piece, was a foot-tall glass water bong. Ah, yes - now I know what the Lysol was trying it's best to conceal. Fucking awesome. These dudes don't have enough time in their busy schedule of banging bar whores and passing out in class to at least try to hide their reefer? Or maybe they came home at lunch and got baked before class, and toooootally spaced it. The whole thing was hilarious to me, and even started to remind me of the good ol' days of just not giving a fuck.
My friend seriously considered buying the dump just so he could go over and party.
Moral of the story? My first showing - the house was shit, the bong was a hit.
The first house we went to was at the top of our list only because there were tenants living there, and I had scheduled a showing time with the three guys so they would be out of the house when we were there. It was three blocks from the University campus, and I realized these tenants were a pack of college dudes as I tripped over beer bottles while making my way up the sidewalk.
The interior was beyond my comprehension. It had that college guy funk about it... A sort of 0f beef stew-like mixture of beer, sweat, sex, and Lysol covering up something else that I couldn't quite name. It wasn't a "Bachelor's Pad" - it was a shrine to Keystone Light and naked bitches. Crunched beer cans were strewn about the end tables, couch, beds, toilet tank, etc. My shoes stuck to the hardwood floors as I walked through this fantastic display of not living with mommy for the first time. The Christmas tree in the corner of the living room was made completely out of beer cans... with an empty Barton's Vodka bottle on top. Beer boxes adorned the do-it-yourself bar area built in the dining room like wallpaper. Pieces of beer boxes were taped to the ceiling fan blades. Beer boxes were taped over the windows to serve as either curtains or insulation. Posters of naked chicks were everywhere - in fact, the 20 plus pairs of bedroom eyes looked as if they were following me and pretty much creeped me out. The bedrooms smelled like vomit and drunken skanks. In the kitchen, what looked like a half-eaten sandwich jumped up and scurried away when I entered the room.
But the crowning jewel in this man cave was actually found by my client (thank God I wasn't showing to a random stranger!). Right there, sitting on the coffee table like an artistic center piece, was a foot-tall glass water bong. Ah, yes - now I know what the Lysol was trying it's best to conceal. Fucking awesome. These dudes don't have enough time in their busy schedule of banging bar whores and passing out in class to at least try to hide their reefer? Or maybe they came home at lunch and got baked before class, and toooootally spaced it. The whole thing was hilarious to me, and even started to remind me of the good ol' days of just not giving a fuck.
My friend seriously considered buying the dump just so he could go over and party.
Moral of the story? My first showing - the house was shit, the bong was a hit.
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