I am going to die alone and merry christmas.

December 24, 2012December 24, 2012 / Ashley / 6 Comments

I learned the other day that Jon (Scott) is engaged. I was cleaning my room when I got the message from his sister in law. At first I didn’t react much – it’s just one more engagement that doesn’t really affect me. Also, he’s a douchebag.

(just now, I typed “douchebage” which made me think of douchebadge. Maybe that could be a new slam.)

But then I remembered that we had dated for two years. That statement isn’t actually correct, since the second year we weren’t dating – not even remotely committed to each other – just messily involved. He kept making promises he couldn’t (or wouldn’t – that detail remains a mystery to me) keep. He kept claiming he loved me while refusing to stop talking to the girl to whom he’s now engaged. He kept telling me he wanted to be with me and that he was sorry. Each time I tried to move on, he refused to let me and I mistook his controlling and abusive behavior as affection. It shocks me, the things I put up with. He said some of the most vulgar and offensive things to me – words so horrifying I refuse to put them in print. And yet, when he apologized, I accepted it and gave him another chance.

When I finally cut him out of my life (after a session with a therapist who told me – and I quote – he was akin to a swirling vortex of insanity which would be near impossible to escape should I entangle myself further), it was complete. Though his behavior didn’t stop immediately, I simply refused to take part in it. Turns out if you stop indulging a psychopath, the drama stops pretty quickly.

That switch has since remained in the off position and I haven’t even considered flipping it in the other direction. It’s strange too, because I consider myself a somewhat sentimental person. Yet I feel a void looking back at our relationship. Surely there must have been some good there for me to be so reluctant to leave it behind, but I’ll be damned if I can find it. There is virtually no part of me that feels the slightest affection towards him, yet the news still struck a chord.

I’m reluctant to say that I cried over it, because that phrasing isn’t correct. It suggests longing and regret over the death of the relationship. The news prompted not only a ridiculous tweet (“Another of my exes is engaged. I’m going to die alone with my crochet projects.”), but a crying spell. Quick messy tears that made my day-old mascara flake off. I did the predictable self-indulgent girl thing where I made a mental list of my exes and compared their lives with mine, taking note of a single criterion. Of my five relationships, two of the men are married, two are engaged, and one is still single to the best of my knowledge. If the sitcoms are right and every breakup has a winner and loser, I’m pretty sure I’m the loser in all the cases.

NewGirl

Fortunately I had a couple friends to lean on in my time of need: Andrea, who told me to remember why I’m single (I’m not one to settle) and also that if he could get engaged, then anybody can. And Logan, who remarked, “Hahahahah! Good luck, sucker woman. Hope you have fun dealing with that for the rest of eternity!”

I decided to step back and take a look at my situation. I was on my freshly made bed, curled in the fetal position, and crying about a man whose existence no longer matters to me. Also, Flight of the Conchords was blaring out of my Kindle:

Hey Bowie, do you have one really funky sequined space suit? Or do you have several ch-changes? Do you smoke grass out in space, Bowie? Or do they smoke astroturf? Receiving transmission from David Bowie’s nipple antennae: Do you read me, Lieutenant Bowie?

And then I started laughing, because if there’s one thing that should never happen, it’s crying in the same room as Flight of the Conchords.

Life can be disappointing: sometimes the people you wish would burn with herpes sores for all of eternity end up getting engaged, but it doesn’t make any sense to cry about it. So the best thing you can do is pour yourself a cup of coffee, put on some lipstick, and laugh at the ridiculousness of Flight of the Conchords.

Anyway, I hope you all have a great Christmas. Go drink some wine and hug a family member.

You’re wrong, Facebook.

December 23, 2012December 23, 2012 / Ashley / 4 Comments

This probably isn’t as topical, since the feature was released like a week ago, but whatever. The other day, I tried Facebook’s Year in Review. Supposedly, it takes the 20 most important moments of 2012 and condenses them into a delightful thread of pictures and posts, allowing you to reminisce over what you chose to share with the internet.

Well, according to Facebook, I had a really lame year. And they’re right – but not for the reasons they chose.

1. February 29: 67 friends posted on my timeline on my birthday. Okay, it was pretty cool that I actually had a birthday this year (I’m not being ironic. I was born on Leap Day so I only get a real birthday once every four years), but seriously. A bunch of people I barely talk to took five seconds to wish me a happy birthday by typing a handful of words? Yeah, that’s one for the scrapbook. Score so far: 0/20

2. March 5: I shared an inaccurate and pixelated Someecard about the Mayan apocalypse coinciding with Snooki’s due date. Ten likes, three comments, and two shares. I thought it was hilarious and was actually disappointed to learn that Snooki’s baby would be born months before the apocalypse. Since I posted this on March 5, you’d think I’d have taken three seconds to do the math and realize that December 21 was more than nine months in the future. This is appropriate since I have a tendency to laugh before it’s appropriate. However, this is not one of my memorable moments of 2012. Score so far: 0/20.

3. March 21: I show what it’s like to party in Oklahoma. I was visiting my boyfriend at the time in Oklahoma. We went to the grocery store – probably to buy glass bottle Coke and ingredients to make flaming salsa, since that’s what we did at least three times whenever I visited. I’m pretty sure it’s from the last time I visited him. Seeing the picture reminds me how much fun I had visiting him. It was like vacation squared: I didn’t have to work or worry about responsibilities, and we were able to slip into a distinct sense of denial we carried whenever together. I don’t know what we were denying, only that it was a blissful and willfully ignorance. We existed in our own little world, free of responsibilities, pants, and any semblance of a healthy diet. It was wonderful. Score so far: 1/20

4. April 24: Selfie in ridiculous sunglasses. I took this a few days after breaking up with my boyfriend. My days were spent with Cake’s cover of “I Will Survive” on repeat and me seesawing between belting it out and sobbing. I was able to find three seconds to put on sunglasses to cover my puffy eyes and make it look like I was looking fearlessly to a new life on my own. My caption for the photo was inspired by Radiohead, probably from one of my many sobbing sessions: “New shades. New life. Everything in its right place.” Score so far: 2/20

5. April 29: I’m tagged in six photos of Katie’s Winter/Spring 2012 album. We did face masks one night and shot guns another time. This is half appropriate for the year in review. This was my first time shooting a gun, also right after the break up. One of the rifles had a kick that reminded me I was alive and capable of murder. It was pretty exhilarating. The face masks? Yeah, I just looked like a weirdo who wears super-high ponytails and likes to cover my face in tar. Score so far: 2.5/20

6. May 23: I share a link via Esperanza Spalding. I told people they should spend $2.99 on her Radio Music Society album. Two likes, eleven comments that are essentially an ironic and passive aggressive fight (the passive aggressive on me, entirely) with my friend Sam about the moralities of purchasing music on Amazon versus Bandcamp. I blame my explosion of passive aggression on the breakup; Sam is a boy. A boy hurt me, so I’ll slay him words and just SORT OF accuse him of being a communist. Score so far: 2.5/20

7. May 28: I embroider a really hilarious door decoration. This is so right. I’ve spent a lot of time making hand-made crafts this year – between cross-stitch projects (I made a Jenny Lawson-inspired “Knock Knock, Motherfucker” sign for Andrea), scarves, and attempted afghans, I don’t even want to calculate the time I spent weaving yarn in a methodical way. Without me articulating it, Facebook knew I was beginning my transformation to a sad lady who spends her time crocheting. Score so far: 3.5/20

8. June 20: I check in at the public pool. What? I went here three times over the summer. Each time, I just read and drank vodka lemonades I snuck in with my Nalgene bottle and read 50 Shades on my kindle. Ugh. You are so wrong, Facebook. Score so far: 3.5/20

9. July 7: I become friends with Logan. Sure. This is significant, Facebook. Aside from the fact that we’ve been friends since 2006. But yeah, let’s just say July 7 was the day it REALLY became friendship. Score so far: 4/20

10. August 1: I post a video of Andrea asking Siri why she’s a bitch. I think we spent this night drinking chocolate wine and crocheting, then laughing about Siri’s response (“I try to be good”) for fifteen minutes. Yes, this was a funny moment, but not one I’d consider significant in 2012. However, it is indicative of mine and Andrea’s friendship: crafting and laughing way too much about stupid things. Score so far: 4.5/20

11. August 6: I’m tagged in a silly photo of Olympic divers’ faces as they fall. What? Just because I was tagged with six others and 20 people I don’t know liked it? YOU’RE WRONG, FACEBOOK. This was not a significant moment of 2012. Score so far: 4.5/20

12. August 12: Sam posts a photo of a compressor with Russian labels. I translate the best I can, though neither of us know exactly what “hammer” means or what the “discreteness” knob is supposed to do. While I’d like to pretend I was able to pull these translations straight from my Russian vocabulary, I really just used my Cyrillic keyboard and Google translate, so yeah, vaguely entertaining, but not very significant. Score so far: 4.5/20

13. August 28: Status update. Hilarious. Goddamnit. I’m hilarious – even if I forgot a word in the update. I found my box of journals and spent a few weeks flipping through my teenage psyche. It was such an enlightening experience. Score so far: 5.5/20

14. October 4: Status update. This really meant a lot to me. Towards the end of summer and early autumn, I found that about half my family regularly reads my blog. This includes aunts who comment, an uncle who comments & gifted me wine when I was Freshly Pressed, and relatives who greet me at family get-togethers with “YOUR BLOG IS SO HILARIOUS! I LOVE READING IT!” This is a nice snapshot of my family’s support. They might not always agree with what I have to say, but they accept me for who I am, and that means more than I can express. I’m so lucky to have them. Score so far: 6.5/20

15. October 16: I’m tagged in a someecard post. The ecard reads “I work too damn hard to be this poor.” Apropos? Apropos. Score so far: 7/20

16. October 28: I’m tagged in 10 photos in Kaleigh’s Untitled album. Halloween pictures from a great weekend. I remember this weekend fondly as some of the few nights I went out in 2012. Both Friday and Saturday nights, I was with great friends, had good drinks, and met some wonderful people. This was a great weekend. Score so far: 8/20

17. October 28: I’m tagged in a post with Andrea. This exemplifies our friendship perfectly: unabashed laughter. For the first time since high school, I have a best friend. Score so far: 9/20

18. October 28: I’m tagged in Andrea’s Instagram album. More from this friendship including our curry dinner night, the Christmas party in October, and Halloween weekend. You’re so right, Facebook. Andrea has been one of the most important parts of my year. Score so far: 9/20

19. December 16: I changed my profile picture. Last weekend, I had a small get together with some friends. It was a nice night, but I don’t have the luxury of time to tell if this was a significant part of 2012. Katie is moving to Madison soon, so it might be one of the last times we get together before she leaves. We took a group photo in front of the Christmas tree near the end of the night and that became my profile picture that will ride into 2013. Score so far: 9.5/20

20. December 20: I’m tagged in five photos from Ashley’s mobile uploads. Ashley and I work together. We try to get together once a week for lunch – where we usually laugh about coworkers, complain about daily meetings, and catch up on each other’s lives. It’s not uncommon for people to CC the wrong Ashley on an email or to confuse our last names. Since I got a promotion and my first adult job with a benefit package and vacation, work has been pretty significant this year. I’ll give you this one, Facebook. Final Score: 10.5/20

Okay, so just over 50%. Better than I thought it would be. I’m curious to see what algorithm Facebook used to figure this out. Sure, some of the posts are the ones that got a lot of likes, but some – like my friendship with Logan – didn’t get any. Still, my friendship with Logan was a pretty significant part of my 2012 despite the lack of Facebook posts on it. (Is Facebook in my text messages?) I wonder how I would have reacted if Facebook had summed 2012 perfectly. What would be necessary?

The beginning of the year with some dark family problems I don’t care to air here, the bliss of my relationship with Bill while he visited for winter break, Andrea’s moving back to the area, my blog post when Bill and I broke up (and subsequent status updates about crying to Gotye and Taylor Swift songs), moving into my new apartment with Carissa, being Freshly Pressed, my promotion, Halloween weekend, and…what else? The numerous scarves I’ve crocheted this year? My New Years eve that will consist of dancing in Milwaukee? My obligatory lyric-quote of Death Cab’s song?

All I know is that I’m totally okay with leaving this year behind to greet fresh things in 2013.

I know I’m confusing, I’m a woman.

November 25, 2012November 25, 2012 / Ashley / 5 Comments

While lying in my bed earlier this evening, I saw a tweet that I nearly retweeted until I saw it had already been retweeted over 400 times. Just to spite it (the tweet, like it has feelings or something), I didn’t partake. Also, because I’d rather help out the little people rather than some woman who gets 400 retweets for a mildly clever and poorly punctuated tweet. Bitch.

I can’t remember the exact phrase of it, and it’s too far back in the day’s tweeting history to check, but it said something like, “I’m a woman. I don’t know what I want, but I can be mad anyway.” And while that probably sounds psychotic to most men, I’m sure it makes a lot of sense to women. It’s a good thing that I don’t write a political or advice blog, because I’m sure feminists would be all over me for going on about this, but whatever. With all of the other personal details I’ve shared on this, I shouldn’t have any problem admitting that I spend a great deal of time not knowing what I want.

This point is moot though, because for right now at least, I think I do know what I want: I want to know that I don’t have to depend on someone else. I started seeing someone a few weeks ago, and I’ve decided to try this new thing where the guy in my life isn’t the single most important thing in my life. Fascinating concept, right? I’m excited to try this new thing out. I’ve spent a decent amount of time on my own. I’ve finally discovered the peace that comes in the absence of other people. The sort of peace that comes when drunk cleaning your apartment and dressing up your piggy bank like Walter White, writing snippets to your 21-year old self, decoupaging Vonnegut quotes, and experiencing the unique horror that arises from OkCupid messages and consequent awkward dates.

I’m not going to claim that I enjoyed every moment of this solitary period, but I know that it made me a stronger person. It forced me to examine myself, reevaluate my priorities, solidify my goals, establish a career, and see myself as an individual.

But this new-found independence comes with its own setbacks. For instance, now that I’m sort of seeing someone, I don’t particularly know how to handle the fact that he’s willing to bring me whatever I need when I’m sick. So instead of telling him I could go for some homestyle chicken dumpling soup, cuddles, and rewatching four episodes of Breaking Bad, I heat up a can of soup, turn on a heating pad, and watch Netflix on my own. Of course, an episode in, I discovered that I did sort of want him there, but it was past the point of a reasonable request, so I didn’t tell him.

How bizarre is that? I’ve spent the better part of six months aching for someone to be there for me, and now that I have someone willing to do that, I’m like, “Nah, I got this.” I’ve gotten used to taking care of myself and I’m not quite ready to give that up. Call it pride or self-preservation, it amounts to the same thing: me, fairly content on my own. I think it’s just me not wanting him to see me vulnerable like this. By vulnerable, I mean sick and terribly whiny. So far, I’ve been able to present myself with semi-styled hair and matching outfits. I don’t want to destroy the illusion that I’m consistently lovely by him seeing me in pajama pants and a ratty college sweatshirt. Since he reads this, I’ll just let him imagine it. With any luck, the image is better than reality.

What I’m trying to get at is that I think I’ve always struggled maintaining my sense of self while dating. Instead of seeing myself as just Ashley, I tend to see myself as Ashley in relation to X. By acknowledging that it’s unreasonable for him to drive a half hour to bring me soup when I could spend 90 seconds heating up a can of Healthy Choice, I’m asserting that I’m not the kind of girl who needs to be taken care of constantly.

I think that’s what Destiny’s Child was talking about in that Independent Women song, right? The shoes on my feet – I bought them, the soup that I eat – I heat it.

It’s all the same.

My scent memory sucks.

November 19, 2012 / Ashley / 4 Comments

Last Friday, I bought some Aveeno Stress relief lotion before going to work. The bottle claims it’s scented with lavender, chamomile, and ylang-ylang oils. It smells slightly medicinal and slightly floral. I rubbed it into my hands several times over the course of the morning, and I kept getting wiffs of it during my work as I flipped papers or reached for the phone, and it tugged at my gut for some reason. I was curious, but not quite sure why.

About an hour into a training session, I allowed my mind to wander a bit. I rested my chin on my hand and breathed in the scent. After a particularly deep inhale, I was filled with this overwhelming scent of nostalgia – like I was aching for some sense of warmth and comfort of a better time. Or maybe it was a a yearning for the sadness of a time before. My mom had bought the same lotion years earlier and I remember stealing pumps from the bottle she kept hidden in the bathroom cabinet.

It occurred to me that I wasn’t aching for the comfortable happiness of an earlier time, but it was right on the edge of my consciousness. I couldn’t describe the moment I was trying to recall – not even the general period. When had I first used this lotion? High school? Early college? The smell reminded me of tears – curling beneath a blanket, my arms wrapped in a thick sweater, my bare toes cold, and me both adoring and hating my grief. Maybe I was in a drugged haze – a thick cloud of painkillers after getting my wisdom teeth removed – a gauzy cloud of painkillers, craving coffee and the buttery side of toast but lacking the motivation to get it.

I’m still unable to place the memory. The scent is almost strangulating at this point, but I don’t know where to place it. It’s really bothering me. I even asked my mom when she first bought the lotion.

“I don’t know. Years ago?” she replied, not really understanding what I was asking.

After considering my own bathroom, I realize this is a fairly ridiculous thing to ask a woman. I’m currently in possession of about 20-30 different hair, skin, and makeup products, none of which I’ll remember in five years. Sure, the L’oreal shampoo I bought last week smells amazing and the Mary Kay mascara works pretty well, but I’m probably not going to be able to recall when I first bought either of the products.

Anyway, I’m not really sure of the point of the post, other than to invite speculation. I keep the bottle of lotion at my desk, so I’m hoping that one of these days I’ll remember why the scent makes my heart feel like it’s being tugged at. Isn’t that a strange sensation? Feeling your heart being pulled? If I focus enough, I can induce that sense of melancholia. It’s the all energy in my chest being thrown in a single direction and knocking into something. It’s not exactly a bad feeling, it’s just something I can’t place my finger on.

Till I figure it out, I’ll keep stressing out over my anti-stress lotion.