Stream of Consciousness: Saturday Run

May 4, 2013May 4, 2013 / Ashley / 2 Comments

8:24am Holy shit I overslept. Holy shit I am going to be two hours late if I leave in six minutes. Wait. It’s Saturday. I don’t have to be at work. And anyway, I work at 8, so I’d be an hour late. Still, an hour is an hour. Whatever. Okay. What do I want for breakfast?

PANCAKES.

Obviously I want pancakes. But damn. I just want them now. I don’t want to make them. I might as well get up and shower if I’m going to make pancakes. It’s a whole ordeal.

I should get a boyfriend for strictly pancake-making purposes. People do that, right? I can compartmentalize if I want. You’re the one who takes me out to dinners. You’re the one who spoons with me at night but doesn’t get offended when I push you away because holy shit you sweat a lot at night. You’re the one who takes me to exciting cultural things like art galleries and jazz performances. You’re the one who rubs my feet while I watch terrible television like RuPaul’s Drag Race and you don’t even complain or make weird comments because you’re confident in your sexuality. And you? You just make me pancakes in the morning.

That’d be nice. But that means I have to like, go out and meet people. And people are exhausting. I’m just going to stretch and yawn for a while. Then I’ll get up and make pancakes.

8:36am Good god. I haven’t ran for the last two days. I should really do that. Pancakes are out. But wait. Maybe I could run and then have pancakes. I could burn like 500 calories so then when I eat pancakes, the two just cancel out and I’ll be all, “I didn’t even eat pancakes this weekend! I can still respect myself!”

But look at that. Look at the sun. And I just got these new microfiber sheets. They’re so soft and I should really just enjoy them for a while longer. Plus I got the new David Sedaris book. It’d be like a waste of money to not enjoy that.

I’ll just grab my Kindle and read for a while.

9:23am I read David Sedaris so fast. It’s like I don’t even absorb what he’s saying. Which is a shame, because he’s really funny while also being poignant. I’ll have to reread this book when I’m done.

Oh my god. I need to go for a run.

I could maybe wait till later. But the afternoon sun will be out and it will be warm and I’ll sweat. And I’m supposed to meet up with my friends for dinner tonight, but I don’t know when that is. I should just get it over with now. Plus if I go in the morning, they say my metabolism will be higher for the rest of the day. I don’t know who they are, but whatever, that’s a really cliche thought. Maybe if I look on Pinterest I’ll get inspired to run.

9:30am Okay, I will only look at my 5k board because that’s where my inspiration will be. Otherwise I’ll spend the whole morning getting sucked into Pinterest’s black hole of negative productivity.

There’s that pin about things to eat before workouts. Maybe I should look at it. I never did when I pinned it.

Oh. Toast with peanut butter and bananas does look good. Better than pancakes, actually. I’ll make that.

9:36am omigosh this is so good. I need to get a boyfriend to just make me toast with peanut butter and banana.

Now I need to let this digest. I don’t want sideaches. But I’ll start getting dressed, because otherwise I’ll just be in bed all morning.

Let’s see what RunKeeper has me doing today.

A 50 minute run? WHAT THE HELL, RUNKEEPER? Fifty damn minutes? I was hoping for one of those awesome interval runs that’s only 26 minutes long. I actually like those. I get to walk half the time without feeling guilty.

Ugh. Fine, RunKeeper. I’ll do your damn run. But only because I get to wear neon socks. Also, I don’t want to be the last finisher at my race next weekend.

Whoa. Next weekend? I should just accept it. I’ll probably be the last finisher. Maybe I’ll get a prize.

Okay, let’s drink some water. I’m dehydrated just thinking about this damn 50 minute run. UGH.

IdontwannadothisIdontwannadothisIdontwannadothisIdontwannadothis

9:50am Hey! I used to not wear these workout pants because whenever I’d run they’d slide down and accentuate my love handles. Daay-umm. Running looks good on me.

My boobs are squished. I hate sports bras. They’re the worst. Seriously. I wouldn’t wear them if gravity didn’t suck so bad.

10:17am Running isn’t so bad. The sun is out. It’s only like 50 degrees so I’m not sweating like a pig. I could live with this. I’ll just keep a nice steady pace so I don’t die.

10:35am Okay. Twenty minutes in? I’m almost halfway done. This isn’t so bad. I’m not even fatigued yet. I can breathe! And I can actually articulate greetings when I pass other people. A few weeks ago I would have just been heaving and wishing I was dead or at least back on my couch.

10:45am This is a nice area to run. Nice city sidewalks with minimal cracks to twist my ankle. The police drive by pretty often so I probably won’t get murdered.

That’s good, because I don’t really think I can run much faster than this. I couldn’t outrun a murderer.

I’m going to take a quick break and walk for a couple minutes. I’m more than halfway done, so it’s cool.

Look at that dam. Holy shit look at those rapids.

I should start carrying mace on my runs like my mom told me.

11:07am OH MY GOD I DON’T WANT TO DO THIS ANYMORE. WHY DID I ADD THAT FIVE MINUTE WARMUP IN THE BEGINNING OF MY RUN? DAMMIT RUNKEEPER, I DON’T WANT TO RUN FOR FIVE MORE MINUTES.

I’m so close to the end. I can do this. Run for 3 more minutes. Then I can walk. Walk? I should just walk now. Seriously, I’ve done enough.

NO. YOU WILL NOT STOP RUNNING. YOU WILL KEEP RUNNING. What was that thing I saw on Pinterest? Run like zombies are chasing you? No, I hate zombies. Fuck zombies. They’re not real. Run like Ryan Gosling is waiting at the end? No, run like Ryan Gosling is waiting with a puppy at the end.

Okay, Ryan. I’m coming! Keep scratching behind the puppy’s ears!

11:12am Holy shit these stretches feel so good. I want to stretch forever. Oh my god. Ohhhhhhhhhh. This water tastes so good. It’s been in this bottle for like a day but I don’t even care because it’s water. Oh my god. Ahhhhh. I need to do this more often.

11:17am That was awesome. Seriously. 4.31miles in 55 minutes. It should always be like this when I run. Why is the weather not always conducive to running?

I stink. Oof.

I’m going to do this again tomorrow. Maybe I’ll run more. Or maybe I’ll do those intervals. I want to get faster. Oh my gosh this running thing is awesome. Why did I not want to do it this morning?

Oof. I should really shower.

Throwback Thursday: You are Going to Hell for that.

April 17, 2013 / Ashley / 16 Comments

Every Thursday, I dig out an old diary and share an entry sans editing (in hopes we’ll all see my grammar and apostrophe use improve) with a short commentary. If you like laughing with/at Young Ashley, feel free to use the handy search bar to the right and simply type “Throwback Thursday” and you’ll find the whole archive. Thanks for reading!

Good news, guys! We’re onto my third journal! And it’s not a Pooh journal! I’m not really sure how I got a hold of this one, but it’s actually not terrible looking. If have to take this to public places, I won’t feel the need to explain to everyone notices it.

Don't be so optimistic, journal. You're still terrible.

Don’t be so optimistic, journal. I’m sure your insides are still terrible.

There’s also this on the first page. Not really sure what I was going for, but whatever. Nice drawing, 12-year old Ashley.

Bald? Gorilla arms? Massive eyes? Must be Zooey Deschanel in a twisted universe.

Bald? Gorilla arms? Massive eyes? What the hell is this supposed to be?

Anyway, I decided to call this one Libby. I don’t journal too much these days, and I think it’s because I have a close friend to talk to about things. Also, I fancied myself a bit of a young, alive version of Anne Frank.

Thursday April 20, 2000

Dear Libby,

My gosh I wanna cry. I saw Godspell with Kali, and it was so heart softening. It’s about how it would be it God had walked the earth today instead of 2000 years ago. I don’t want to tell you about the begining, it’s too long. But the end, omigosh, it was so sad. The guy who plays Jesus (Ben, he’s the pastor’s son, but sort of a QT) prayed to his father in heaven when everyone else fell asleep. And when one of his friends came rushing in with men to get him and tie him to a 3’x4″ board of wood, there was a sense of urgency. With Ben crying in fake pain, Kali and I sat there, tears in our eyes, we watched as the men dragged him to the stage to be put on a real cross. He acted so well, all while people pretended to put fake nails in his wrists. Then he sang out in his soothing voice, “God, I am dying…” Then, “God, I am dead…” And he hung his head, which gave the illusion the life was gone from his body. The people took his body and held it high and walked out thru the audience to the doors. After about two minutes of watching the people mourn over his death, (oh yeah, b4 he was wearing a superman t-shirt.) he walked up to the stage in a clean white suit, giving everybody the reassurance that God’s always with you. Ben was singing, “Prepare ye the way of the Lord…” And oh the words still murmer in my mind.

It’s strange, over the period of 3 weeks, I’ve been exposed to the story of Jesus’s death twice, and both, my eyes got all watery. I think it’s a sign to something, but what?

I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say it’s a sign that you saw a theatrical production that was a bit heavy on the pathos.

Wut.

I think it’s dangerous to introduce religious concepts to children before they develop critical thinking skills. When you’re an impressionable child, you don’t understand rhetorical techniques. You don’t understand how sounds, colors, lights, words, melodies, and key changes can combine to manipulate your emotions to sway you. It’s clear that even though I knew the things in front of me weren’t real, I was still moved by the production. In that sense, you could say it was a great play.

And I would be okay if it stopped there, but it doesn’t. It pulls you further to feel that guilt. It’s YOUR sins that are piercing his wrists. It’s YOUR sins that are driving that crown of thorns on his head. It’s YOUR sins that have lashed his back. YOU crucified him by being exactly what he created you to be: a human who is foolish and selfish. If you’re like the majority of the population, you haven’t done anything so terribly offensive to warrant this sort of punishment. It stands to reason that if Jesus hadn’t died, we’d have to endure hell, right?

One of the Sunday school lessons that has been fused into memory was one that illustrated the severity of sins. We were asked which was worse: “Killing another person or lying? Taking the lord’s name in vain or disobeying your parents? Being envious of your friend’s toy or not resting on Sunday?” Because we were children and were faced with a dichotomy, we picked one or the other. Some of them seemed arbitrary, but I remember working with my group to come up with an answer. When we were done, we presented our answers and PSYCH! No matter what we answered, we were wrong.

“Each sin is the same in God’s eyes. Whether you lie or say his name in vain, whether you kill someone or are jealous, a sin is a sin,” the teacher told us. “But the good news is that Jesus died for all of your sins because he loved you. All you have to do is accept it.”

Give that message to a child too early, and she’ll spend a great deal of time anxiously determining how terrible she is. I had been jealous of my friends’ toys and sometimes I lied to my mother about cleaning my room. And since I never knew if I had truly accepted Jesus into my heart (I accepted him roughly 23 times between the ages of seven and 18), I was constantly in fear of burning forever because I didn’t know if I was doing it right.

I’m sure there’s a argument with twelve talking points about how mistaken I am, and that my real issue is that I just don’t know Jesus. If I knew him, I would understand these things. And maybe this will make some of my family sad: I once had that faith, and now I don’t. What happened to me?

That is the definition of faith – acceptance of that which we imagine to be true, that we cannot prove. – Dan Brown

I don’t have faith in God anymore. I’m just no longer willing to accept something for which I’m unable to find compelling evidence. While it’s nice to think of someone who will guide me to what I need to do, but I’m more willing to to believe in my own ability to change my circumstances and figure it out from there. If I’m unhappy with some aspect of my life, I’m the one who has to make the changes. Praying is not going to give me a promotion or raise: working hard and being innovative will. Praying is not going to cure my occasional bouts of depression: fresh air, good books, and quality time with friends will. Why credit this guy with changing my life when I’m the one who put in the legwork?

This isn’t my usual Throwback Thursday. It took a quick and hard turn to the serious, but that’s how these things go. I don’t have much of a message for Young Ashley this week. Just keep your chin up and don’t be so melodramatic. Also, QT? B4? You’re writing English, not Bingo coordinates.

Jaggerbombs & Sushi: Determining Romantic Compatibility

April 16, 2013April 16, 2013 / Ashley / 8 Comments

A few months ago, I was having a conversation with a friend about new relationships. He was developing a theory (he’s always developing a theory) about how you can usually tell if you’re compatible with someone by just a few criteria. It varies between individuals, but everyone has some small collection of questions he or she uses to weed out potential partners.

When I asked him to clarify, he gladly did (he’s always happy to clarify). “I like to ask a girl what kind of sushi she likes,” he said. “And if she says she doesn’t eat sushi, then why the fuck am I even talking to this girl? And if she’s like,” he paused to change his voice to high-pitched and squeaky. “‘Oh, I like california rolls,’ then I’m like meh, okay, we’ll see. But if she’s like, ‘I get octopus, yellowtail, squid salad, and a new roll each time,’ then I’m like DAMN GURL. ”

I didn’t bother asking for another example because I knew he would go on.

“Second point: the kind of car she drives,” he said, probably pausing to drink wine (he likes wine). “I mean like, the car she chooses to drive. If we’re younger and it’s just like a matter of circumstance that she’s driving a Geo Tracker, I won’t judge her.”

“The Tracker was awesome and you know it,” I said. He wasn’t going to get away with dissing my bitchin’ ride during high school.

“But the car she chooses to drive – the one she bought when she could choose what ever she wants. If she drives something like a Neon, I’m probably going to hate her. And she probably doesn’t read a lot.”

“Just like if a guy picks me up in a truck. I bet he’s listening to Big and Rich and probably won’t get my Arrested Development references,” I said.

“Yes. Point three… how does she like her steak done? If she gets it well-done, then shit – why not just order a hot dog?”

“Might as well be eating leather,” I said.

“Point four….I haven’t thought of. I’m still developing this theory,” he said, then probably changed the subject to something he saw on Twitter the other day.

I wanted to come up with a list of my own criteria, but I liked his too much to get rid of them completely, so I decided to include them in my list. Before you judge me, just know that I can do ridiculous things like this right now. As a ~~girl~~ woman who is 1082974937% single, it’s responsible to be thinking about how to distinguish between the men I tolerate and the ones with whom I’d like to drink craft beer.

I don’t pretend true compatibility is so easily reduced, but these are a few points that will need to be addressed or determined by some means within the first few dates.

What kind of sushi do you like?
Realistically, what kind of car do you see yourself driving?
How do you like your steak?
Red or white wine?
Have you done a jaggerbomb unironically in the last two years?
How often do you talk to your mother?
What do you wear when you work out?
Do you use Netflix for tv shows or movies?

While there aren’t correct answers to these, their answers will indicate the level of our compatibility. I’d like to date someone who is adventurous (tries new food), responsible (doesn’t waste money on needlessly jacking up a car), unafraid (steak is rare to medium-rare), spontaneous (red and white, OBVIOUSLY), intelligent (idea for a thing: jaggerbombs that lower sperm count), independent (a pleasant conversation or two each week), confident (no t-shirts cut from the shoulder to the hip, showing off his pecs), and easy-going (tv shows).

That being said, if Ryan Gosling picked me up in a rusty Fiesta to drink Coors and jaggerbombs while he talked about how much he benched that morning, I’d probably still look forward to his “Wut up” text the next day.

Hey girl. I heard you like Cinderella’s pumpkin, so I decided to drive it.

SWOON.

My point? Ryan Gosling is hot & women are fickle.

April Snow Brings Carb Binges

April 14, 2013April 14, 2013 / Ashley / 10 Comments

I’ve been going through a mild depression. I’ve really only noticed it over the last week or so, while the weather has been exceedingly shitty, even for Wisconsin. You think that we’d have this figured out by now: spring doesn’t really happen till the first week in May. Yet as soon as April comes around, we all expect lush grass to replace the dingy snow. And then when it doesn’t, we complain. Each time snow is forecasted, our rants get louder and more dramatic. “It’s snowing again? It’s halfway through April for crying out loud!” “It’s a beautiful winter we’re having this spring, isn’t it?”

Even though I know my spring will only last about two weeks before turning into a sticky summer, it’s still frustrating that I’m stuck inside watching the grass get coated in a wet snow again. It seems hopeless.

You are drunk, Spring. GO HOME.

I’ve been working a lot lately. Between trying to get caught up at work and saving money for my new place in June, work has just about consumed my life. For the most part, I enjoy my job and my coworkers. But between working 10-hour days and working out nearly everyday, by the time I get home, I’m too exhausted to do much of anything. So I usually just shower and fall asleep reading, annoyed with anyone who has the balls to reach out to me and say hi. It’s not very conducive to forming friendships or relationships. My friendships have dwindled to the small handful who are tolerant of my absentminded selfishness. My love life has all but vanished. I spent Friday night on the couch with blankets and Hulu. Saturday was spent at the office, then stubbornly watching four hours of The Killing when I really should have just taken a nap. I reached out to a few friends from college, trying to fool myself into thinking I’d actually go out. I knew that I would just end up in bed by 9, asleep by 9:30. I was right.

I’m not sure why my depressed and antisocial behavior feeds itself. It’s turned into a beast I don’t really know how to tame. I’ve always required a certain amount of alone time, but I feel like that’s all my life has become. The transition of college to work is harder than I anticipated. In college, there are new people to talk with every hour and your schedule varies each day of the week. But working is the same all day everyday, and even if I do like my coworkers, I need to talk with other people.

I think really, I’m just feeling sorry for myself while the weather continues to suck. The forecast should just read SHITTY TILL IT’S NO LONGER SHITTY. But instead, they go through the trouble of describing the shittiness.

Completely unnecessary, Accuweather.

I don’t really care that it’s supposed to be in the 50s. It’s still shitty and I’m going to blame my terrible mood and uncontrollable urge to shovel carbs into my mouth on it. Today I made two loaves of french bread, rice crispie treats, cake batter cookies, and I’m probably having spaghetti for dinner. An all-carb diet is good for the soul, right? I think what I need is a crazy night out with friends. I need to feel wild and free and like I’m stunning, beautiful, and constantly witty. The right amount of alcohol does that, and with any luck, I’ll find that next weekend. Until then, I’ll probably just keep reading and wasting time on Pinterest.