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.

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.

I used to be a nostalgic person.

November 10, 2012November 10, 2012 / Ashley / 8 Comments

Good god. I love that sentence. For more reasons than one.

It just a few years ago when I furiously scribbled in a notebook about how special I felt the night I wore a swirly boatneck tank and Eric told me, breathless, “You look amazing.” For years, I hung onto a piece of torn neon green paper to remember when Jon taught me to play cribbage while we drank mint juleps at the rented cottage. My heart gets a little sore whenever I listen to disco, because I remember the nights I spent dancing and kissing Bill between sets.

I feel like I’m not investing as deeply into my life right now. Maybe it’s because I’m not forging memories with somebody right now. Maybe it’s because for the first time in my adult life, I’m doing this all on my own. At the moment, I have no perspective on my immediate life, not that it’s possible anyway. But even back when Eric and I lied on our stomachs, watching the rain in the streetlights, I knew I was experiencing a moment I would remember forever. I don’t ache to solidify moments anymore.

My moments are an endless series of facades – like I’m just passing by it all. Life has turned into a collection of muted repeats – the same drive to work, the same cubicle, the same empty bed at night. Weekends offer a bit of variation, giving me glimpses of striking honesty and glee with my friends. Where are the moments that I’ll be able to look back five years from now and tell what temperature it was, what song was playing, how my mouth tasted, or what sounds were echoing off the streets?

I think this is part of growing up. Though the moments I described above happened in the same order, the vividness of the memories is reversed. It was late evening and Eric’s bedroom was filled with this cool amber light. He rarely turned a fan on because he said it made it warmer, so my face was damp with perspiration. The neighbors across the street were talking loudly, but it all seemed to fade out when he looked at me that way. Later that night, Eric would give me a copy of Wuthering Heights and we’d spend twenty minutes saying goodbye, stopping to kiss on the stairs, in the dining room, in the living room, and on the porch.

I know that Jon crushed the mint leaves and the whiskey made me shudder. The windows were open and the air was steady with the hum of boat motors. His breath smelt lightly of cigarette smoke as he jotted notes on the piece of paper he had found in a drawer. We went to bed early, he played sudoku while I read a book – Anna Karenina, I think. The next morning, he brought me coffee and we ate powdered donuts and did a few games of sudoku in bed before we went on a hike.

Bill is different. He played so many gigs that most of them blend into one. I would either go to the bar with him to set up, or I’d go later on, joining a friend on the dance floor. I liked to watch him play – he always seemed so focused on the music that I was surprised when he would catch my eye and grin. At the end of the set, he would walk over to wherever I was sitting and give me a hug that stunk lightly of sweat, polyester, and the Dolce & Gabanna cologne we picked out together. I remember feeling this strange sensation – a mix of excitement, affection, and pride – when he came over. I felt most at home when his arm was around me, but my favorite part of the night was after we had loaded his drums into my car, when we finally slipped into my twin-sized bed, our bodies laced together, and slept until 11 the next morning.

The memories are all still there and to illustrate them, I obviously have to fabricate some details, but it’s easiest with Eric and hardest with Bill. Maybe it was the length of the relationships – it’s harder to process two years than three months. Maybe my my brain chemistry was different at 18 than at 23. Maybe it’s self-preservation; I’ve become hardened and have subconsciously decided that shallow memories will hurt less than visceral ones.

I think romance just lends itself to nostalgia. While I’m actually very happy to be writing two nights in a row, it doesn’t make for a very memorable night. Maybe someday I’ll hear an Alison Krauss song and remember when I lit candles and popped off the cap of a hard cider before opening my laptop. And maybe I’ll be filled with a warm contentedness when I remember my apartment smelling like a late autumn rain and a peppermint candle.

For now though, this dreary weather and melancholy music just makes me think of times before. Not in a way that makes me depressed, mind you. I’m appreciative. I’m glad to have such charming moments to recall.

Not everything is nighttime pancakes when you’re an adult

October 30, 2012 / Ashley / 7 Comments

My computer is constantly on. I think the last time I turned it off was when I flew to Oklahoma. I prefer to make it hibernate or sleep since it’s started to take longer to power up. I really just need to get rid of the files and programs I don’t use, but I never have the time for that. I have things to do – books to pretend to read, recipes to think about making, and a room to wish was clean.

I minimized all my windows earlier this afternoon because I remembered I had changed my background to a smoldering picture of Aaron Paul. To see it, I had to minimize my sticky notes which I then rearranged so his face wasn’t covered. These notes’ lifespans vary from months to days. Why I have such a hard time deleting them is a mystery. One is titled “TO READ”, a list of books I want to read. It’s only been referenced once in the last year. Other notes contain quotes intended to inspire me to write, which would probably be effective if they weren’t covered up by Facebook.

There’s one that I don’t think I’ll get rid of until my computer calls for reformatting:

“Don’t romanticize this adulthood thing just because you get to eat pancakes at night.”

Though the context escapes me, I know I heard it from a professor. At the time, it struck me as beautifully silly. “Don’t be so eager to grow up,” it pleaded. “Stay young, silly, and still appreciative of pancakes in the dark.” It resonated well at the time – the end of my college years was coming to an end and I desperately wanted to revert to childhood. Or at least to the point where I wasn’t realizing I should have decided on a more productive major.

When I was younger, twenty-four was incredibly mature. My life plan was basically this: Finish high school, fall in love…….retire comfortably and die in my sleep. Did I think about my twenties the time when I’m supposed to be figuring out my life? Of course not. I just glazed over that and assumed it would all be taken care of before I got there. To be fair, for a good portion of my childhood, I just assumed I would be raptured before I turned 16, so I figured I wouldn’t have to worry about the really tough things.

(This is probably why I didn’t know what a 401k was until a few years ago. Now I have one and I’m about to change my portfolio to the high-risk/high-reward one because a six-question quiz in my 401k informational portfolio told me that because of my age and personality, I can do that. That’s probably how Donald Trump made all his money, right? His BMO Harris booklet had a quiz that told him he could handle market fluctuations and he went with it.)

So when I see this sticky note I wonder where the pancakes are. I’m only 24 and I’m already thinking about retirement – mainly because of all the things I have yet to do. I still have to establish a career (though I think I’m on a good track). I still have to buy an appropriate car. I need to have a savings account and I should probably stop listening to Taylor Swift. I have these adult worries, so where are my nighttime pancakes?

I’d like to remember the other side of this: why spend so much time worrying about being an adult? I should be taking advantage of the freedom that comes with being un-tethered and in my 20’s. There is literally nothing stopping me from doing what I want. If I want to stay up until 1:30 reading a book, then I can. Alternatively, I can take a night drive to admire the clear sky. I can wear red lipstick all day at work and have personal victory. I can strike up a conversation with a stranger because he’s probably not going to kidnap me. I can plan a vacation with my best friend in hopes of dancing with foreign men.

Or I could just make pancakes at night.

I can have fun in whatever way I decide. That’s pretty cool, isn’t it?

Remember that, self.