A week of revision, wine, screaming, & decoupage.

July 15, 2012July 15, 2012 / Ashley / 9 Comments

This last week has been about as good as I could have hoped for. After last week, it was just what I needed. After making some mistakes, it only seems appropriate that fate rewards me with less trying and more rewarding seven days.

I spent the earlier part of the week revising a piece to share with my writer’s group. This meant coming home from work and spending the better part of my evening at my computer, reworking the same paragraph I had been staring at for twenty minutes. As tedious as it sounds, it was extremely rewarding. One evening, I took a bike ride down by the river, found a soft grassy spot and went to work. I got a lot more done without an internet connection.

I used to hate revision, but that was back when I thought everything I wrote was gold. Now I’ve accepted that first drafts are typically shit and have learned to appreciate the process. And though I don’t usually sift through old drafts, I’ve saved each one. This means I have a folder of each story with at least four or five drafts. Speaking of, I should really back that up on two separate hard drives.

On Wednesday, I met up with three of my aunts. We went to a wine bar for dinner and I spent the rest of the night burping moscato and beef carpaccio. After that, we went to Lifest. Lifest is a christian music festival that my family used to go to when I was young. I hadn’t been there since I was fourteen with my boyfriend at the time. Ten years later, it was bizarre to see a music festival lacking stumbling drunks and an excess of cleavage. Since I grew up nondenominational, I’m pretty sure most of my extended family assumes I at least claim to believe in God. While I’m not willing to state there is no God, I’m not willing to say I believe in a God. I know that saying this will probably give me some backlash from some friends and family, but I don’t want people thinking that because I went to Lifest I’m a god-fearing young woman. And I’m not saying that out of some sense of hyper-vigilance, I just don’t want to present myself as something I’m not. I know many good things done in the name of God, but there are also some pretty dark things done in the same name. At this point, all I am willing to say is that I haven’t found compelling evidence. When and if I ever do believe in God, it will be something that occurs organically, not by shocked friends and family sending me bible verses.

So anyway, I was at Lifest. I spent most of the time talking with my Aunt Laurie about men, dreams, passions, mental obstacles, The Bloggess (and Beyonce, the giant metal chicken), and goals. I went home feeling refreshed, inspired, and content.

On Friday, I went to Six Flags Great America with some friends where I went on rollercoasters and screamed a lot.

Yesterday, I met with my writer’s group, got some great feedback (“You have a lovely way of being funny & witty while also being poignant, self-deprecating, and reflective”), and left feeling inspired. I shared a more reflective version of my last post, and I had several requests for a story next time. I think I’ll do something more prose-like for next month, but my biggest obstacle is going to be getting away from my second person narration. It’s emotionally easier to write second person. It allows me to distance myself from the material. I think that was pretty evident with my last list. It’s strange: I’m willing to share fairly intimate details, but I’m not, apparently, willing to attach the “I” pronoun. I could be wrong, but I think that if I want to write memoirs and personal essays, I’m going to have to get over that.

Or maybe I’ll just revolutionize memoir and write a collection of essays in the second person.

Nobody steal my idea, okay?

Then Andrea and I had a decoupage day. We listened to Rilo Kiley, ate some pizza, drank some beer, and pasted things on foam board and canvas. I created some things to hang on my walls.

[Here we are, trapped in the amber of the moment. There is no why.]

All in all, this was a mediocre blog post about a rejuvenating week. Now it’s coming to a close with a heat advisory that I’m using as an excuse to sit inside and read Kurt Vonnegut all day.

A little about Jay-Z, Kanye, and my blog.

July 1, 2012July 1, 2012 / Ashley / 5 Comments

Yesterday afternoon, I went to my uncle’s house to celebrate my cousin’s 21st birthday. Along the way, my little brother and I listened to Jay-Z and Kanye West. By the way, I just had to google Jay-Z because I wasn’t sure of the correct spelling or notation. I can’t decide if that makes me feel very old, very uncool, or very superior for not knowing how Shawn Corey Carter, who is worth $475 million, (Thanks, Google!) spells his stage name.

We were rocking out (does one rock out to rap?) and singing along, laughing at how ridiculous Kanye’s lyrics were (“That shit cray, that shit cray, ain’t it Jay? What she order? Fish Fillet”), because honestly, how could you record that and still respect yourself as an artist? Because it’s clear that Kanye thinks of himself as not only an artist, but a visonary.

I’m not sure if anybody remembers January 4th when Kanye forgot he was using Twitter to unveil DONDA (hah, what?), but it was a ridiculous thing to witness. At the time, I had his tweets sent to my phone as text messages because he said awesome things like this:

That night, I didn’t have my phone near me for a few hours. I found it and saw that I had something like 36 missed texts. About 33 of them were from Twitter. All from Kanye. And they were still coming. Obviously, I changed the mobile forwarding on Kanye’s tweets.

Now that I’ve shared my extensive Jay-Z research and given you a brief history of Kanye’s Twitter, I’ll move onto what I actually meant to write about. Ryan and I had a lot of fun on the 20-minute drive. When we arrived, I was bombarded by half of my family telling me they loved my blog. I’m not going to pretend like I didn’t like it. Compliments are nice. They’re even nicer when they’re about something you care about.

While I was in high school, I kept a Xanga. I think that for the most part, it was very similar to what this is, except even more self-absorbed (can you believe it?) and melodramatic. However, I do think I posted some interesting things. That was around the time I remember feeling like I was exploding with creativity. I credit a lot of that to Xanga. It was the perfect outlet for my artistic restlessness and wandering self esteem issues. But I was embarrassed of it. I didn’t share the link anywhere (myspace?), I didn’t tell my friends to read it unless they stumbled upon it themselves, and I certainly didn’t invite my parents or extended family to read and comment on it. Part of this is because I was a teenager and while I didn’t want my parents knowing my business, I wanted everybody else in the world to realize the importance of my personal dramas.

Now that I’m older and have a better sense of self, I’ve sort of taken a claim to my blog. It still seems weird to articulate that, but I have one and I enjoy it. I’m enjoying it now even more that people are reading it and telling me they enjoy it. It means a lot that I can be doing what I want (ie: writing about myself) and be recognized for it. Despite appearances, I’m not doing this to just blather on about my life. I’m doing this because I think that every person’s existence is important. I believe that everybody has a story that deserves to be told. And if they don’t feel comfortable sharing their story, then at least they can be reminded that they are not alone in those feelings of love, loneliness, despair, euphoria, or hopelessness. By sharing myself on an intimate level, I’m trying to remind people in this crazy age of technology that we’re humans, not just profile pictures and clever autobiographies.

And if people are entertained along the way, that’s good too.

I feel extremely tacky saying this, but if you read my blog and you enjoy it, I’d like to invite you to comment, subscribe, or even share a link to it. I would really like to expand my pool of readers and possibly even start conversations in the comments. I love hearing other people’s anecdotes about similar situations; it’s a nice reminder that human existence isn’t solitary. Though we all think we are special snowflakes and our sufferings are unlike those of anyone else’s, we’re really just going though the same trials with variations on dialogue and setting.

Anyway, thank you for reading. It means more than you probably realize.

If only I could kickbox while drinking wine…

June 27, 2012June 27, 2012 / Ashley / 3 Comments

I’ve been in the mood to try new things. The mood typically doesn’t last very long so I do my best to take advantage of it. I figure if I try new things, I’ll meet new people, learn something about myself, and maybe find a new hobby. Last week someone asked me what my hobbies were – other than reading and writing. I had hard time answering. It was sort of sad. I thought about what I do when I have free time and it basically amounted to a lot of wasted time – browsing the internet, shopping for new bedding without actually purchasing anything, reading, thinking about writing, painting my nails, and if I’m ambitious, baking or cooking. So I’m on the hunt for a new hobby.

If you have any suggestions, please share. I really want to find something new to get excited about. I’ve tried a few things the last week. These are my observations.

Volunteering

I was required to do 36 hours of community service to graduate high school. I graduated with honors and high community service honors, which meant I completed over 150 hours of community service. Sounds very altruistic, doesn’t it? It sounds great until you hear that to get my community service hours I managed the wrestling team. For four nights a week, I sat in the gym for two hours doing homework and watching the best looking guys in the school roll around and occasionally take their shirts off. On the weekends I helped score matches where I met and flirted with wrestlers from other schools.

I know. I’m practically Mother Theresa.

I was overtired and feeling sick when I saw a posting at work for the biannual environmental stewardship initiative at Riverview Gardens, so I’m not really sure why I decided to sign up, but I did. We would have a tour of the gardens, plant for a few hours, then end the morning with a Subway lunch. Since I had nothing planned, I decided to give it a go.

The gardens are located on what used to be a country club. The club house still stands, as does the pool house next to an empty pool. The golf course is overgrown enough to make men in plaid pants weep. A non-profit was able to get the land and is now using it as a venture to involve the community and deal with the root causes of poverty and homelessness with a market garden enterprise, park space, and job training. It’s just in the beginning stages, but they have some great people involved in the program and as I saw throughout the morning, it’s all extremely well planned out.

I spent the morning planting hazelnut trees. One group planted pecan trees, and another helped make garden beds. I planted seven trees, helping with about 50 trees that morning. These trees are going to serve as the top canopy that will eventually create areas in the garden. Apparently these trees will help regulate wind damage, temperature, and even humidity for the plants on the lowest level.

I walked away feeling pretty good about myself. I was covered in dirt, and even though I was wearing gloves, had dirt all over my hands and under my fingernails. It was pretty neat to be a part of something. It’s been a while since I’ve felt I’ve contributed to something bigger than myself. When I realized that, I suddenly felt very selfish. I’ve since signed up for a volunteer orientation this Saturday afternoon.

Kickboxing

Katie and I found a Groupon a few weeks ago – $20 for 30 fitness classes. We went to our first class on Monday night. We didn’t really have any idea what the class was going to consist of. The website said the class was a cardio and strength class. It said nothing about kickboxing. When we got there, we signed a few sheets, were handed a pair of gloves and told to take the five o’clock position by our bags. One of the instructors gave us a quick view of the basic moves – jab, cross, high block, and low block. She failed to show us the kick. So when that came, the cheerleader in me decided to make a return by insisting my kicks all be high and with pointed toes. Yeah. Rapists beware, I can kick above my head with an admirable velocity. If I’m able to kick your chin, I’m certain you’ll be injured or at least lose your balance.

We were the youngest people in the class. This was both great news and terrible news. Great because we didn’t have any peers to compare ourselves with (we would inevitably be left feeling inadequate). Terrible because we were shown proof that at least a dozen middle-aged women could kick our asses and were more coordinated than the two of us combined.

I found that it was an exercise in embarrassment more than anything else. At least for the first class. But I walked away feeling pretty badass. It was a great way to relieve aggression. I don’t think that there are many socially-sanctioned ways for women to blow off steam. Men are encouraged to play sports where they can be aggressive. I don’t know a ton about sport technique, but I imagine if you’re feeling angry, you’re going to throw a ball pretty hard and far or you’re going to hit that linebacker (right?) with as much force as possible. Basically, they have outlets for the tension that builds up from daily stresses. Women are encouraged to do the domestic things – baking, cleaning, cooking, reading, writing, exercises like walking or biking. No matter how vigorously you stir that muffin batter, it’s not going to make you less pissed off at your gossipy coworkers. Of course nobody is telling women not to participate in more aggressive activities, but it’s seen as a novelty when they actually do participate in them. “Oh, that woman shoots guns on the weekends? That’s badass!”

But here….here in kickboxing class, women beat punching bags. I don’t know anybody else’s motivation for each punch, but I certainly had a few faces in mind when I was flailing my limbs in the general direction of the bag. I say flail only because my kicks were so pathetic. I landed most of my punches, though I can’t say how much damage they would have done on a person.

Spinning

I don’t get this. I love biking so I thought I would really enjoy this. But it was awkward. A dozen or so women on stationary bikes, furiously pedaling toward nothing. Though it was an underwhelming experience, it was the fastest workout I’ve ever had. Also, it was the hardest bike ride I’ve had in a long time. We simulated hills by changing gears, did a time trial in which we were told to maintain a high wattage for three minutes, did “sprints” (5-second bursts with addition of a gear – trust me, it’s harder than it sounds), and then finished with a four-minute run (pedaling with your butt off the seat). It lasted 45 minutes, but when I got off the bike, I felt like I had been there for ten minutes. It was ridiculous.

Also, I was reminded that bike seats are incredibly uncomfortable.

Drinking Sauternes & Blogging

This has been my favorite part of the week so far. A friend gave me a housewarming gift of two bottles of muscat, a 1999 sauternes, and non-Walmart wine glasses. I’ve never had a sauternes before. I’ve read about it in Jean Feraca’s memoir where she romantically described noble rot, but I was constantly aware the fact that the woman has gigantic nose, so I was distracted. Anyway, despite knowing that this wine is made from grapes covered in fungus, I love it. It is sweet and honeyed tasting, the absolute perfect way to end a day. Pretty much the definition of dessert wine. Moscato doesn’t have anything on sauternes.

I’ve been sitting outside for the last hour or so and I’m feeling quite buzzed from the single glass. This might be because I haven’t had much to eat or drink this afternoon. There’s a heat advisory and I saw this as a challenge to either go for a run or further dehydrate myself by drinking a glass of wine. Obviously I chose the latter.

I have a few more things planned this week – strength and resistance on Thursday night which I’m sure will be a cruel reminder that I am incredibly weak – yoga on Saturday, followed by a crochet lesson in the evening. I’ll report back on these and let you know if I discover a new hobby.

Just individual egos, crazy for love

June 13, 2012June 13, 2012 / Ashley / 1 Comment

So, I just got internet in my apartment. I came home after work and attempted to secure my wireless network. Then I realized I’m a silly girl who has no idea how to do such a thing. I screwed it up and then a friend told me about the reset button. So as of right now, my internet has no password. But I’m connected. That’s the cool thing.

Somebody should come over to my apartment and secure it for me so my neighbors don’t hack into all of my very sensitive files (17 drafts of my seminar piece, 9 attempts at the above shot with my webcam, russian vocabulary translations).

I have a feeling that someday I’m going to turn into the sort of person who begins every sentence with “My therapist says…” Right now, I’m too poor for that. But it’s good to have something to aspire to, right? Anyway, I realized the other day that I’m certainly my own brand of crazy. Crazy isn’t the appropriate word, but my head hurts too much to think of something else. But everybody is. We all have our weird quirks and terrible ways of dealing with things. Me? When I cry, I fold my tissue into halves. I try to prove that whole seven times thing wrong. I don’t think it’s worked. But I do my damndest. I’m a very dedicated worker. I could go more into this, but I’d rather eat ice cream for dinner and quickly change the subject.

I’ve also been reading my Norton Anthology of Short Fiction for fun. I haven’t touched it since my intro to creative writing class about ten years ago (I lied, it was only about four, but it feels like it’s been ten years), so I’ve been reading stories for what feels like the first time. I spent about $70 on the thing to read four or five stories out of it that semester. Apparently the professor had never heard of a copier. It’s become the thing I fall asleep with at night. It’s a nice giant book that feels like a bible but with way more insight into the human psyche. It’s fantastic.

Like that ditty, from Donald Barthelme’s “Me and Mrs. Mandible”. Tell me that isn’t true. I dare you.

Oh, I’m also reading Freud’s Dream Psychology Psychoanalysis for Beginners. You know, for fun. Making fun of Freud is something that will never get old. I promise you. I expect to someday talk to a therapist about things in this book.

I’ve also been self-medicating again. Large doses of Ok Go and evening jogs on the trail near my apartment. Going almost two weeks without internet forces you to get creative with your time. There is really only so much a phone and 3G can do for a girl. She’s forced to return to books and writing without blogging. It’s weird. There isn’t any immediate gratification from pressing that “publish” button. She has to write the kind stuff that requires (and deserves) revision.

If you’re feeling down or lonely, I can’t recommend Ok Go enough. I know, they’re that band you liked in high school and pretend you’re too cool for now, but seriously. You’re a robot if this video doesn’t make you smile or at the very least breathe a sigh of relief. Listening to this band will decidedly end your pity party.