New Year in February

Sooooo I haven't posted anything new because I haven't written anything new. Tragic, I know. With all of the resolutions people have been blogging about I realize I never blogged about mine, though I just like to call them goals, I feel like if I call them resolutions I won't keep them. Among the obvious and surefire goals (graduate from college, for example), I've also decided that I need to write more. I don't expect to be the next Maya Angelou, but before I die I want to publish SOMETHING and the only way to do that is to write until I've written something publishable.

I could probably even write a bit here and there at work, but alas I spend my days on monster.com, college job sites, and searching for publishing companies (to work for)... and reading all of the blogs I subscribe to, but let's not get into THAT obsession. I've come to the hard realization that I can't afford to go straight back to school. This creates a lot of new directions for me because if my path takes me down the road to becoming a professor, then there aren't really "entry level" positions I can take on in the meantime. You're either a professor or you're not. Jumping into any job in the educational field would certainly help, but that's not necessarily the only road I can go down.

I've been looking into publishing jobs hoping that I can jump into a company and do copy editing or another form of entry level editorial work and become a corporate worker bee. The more I read the more I find mistakes, or disconnects, or ways that, if tweaked, a story could be that much better. I think that if I can cultivate that, I'd like it even more than being the writer. I'd be able to work with people and read all day! Okay, so it's not THAT simple, and perhaps I won't always be reading something of interest, or even something with merit, but I'll be reading and reading and reading and that's exactly what I love.

The problem is that I was born on the wrong coast for book publishing (magazines and newspapers are, of course, a different story since there are locals and regionals everywhere). The best place for book publishing, especially for powerhouses like Penguin and Random House (which basically house almost all other, smaller and slightly less well known publishers), is New York, followed by Boston. That's quite a move. If I'm lucky I can get in with a smaller book publisher around here or get a job with any number of magazines. The economic state of this country has me a bit discouraged though, what a crap time to graduate college when there are no jobs. I'm going to Chapman's career office tomorrow to spruce up my resume and see if they can help me with a job search so fingers crossed!

Tag!

I've been tagged by Mel, which means that you all (by all I mean the 3 people who read my blog) get to read 6 oddball facts about me and thus receive a small glimpse of my quirky nature.

1. Every night, almost without fail, I have really ridiculous dreams. I can almost always pin them to conversations or events that have happened the day before. Last night I had a dream that I was in Mexico at a Nacho stand where a shirtless boy was serving me custom nachos with olives and extra fresh squeezed limes on top. The olives kept falling through the bottom of the thatched bowl. The whole dream likely stemmed from the in depth research Ryan and I did into the calorie count of a new nacho plate at Taco Bell. (ask me about the green hanger, I'll laugh so hard I cry)

2. I'm super afraid of balloons. When I was in 3rd grade I went to a birthday party and participated in a relay race. My leg of the race required me to run to the other end of the yard and sit on a balloon until it popped. Instead I did a half squat and cried hysterically... my team lost.

3. I hate having my belly button touched. Even the mental image of (or blogging about) a finger in my belly button makes me want to gag. It makes me think of umbilical cords and abortions, both of which I cannot stomach. When I have a kid I'm closing my eyes until the cord is gone, I'd feel really bad if I puked on my baby.

4. I love lists. I am so scatter-brained and they make me feel a bit sorted. I have lists for everything. Lists of things to write. Lists of authors I like. Lists of things to do. Lists of quotes. Lists of goals. Lists of qualities I want in a relationship. Lists and lists and lists, most of which are saved on my computer in a folder labeled "lists," which is quite full and might soon require a subfolder.

5. I can't stand meatloaf. I don't know that anything else needs to be said about that because, well, it's meatloaf. Yuck.

6. I don't watch TV. Unlike most people who say they don't watch TV, I REALLY don't watch TV. The closest I get is my Sex and the City dvds, which is a show I started watching while working at Conroys, well after the show was off the air. Contrary to TV, I regularly watch waaaaay too many YouTube videos. In fact, here's one of my favorites.

Eye Candy

For a solid month now the weather has been changing.  So have the leaves.  There are two trees across the street that I stare at every morning when I pull out of my driveway, excited to see the daily progress of the leaves as they change from greens to yellows to oranges to reds.  Right now they are a deep crimson color, I have three of them sitting on my kitchen table.  I snagged them yesterday on my walk.  I decided that since the semester is over and I now have a large amount of free time that didn't exist before, that I would do things like that.  You know, walk.  And cook.  Sometimes both.  

So yesterday I looked up some recipes for basil chicken in addition to trying to mimic Chipotle's cilantro and lime rice (except with brown rice... verdict: not as good).  There were, of course, things I needed from the store, because why would I harbor a stash of fresh cilantro in my fridge?  I walked across the street making my way to Albertsons, but I didn't get far at all because I realized I didn't have my camera (or a sweatshirt and it was quite chilly), so I went home and retrieved both.  There were so many moments where I would stop on my trail to capture the contrast or how the light hit a tree at just the right angle.  A green tree next to a red one, or a bare tree next to a full one.  I love snapping pictures of all this fall, I have so many from years past but they never get old to me. 

I suppose my love of fall has a lot to do with the vibrant colors.  One of the things that I thank God most for is color (some might find that trivial, but I think when He made me that He knew it would be crucial to my happiness).  Often when I see fresh fruit or a healthy flower or a loud outfit I'm reminded that color is one of the recreational aspects of existence.  What I mean is that God could have made the world cold and gray, a sweater serves its purpose of warmth just as well in charcoal as it does in turquoise.  But God didn't create the world in shades of gray, He filled it with brilliant eye candy.  The beauty that leaves embody as they change is a wonderful reminder that He loves me, which is why I love fall oh so much.

On the Heels of Discovery

The following is a photo project I did with a piece I wrote.  The idea was to take a small portion of a piece and take it outside the confines of the medium (paper).  The photos are not in order of the stanzas.  Also, please forgive the horrible photo editing, consider the cause my and iphotos combined lack of skills.

The original piece reads as follows:

I sleep in heels, crossing my legs like a lady while I dream of dark things, looking and feeling

like a lady of the night, but still a lady.

I run in heels, catching the night bus at 3am outside the club in Camden Town so that I don't have to wait in the cold looking like a lady of the night, but still a lady.

I trip in heels, falling flat on my back and sullying my new dress, showcasing my goods to the 

world like a lady of the night, but still a lady.

I cook in heels, dancing and stirring and seasoning, playing the role of a proper and contented

housewife, fantasizing about the life of a lady of the night.

There's a Theorem that Says:

There's a theorem that says:

The shortest distance between two points is a point.

At a point I am on a plane with 

wings made of feathers and

a captain who speaks in

a language I can't understand.

At another point I wake up in

a toxic cloud, surrounded

by tainted dreams where

vacuums turn to snakes and

leave me cornered on 

the bathroom counter.

At some point I am

wandering along a hikers path trying

to find whatever point

I'm looking for.

All I find are bees.

I hate bees.

I'm still confused

about which one is which.

The Dawn of a New Era...

So we all know I'm not in Kansas anymore... or London, as the case may be (mere semantics).  So I've finally decided what I'm going to do with this here blog, aside from the obvious occasional updates on pivotal moments in my life.  This includes, but is not limited to: sweet trips I intend on taking, embarrassing moments that will inevitably occur at various points in my future, and important meals I may consume (because let's not kid ourselves about the importance of food in my life).  Oh, and when, by a miracle of God, I graduate from college, you'll all hear something about that too.

I've been doing a lot of writing, as is customary for any Lit. major.  But beyond writing critically, which I'm forced to do on a far too frequent basis, I've been writing a lot more creatively; if I don't want to be poor for the rest of my life I should attempt to make something of these random and tiny bursts of creativity, so from time to time I will be posting and thus sharing them with any and all of you who may continue to read this.  

The more I write, the more I love writing.  I am learning about the process in general and specifically learning so much about my own process.  I no longer look at my writing as simply a "before" and "after" because I'm actually grasping some of what happens in between.  Lately I've been writing a lot of poetry (which is weird, because approximately 16 weeks ago I was dreading taking "Intro to Poetry" and now I love it).  Poetry has previously never been my thing, but somehow it's managed to turn into it.  That said, poetry isn't for everyone, I certainly never thought it was for me and therefore will not be hurt if you have absolutely nothing to say on the matter.  But because the people who read this are people I love so much, I thought I'd be a little vulnerable and put it out there anyway.  Happy reading!

Always with love,

Ashley

I Run Like A Girl

     Two days ago, October 19, 2008, I ran a marathon.  Simultaneously the best, worst and most painful decision I've ever made in my life.  Saturday afternoon Brittany and I flew to San Francisco (apparently it was JetBlue's first flight so we got free cake!!!).  Ryan few in shortly after us.  Nike had some awesome things going on, though I didn't want to wait for 3 hours to take advantage of any of them, so massages and pedicures were skipped in favor of our own personal pre-marathon food marathon.  We went to Italian street and had some pasta, then I ate Ryan's pasta, then we somehow got free tiramisu, then we went to this really delicious pizza place (3 bites in we were all feeling mighty sick), then I wanted gelato... let's just say that between the two marathons I completed this weekend that my body pretty much hates me.

     6am Sunday, dark and early, we got up, I ate the random pickings I could find (luna gummies, an apple, water) and jumped in the crowd of 20,000 runners clustered in Union Square.  Being that this was the Nike Women's Marathon, there was a LOT of estrogen (just over 1,000 men and that was it!).  The first 2/3 of the run can be described as a LOT of eating, surprised?  About every 2 miles there were food stations, orange slices, bananas, luna bars, more really gross gummies that I couldn't pass up, and I'm pretty sure I stole some pretzels from some random people along the way.  At the (very obvious) split between half and full marathon runners I seriously contemplated unofficially switching.  It was a good thing that I didn't because, though I couldn't see them, Ryan and Brittany could see me and probably would have jumped on the track and turned me back around.  

     Around mile 17 I hit my first wall (yeah, there was more than one) where I started mumbling profanities and talking to myself.  Around mile 21 I thought I was going to die, but I figured if I ran just one more mile than I could walk the last 4.  Approaching mile 22 I saw a giant sign that said, "Ghirardelli mile," which basically meant that I was handed the most delicious piece of chocolate I've ever eaten, and could thus stop running to eat it (Caramelized almond, if you must know).  I walked that whole mile, realized that it was still possible for me to MAYBE hit my goal of 4:30 and so I ran... all the while wondering if I might involuntarily break into sobs or vomit, or both.  Luckily I never actually cramped up to the point of incapacitating myself, which was nice, I crossed the finish line when the official clock read 4:36, but had yet to figure out my official time since I'd crossed the starting line after the clock had started running, I just didn't know how long after.

     At the finish line there were "hot firefighters in tuxedos" with little blue boxes on silver platters.  These little boxes held my Tiffany's necklace that I received for finishing the race.  I say "hot firefighters in tuxedos" in quotes because, though I'd read about and was excited for this before the race, I took no notice of them and basically headed straight for the bagel table.  By the time Brittany and Ryan got to me I had most of the chocolate chip bagel in (or around) my mouth, a jamba juice in the other hand, and was attempting, unsuccessfully, to pick up a bowl of granola.  

     I'm fairly certain that after such physical exertion that your body goes into a panicky survival mode, I think for about the first half hour post race that I was pretty out of it.  We basically went home to shower, got food, napped for 4 hours (being a spectator is hard work... just ask my two fans), went out and ate again, and then slept until morning.  It was amazing.  I found out that my official finishing time was 4:29:58, which means I hit my goal!  Now as I start day two my walk is reduced to a waddle, and likely will be for a while.  Though this post might, to some, sound like one big complaint, I really am SO happy that I did it, as I slowly regain mental capacity I'm more and more proud of myself for finishing the thing, overlooking the pain it is such an awesome feeling.  I don't know that I'll ever run a marathon again by myself, but it would definitely be fun to do with someone and apparently I was so encouraging (not) about the process that Ryan might entertain the notion... we shall see!

So this is me pointing to my name on the wall, I'm ALMOST tall enough to reach it!
Me crossing the finish line in the gray, don't I look happy?
And me after the race... eating.