serenity.simplicity.passion.beauty.life

Finding l.u.x.u.r.y in the little things (and smirking at all the r.e.s.t)

Tuesday, October 31, 2006

"Life is full of beauty. Notice it. Notice the bumble bee, the small child, and the smiling faces. Smell the rain and feel the wind. Live your life to the fullest potential, and fight for your dreams."

I tell you, sometimes you really have to do those things in order to sit (sanely) through rush hour traffic. The more I think about it, doesn't it seem quite absurd to have the entire working world on the roadways at the same exact time? Why yes, I think it does. Although I admittedly do not have a proposed solution. But any of you who are part of the evil 9-5 task force know that rush hour traffic is one of those things that, even though you know exactly what to expect, you still become a tad frustrated each and every day. At least I do. There I am, hands gripping good old ten and two (and I mean gripping), trying my best to summon some type of teleporting abilities as I stare down the bumper of the vehicle directly infront of me. Jesus christ, get your ass moving! Step on it, lady! Let's go, let's go, let's go! ...ahhhh fuck. And then I regain consciousness and begin to tell myself: It's ok, Ashley. You're not going to make anyone move any faster. You are not going to get there any faster, either. The sooner you accept this, the sooner you can just relax and enjoy the salsa music that Rumbaaaa ciento cuatro punto cinco is now playing. (Breatheeee.) That's right..... ahhhh.......... fuckin A! God damn school zones! 15 miles per hour my ass! (Breathe, Ashley) Jesus H. Christ. And that's pretty much how the dialogue in my head pratters on during the entire 40 minute car ride to work. I really need to do something about that. Believe me, I've tried to notice the bumble bees, but it just happens to be that the weather is SHIT right now. I look out the window and my eyes get served with a dose of dried up, dead leaves poking through the small circle of window that my defroster has so kindly produced. Oh, 9-5's.

As miserable as that may sound, I'm actually in a rather cheery mood this morning. I think it has something to do with the Halloween candy that is awaiting me in my desk drawer. I'm going to try to hold out as long as I can, but I know it will get the best of me eventually. I mean, who can resist almond joys or Reese's peanut butter cups? I think I deserve some comfort food after that ridiculous ride through traffic. Great, that's not counterproductive to my weight loss goals or anything.

...to all of you fellow 9-5ers... try to notice the beauty in this world today. Whether that be your new fall sweater, the coffee that your boss has so kindly brought in, block number 23 on your November calendar, marking Thanksgiving, or even just the pretty font on your business card.

I will try to do the same. Happy Halloween!


Monday, October 30, 2006




"If you wait to do everything until you're sure it's right, then you'll probably never do much of anything."


From the corner of my eye, I saw him peering over at me, at first very inconspicously and then a bit less inconspicously. I kept my head down as my eyes darted back and forth, breezing through paragraph after paragraph without interruption. Except, of course, the knowledge that the dark haired stranger in seat number 23C couldn't take his eyes off of me. Naturally, I was at ease lounging comfortably in my usual window seat. I've just about perfected the exact angle necessary between seat and head, as to avoid excruciating neck pain lasting for days following a flight. This particular afternoon I was flying Delta; I've had my fair share of different airlines, and I can honestly say this one wasn't too bad. The blue seats were solid royal blue, which I was quite impressed with because a solid royal blue, no matter how corny, is inevitably better than the chinsy party print I've seen in some. That explosion of hot pink, yellow and green zig zags, triangles and polka dots is enough to make anyone burst into a sudden seizure.

I was on my return trip from San Diego, California. And anyone who is even remotely intelligent (or even on morphine, for that matter) knows that Pennsylvania, where I live, and California are rather far apart. Thousands of miles far apart. Which is why I decided to bridge the gap and go for the weekend. Yes, just the weekend.

Half days on Fridays are amazing. I left at noon and was at the airport by three--hours in advance for my 5:55pm domestic flight. That was OK, though, because I wasn't going to be anybody's fool; it was Friday after all...soooo I did what any other 22 year old in an airport with time to kill would do--The Beer Garden!

The trip turned out to be fantastic (all one and a half days of it). I saw some sights and, more importantly, laid out on the beach all day Saturday. It was sickingly obvious how much I did not fit into San Diego. Everyone who I've ever met from California used to emphatically tell me: "You BELONG in San Diego, Ashley! You would love it there!" However, judging from the 60 year olds rollerblading by in their bikinis, who had some of the nicest bodies I've ever even SEEN... I think not. I am, and will forever be, Domino's biggest fan. (Has anyone tried their new brownies yet?! Ambirge and Ambirge give it two thumbs up) I am, and will forever have, ice cream cravings. (That I vehenemtly refuse to deny) I am, and will forever probably be, a size six instead of a two. (Which is OK with me) And therefore, I am not, and will forever probably not be, a San Diegan.



Anyway, getting back to the dark haired creepy guy who wasn't creepy at first, but rather cute. He reminded me so much of my friend Juan Carlos in Costa Rica. They could have been brothers. I actually stared at him too for a minute just to make sure. Wouldn't you know I had to go and start flirting; I couldn't resist! Next thing you know, I have ordered some wine (which always comes in a bottle) and oh-so-conveniently couldn't seem to unscrew the cap. Enter dark-haired almost cute but actually creepy guy. An oh-so-polite request turned into a 30 minute long psychotherapy session--him badgering me with the grimy (and uninteresting) details of his long distance relationship (again, Pennsylvania to California is quite a stretch, even for the most devoted of lovers) and me wondering what the hell I got myself into. I almost laughed out loud when he told me he met her through a phone dating service. As soon as I heard that, I instinctively knew. Creepy, not cutie.
So then we played ring around the rosie; he kept trying to talk to me, and I kept trying to give him the hint. I know you know what I mean when I say "the hint." We've all tried to give the hint to someone, and we've all met that special someone that just doesn't get "the hint." Nonverbals are essential elements necessary for an effective hinting...but sometimes that isn't even enough for our special someone. I mean, do they honestly think they should dive into yet another tanget when you haven't even made solid eye contact with them for the last five minutes straight? Do they think that those short, curt, unenthused "mhmms" and "uh huhs" are actually code for "You're so fascinating it just takes my breath away and I can barely utter a sentence?" No. That's not it. You, sir, are nonverbally challenged.
...another one bites the dust...

Saturday, October 14, 2006

So, the fact that the travel section is the first thing I see when I open the Inquirer this morning (Saturday, not Sunday, which has always sort of subtly baffled me. Why is it called the Sunday paper if it comes on Saturday?) must be a sign. I just now recognize that I really enjoy newspapers- it is a simple thing in life that we should really enjoy. Right now, life is good. It is early Saturday morning. The sun is shining down on top of the red, yellow and green leaves outside of my window, illuminating the true beauty of the fall season. It is chilly outside, but there is a certain crispness in the air that makes it OK. Almost pleasurable. I am in my living room, curled up with a warm blanket on top of me, sipping my Folgers (which, admittedly, is a little on the bitter side this morning, but I'm dealing). I just threw a load of laundry in out of obligation to "life," but am really enjoying being alone right now...taking in the scenery around me. I feel like maybe there should be a hay bale somewhere to complete the look. Newspapers and colorful leaves... I think those things fall into every category of the above in my blog. It is serene for the feelings that it evokes of peace...it is simple because, well, they are things we often go through life and take for granted. There is passion because, obviously, the newspaper has the travel section! There is beauty through the art of it all...and it is just simply a part of our daily lives. I love the leaves! I love the fall weather! I loooooooooooooooooooove black and white printed pages!!! I'm in love with life, this beautiful morning!
(Oh, and I guess I COULD mention that I hung out with Bam and Bam's cousin last night at a bar in West Chester. The cousin wants me to come to a party tonight, but ...ehh... not so sure. I wasn't all that impressed. Leaves are much more interesting to bother writing about!)

Tuesday, October 10, 2006

"Make your choice, adventurous stranger
strike the bell and bide the danger
or wonder, til it drives you mad,
what would have happened if you had."


I suppose you could say, this quote is a tribute to the passion part of this blog...
I'm so passionate about travel; so much that I see a plane outside and begin to daydream about to where it may be going.

I often feel imprisioned. I wonder what happened to the adventurous stranger inside of me... actually, I know it IS me, but it scares me to think that the corporate world may drive her away... I look at old pictures of myself in Costa Rica...England...and feel like that is another person. I long to be her. With her carefree demeanor, quick with a broad, warm smile for anyone who looks her way. With her zest for life, and even more for fun. And then I have to remind myself: I AM her. But why don't I feel like her?

As much as I really enjoy my job and the people I work with, I wonder if I started out of guilt. So I wonder: is doing things out of guilt good in order to make us productive...or, perhaps does it make us slaves to ourselves?

I guess you could say I'm not the most practical of persons. When I ponder the whole 9-5 bit, it seems like the vast majority of my advice-giving gang say: "Welcome to the real world, kid." And my first immediate thought is: "This isn't going to be my reality, sweetheart." And it's not going to be. I know it. But what it furthermore causes me to question, inevitably, is...why does everyone simply accept the world as it is presented to them? Why CAN'T I, for example, open my own wellness retreat spa on some remote beach in South America? Why CAN'T I take flying lessons. (which, excitably enough, AM!) Why CAN'T I be a pilot, if I do so please. Money shouldn't be an issue; I certainly don't have enough of it, that's for sure. But isn't that why they have loans? Loans, to me, equal opportunity. Why don't more people embrace their "I wish I coulds" and turn them into "I'm so thankful I dids?"

Monday, October 09, 2006

So, I never had any major qualms with this whole idea of blogging. Seems therapeutic, a great way to practice writing, make some conversation in this world, and well...isn't it the trendy thing to do these days? Yet beyond that, I think I just had to start one for the simple reason that... it is called a "blog!" Like, what a comical name. Blooooog. Blog. Bbbbbblog. Bloggggggggg. Anyway you put it, it's a fantastically ridiculous word. Much worse than fog, bog and even smog. So, who came up with it? Obviously it didn't originate from Old English, considering computers and the internet and B-L-O-G-S never existed then. So clearly, the term has to have been coined somewhat recently. And by whom, I ask? Who had this honor? Who am I currently mocking? (Just a little, though. After all, if I was the originator of ANY word--be it blog, wart, anus, hippopotomus or any other incredibly unsexy words--yeah, I would brag. I guess that's something one would brag about, right?)
Whoever is currently reading this is undoubtably thinking: "Is this stupid girl who, in her profile interests, claims to like friggin' kitten heels for christ's sake...really wasting her time writing about the word blog?" Yeah...that's right. Kitten heels. I said it.
But even if I do not happen to know off the top of my little brunette head the linguistic origin of the word blog, I DO understand its purpose. And with that purpose in mind, I think I'll have a grand time debating with myself, via my own words, lots of silly things like that. Yay. Finally, somewhere to tangibilize (is that a real word?) my own quirky thoughts as they spin around in my mind. But let's not get into the good old 9-5 schedule, because I will involuntarily begin to vomit. Violently.
And with that, as the British say: Cheers!

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