tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3765294415617228842024-02-21T05:55:31.521-05:00... but she plays one on TVAshley, Brooklyn Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05529862964617925293noreply@blogger.comBlogger127125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-376529441561722884.post-19421862264552651672011-02-18T14:16:00.003-05:002011-02-18T14:18:42.102-05:00Retired.Life is, well, let's just say different. So, new blog!<br /><br /><a href="http://queensboybrooklyngirl.blogspot.com/">QueensBoyBrooklynGirl.blogspot.com</a><br /><br />Goodbye, PlaysOne. Be well.Ashley, Brooklyn Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05529862964617925293noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-376529441561722884.post-70040996005605590142010-10-27T13:48:00.004-04:002010-10-27T13:57:54.350-04:00Soundtrack Edition (7)Been awhile, eh? In the meantime, here's a idea of "life" right now... And if you're not already listening to B&S, you clearly should be.<br /><br />(Track 7) Belle & Sebastian, "I Want the World to Stop"<br /><br /><object width="450" height="278"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/snailu0RnLg?fs=1&hl=en_US&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/snailu0RnLg?fs=1&hl=en_US&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="450" height="278"></embed></object>Ashley, Brooklyn Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05529862964617925293noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-376529441561722884.post-5190132830900161442010-09-20T06:34:00.002-04:002010-09-20T06:52:46.792-04:00Here comes the sunLast week, one of my closest friends in New York abandoned me. Can you believe that? He just up and moved to that <span style="font-style:italic;">other</span> coast. Freaking Los Angeles! Except that he's going to do something amazing -- something that a lot of people, especially here, and especially me -- can only fantasize about. Yes, that's right, he's off to Hollywood to make porn.<br /><br />Kidding.<br /><br />Really.<br /><br />He left me to write. He's going to be incredible. He IS incredible.<br /><br />But enough about him. This blog is about ME, remember?<br /><br />At his second going away party (dude knows how to make an exit), I met one of his college roommates for the first time. This guy had just flown into NY because his play is about to be produced. His. Play. Produced. Incredible. We got to talking about writing and the writer's struggle to make time to do what you love to do while still working 100 hours a week in a job that can actually pay your rent. Or close enough.<br /><br />Early in the conversation he asked me what time I wake up in the morning. A complicated question for me because, well, it varies wildly. But without going into my running schedule, or my work schedule, or lack thereof, I said eight. He replied, "get up at five." I pretended not to really hear him. But then he made his case. And it was similar advice to what the books and the blogs and lions, tigers and bears suggest - you just have to train yourself to make the time. But, unlike the books, etc. this guy had literally just flown in because rehearsals were starting on HIS play the next day. So he did it. Why would I not take the sage advice of someone sitting in front of me saying <span style="font-style:italic;">this is what you have to do to do what you want</span>.<br /><br />I woke up at 5am this morning. I had my alarm set for six, except that I wasn't really sleeping much anyway -- too nervous that on my first day of doing this I would crap out. So I showered, ate a delicious bagel, and have been sitting here staring at my computer for at least the last hour. Daylight is beginning to fill the living room window. I accomplished this blog post. Which, well, is something. Rome wasn't built in a day, you know. And my writing is equal to or greater than that of Roman scholars. I mean, <span style="font-style:italic;">obviously</span>. Have you not read this always-riveting blog?Ashley, Brooklyn Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05529862964617925293noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-376529441561722884.post-87594922936108580862010-09-10T14:32:00.003-04:002010-09-10T15:36:24.840-04:00So I hear you're depressed...?One of the really great things about the internet is that it lends itself to a very open exchange of one's feelings. A subject that I would write about in my journal when I was fifteen, I now have the option of allowing others to read those thoughts via a blog. Sharing my journal with someone at fifteen would have been taboo. Now it's what people do, and I love that. And if I'm not comfortable enough with someone reading it, I won't write it. At least not here. <br /><br />Obviously, I've written quite a bit about my episodes with depression, and I'm grateful to have had a place to go to feel heard when I needed to. But sometimes I don't want to be heard. Sometimes I want to disappear into the background. Sometimes I even want to jump off the Brooklyn Bridge. As someone who has experience long and short episodes of deep depression, I know my triggers and can now recognize them before they take me out back and beat me over the head with a blunt object. Oh, and they can hit like a sonsofbitches.<br /><br />BUT! Today my therapist gave me a nice piece of advice to combat one bad day's feelings before they become a monster.. Write down the things that you like about your life/job/relationship etc. on an index card and put it in your wallet/desk/etc. Then look at it when you're feeling less than good. Simple. Love.Ashley, Brooklyn Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05529862964617925293noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-376529441561722884.post-2419979611114414302010-09-05T17:27:00.002-04:002010-09-05T17:30:37.230-04:00SnapshotA brief insight into my only interests, as evidenced by my purchases yesterday at the Housing Works used bookstore:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8gaBjG8Wsm7A7dU-Bb4h9kyD-huY42zbOk2EoION5UTDTOpmFBLKHJt5bP6Fs0H01A4nQaiCrDqlN-u72eHntmf-XejNiq2NPpa6MOgrX1gzgFYRB3vtYztE1yHXE6g5m8k00MrubjRQ/s1600/23356195247_ORIG.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8gaBjG8Wsm7A7dU-Bb4h9kyD-huY42zbOk2EoION5UTDTOpmFBLKHJt5bP6Fs0H01A4nQaiCrDqlN-u72eHntmf-XejNiq2NPpa6MOgrX1gzgFYRB3vtYztE1yHXE6g5m8k00MrubjRQ/s320/23356195247_ORIG.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5513544760115487314" /></a>Ashley, Brooklyn Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05529862964617925293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-376529441561722884.post-72693430441232621272010-08-20T11:48:00.002-04:002010-08-20T12:15:36.692-04:00Is it a girlcott for me?Rachel was the first one to inform me of the <a href="http://www.cbsnews.com/8301-503544_162-20011983-503544.html">anti-gay scandal of misappropriated Target funds and the subsequent boycott</a>. I'm not exactly sure how it flew under the radar for me, as I generally pride myself on being pretty well informed. In a strange way, my reaction to this news was visceral. A store that I love, that I respect, has, in essence, betrayed me. <br /><br />I actually have a deep love for Target. It has, for a very long time, been one of my favorite stores. Not just for their low prices and quality. Target has often been a safe-haven of shopping for me. Over the last several years, when I was feeling especially down, I often found myself there for the bright lights, human contact and discounted make-up. I always spend an inordinate amount of money there, but I am rarely remorseful. From what I knew, Target treated their employees well and still managed to remain very competitively priced. And sometimes you just don't want to spend $9 on hand soap. Target always had a fairly nice representation of eco-friendly products, and that was just more for me to love.<br /><br />Once before, I had a similar reaction to a brand I enjoyed utilizing their resources to "invest" in something I disapproved of -- Snapple. I used to drink Snapple Apple like it was my job. And not just any job, but a job that I <span style="font-style:italic;">enjoyed</span>. Then, a few years ago, my then-boyfriend's mother told me that the upper management at the company supported the anti-abortionist movement. And I was done. I had one last ceremonial Snapple Apple, and said goodbye.<br /><br />I fully believe in individuals supporting - with their time or funds - a cause that they find worthwhile. I accept that sometimes those are not the same causes that I find worthwhile. Not everyone is an Earth-hugging, bleeding heart lefty. I mean, sometimes I don't know <span style="font-style:italic;">why</span> they're not, but they aren't. But in the cases of Snapple and Target, at least for me, I cannot support those efforts when they so strongly disagree with my own opinions. I am in love with and live with someone of the same sex. I support gay marriage, even if I'm not actively pursuing it for myself. But I also support all marriage. I've never had an abortion, but I strongly believe in a woman's right to choose. If I had a car, I would also not purchase gas from BP. It's my choice to do so, just as its the company's choice to support platforms that I find appalling. <br /><br />I feel hurt by the decision of Target's masterminds to contribute to a campaign that is so outwardly anti-gay. I wish I could overlook it, especially since I do love the store, but I can't. <br /><br />I'll be accepting suggestions on new places to shop for hand soap that costs less than $9.Ashley, Brooklyn Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05529862964617925293noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-376529441561722884.post-624340847765015272010-08-18T12:03:00.002-04:002010-08-18T12:11:10.464-04:00Older is so much betterIve mentioned to a few friends lately that I am anxious to turn 29 in a few months. I've often gotten a puzzled look. Yes, 29, not 30. I am so ready for 30. Bring 30 on with a big ol' party and lots of cake and champagne. Twenty-nine, less so.<br /><br />The anxiety that I feel about 29 is a lot like the anxiety I felt at 17 and 20. Something big is coming, but you still have a whole year to wait out. I'd rather just be there already. Perhaps, in some way, because most of my friends have already hit it and I'm one of the younger ones. I'm envious. I don't like lagging behind. Why didn't my parents just have sex just a year earlier? I mean, really, they clearly weren't thinking about me then. How their only child would one day feel ready to turn the big 3-0 but still have a year and four months to go. Rude.Ashley, Brooklyn Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05529862964617925293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-376529441561722884.post-88799797125889963862010-07-22T17:54:00.001-04:002010-07-22T17:56:38.426-04:00Overheard in NYOverheard today at Starbucks: "So I just don't wanna talk about any of this money financial shit today, okay?"<br /><br />Random Dude, I hear ya.Ashley, Brooklyn Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05529862964617925293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-376529441561722884.post-53940242470649678822010-07-21T22:58:00.002-04:002010-07-21T23:12:50.532-04:00Oh, the places you'll go!I've been freelancing/writing full-time (er, unemployed?) for about six weeks now, and I've more traveling since than I think I ever have. No place to be at 9am?! I can go to IKEA! Or get a delicious bagel across the street! See the sights! Like, you know, Court Street! Jog along the promenade! Look at me, I work from home!<br /><br />Much to my mother's delight, I also went "home" to Pennsylvania for a week and a half. The last time I was home for that long? My junior year of college. Really. It felt a little strange to plan the trip, knowing that only a few weeks before I thought I would be moving back there for good. I looked for jobs and apartments and contemplated which local bank I would use, and how far I could feasible be from a Sheetz. But my life is a little wackadoo sometimes and that didn't happen the way I thought it would. Because, ya know, I was going to be a real WRITER and make it here in New York, finally.<br /><br />Ahem.<br /><br />Hershey and the surrounding area is never the same as I left them. When my hometown got its own Dairy Queen, I was like, WHOA. This time I came back and heard about a WEGMANS. I was concerned... that I'd died and gone to HEAVEN! I didn't get to visit the Wegmans, but it was reassuring to know that it was there. <br /><br />Next week I will venture even further and travel to Florida via one of those airplane things I've heard so much about. I hear it's sunny there. And there's more air conditioning! Weeee!Ashley, Brooklyn Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05529862964617925293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-376529441561722884.post-46448695517253717362010-07-15T23:10:00.005-04:002010-07-15T23:25:23.111-04:00Life in the time of air conditioningMy "new life," as I like to call it, improved significantly when we had a professional install our industrial-sized air conditioner last Friday. It's 15,000 BTUs of goodness. And I didn't even have to <a href="http://playsoneontv.blogspot.com/2008_06_01_archive.html">fake a pregnancy</a> to get it. One of the nights last week when it was 976 degrees at 10pm, Rachel and I were talking about how our grandparents didn't have air conditioners and they just toughed it out. They sweat and were miserable bitches to one another. That's the way things were. My grandparents were better people than me, obviously, because I was freaking hot. <br /><br />This week has been nothing but humidity-free bliss when indoors. I occasionally venture outside, though. To do silly things like run. I took up running. Yes, me. "My middle name is 'exercise is stupid.'" Yep.<br /><br />I run on the promenade, two blocks from the new apartment. It's pretty. I see the Brooklyn Bridge. I try desperately not to compare myself to the scads of late upper middle class thirty-something mothers running with their strollers. They have hot bods, and my goal to look like Kim Kardashian seems eons away. Each morning that I run, there's a contingency of elderly Asian women walking and stretching alongside me. I do my best to keep up with them. It's challenging enough for now.<br /><br />Then I come inside to the air conditioning, collapse on the floor in front of it, and all is right with the world again.Ashley, Brooklyn Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05529862964617925293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-376529441561722884.post-57851100282573912162010-07-03T22:13:00.003-04:002010-07-03T22:23:05.571-04:00Soundtrack Edition (5, 6)One of my all-time favorites... Morrissey, you are my idol.<br /><br />(Track 5) The Smiths, "This Charming Man"<br /><br /><object width="500" height="405"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/F3hSDODDNs4&hl=en_US&fs=1?rel=0&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999&border=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/F3hSDODDNs4&hl=en_US&fs=1?rel=0&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="500" height="405"></embed></object><br /><br /><br />And this, too, because it was just freaking ridic!<br /><br />(Track 6) Alex Wong and Twitch Hip Hop, So You Think You Can Dance<br /><br /><object width="500" height="405"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/DNH34Q7BB44&hl=en_US&fs=1?rel=0&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999&border=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/DNH34Q7BB44&hl=en_US&fs=1?rel=0&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="500" height="405"></embed></object>Ashley, Brooklyn Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05529862964617925293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-376529441561722884.post-38727779085767511602010-06-30T21:37:00.000-04:002010-06-30T21:40:49.312-04:00FamiliarRecently in therapy I recognized a pattern in my behavior - - every three or four years, I basically uproot my life and start again. Chaos ensues. Three years after college ended, I left my boyfriend, moved out of our apartment and quit my job. Then I started dating women. ANOTHER three years later (also known as last month), I quit my job, decided to freelance and "make a go of it" as a writer. Of note, also, I moved again (with little" although some, of the same drama and gravitas of the last time).<br /><br />It’s no wonder to me that I prefer the smaller aspects of my life to remain familiar and comfortable. Although I attempt to keep up with current music and TV, etc. my favorite band will likely always be The New Pornographers and favorite series to be Buffy. Other things come and go, but I have a few constants. Addiction to coffee. Gap jeans. A slight Dutch accent when I say "radiator."<br /><br />Today I spent the day in Philadelphia with one of my closest friends from college. We've kept in touch over the six years since we sat together at Newhouse graduation, but have yet to end up back in the same city.<br /><br />We planned my visit the last time he was in New York - a fun cheesesteak-filled date in the city of Brotherly Love. Today we connected as well, if not better than we had in college. We ate, drank and laughed about the acronym for his family's restaurant being HOBAG. We talked about careers and marriage and families because that’s what old friends so when they're rapidly approaching 30.<br /><br />He wooed me with Philly's best coffee and cupcakes. He knows me. I know him. I realized this August we will have been friends for ten years. I love sharing that longevity and familiarity with someone. If I’m not knocked up by 35, he's my guy.Ashley, Brooklyn Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05529862964617925293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-376529441561722884.post-34192796930339830492010-06-26T17:01:00.003-04:002010-06-26T19:39:39.423-04:00Making up is hard to doMy brother and I got into kind of a big fight. We didn't speak for a week. A week. That's the longest my brother and I have ever gone without speaking. We're freakishly close. <br /><br />It all started because I had a tad bit of an overreaction. For several weeks now, I've been planning a trip back home for a week - my longest in quite some time. Last week, my brother informed me that while I would be in town - the entire time I would be in town - he'd be helping a coworker's daughter's best friend's sister (or something) move across the country to California. He'd be gone nine days, and I'd be home for five. No overlap.<br /><br />More than angry, I was disappointed, although I didn't express it that way. So, he got huffy, I got huffy. Some Yeiser blood a-raging. Then, THEN! my brother came to town for one night for a Yankees-Phillies game last week. The game was a gift to him from his best friend (a Yankees fan who grew up just an hour from Philadelphia... traitor), so I only expected to see the boys for dinner and then they'd be off to the game drinking illegal brewskis and yelling at pitchers. Except we didn't get a chance to have dinner. I saw them for no more than ten minutes. Again, disappointing.<br /><br />My brother called after the game to ask me to meet up with them before their bus. I was already in bed, reading. There was a misunderstanding - a gigantic one - and a continuation of the previous knock-down drag-out brawl ensued via text that night and the following morning.<br /><br />Then we didn't speak. For a week.<br /><br />After the full week had gone by, I text-raised the white flag, "so, can we be done with this whole not talking thing?" He said okay, and then we were. <br /><br />Fighting with my brother is especially difficult for me because I am extremely protective over the kid. And by the kid, I mean the almost 21-year-old who could totally kick my ass in a minute flat. But he's my little brother. I used to watch Barney and Power Rangers with him, so I deserve some cred for being a superior sis. <br /><br />At least we're good now.Ashley, Brooklyn Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05529862964617925293noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-376529441561722884.post-11720656748535636032010-06-07T16:29:00.001-04:002010-06-07T16:31:13.233-04:00Soundtrack Edition (4)Kickin' it old school to say goodbye to Bender.<br /><br />(Track 4) Boyz II Men, "End of the Road"<br /><br /><object width="500" height="405"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/zDKO6XYXioc&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999&border=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/zDKO6XYXioc&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="500" height="405"></embed></object>Ashley, Brooklyn Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05529862964617925293noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-376529441561722884.post-34335396062779534982010-05-28T15:28:00.004-04:002010-05-28T15:46:45.294-04:00Two weeksMy last day at my office is officially June 9th. June 9th is less than two weeks away. That's, like, really soon. <br /><br />I've worked some crazy hours in this place. It's caused me migraines. And anxiety attacks. I've been the bitchy one and the funny one. I've had outbursts and have sobbed quietly in the bathroom. <br /><br />For all intents and purposes, this was my second job out of college. The third on my resume, but my second real career experience. I had no idea how a PR firm functioned when I started here. I got a job as an "Account Executive," and honestly didn't know what I would be doing day-to-day. I just knew that I was ready to leave my previous job, after much angst. Being 28 and only having had two real jobs feels a little strange. Like I missed something. <br /><br />As my last day gets closer, I'm having a hard time imagining how the office will be without me. I know that sounds completely narcissistic, and it is. But the office will be a little different without me. I will be a little different without it. My thoughts are still coming together on this whole leaving thing.<br /><br />Someone else is going to have to cut the ice cream cakes in the conference room. I wonder if my boss will re-hire me as a freelance cake-cutter?Ashley, Brooklyn Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05529862964617925293noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-376529441561722884.post-34646730677108710472010-05-25T17:44:00.003-04:002010-05-25T18:11:48.779-04:00I believe in duct tape, too, Miles...I will be vacating <a href="http://playsoneontv.blogspot.com/2010/03/apartment-rant-476.html">the death trap of an apartment</a> in a mere three weeks. I can hardly believe I made it a year. Nothing worked for most of that time. For instance, here's <a href="http://twitpic.com/lwcwi">my father</a> fixing the wall when it started to crumble because I hung a curtain rod. A curtain rod was too heavy for a load-bearing wall. I strongly suspect that the place is largely held together by tape. <br /><br />Problems with the building from memory. I am probably blocking things out...<br />1. lack of hot water in showers<br />2. balconies leaked into apartments below causing water damage<br />3. broken intercom (for nine months)<br />4. heat routinely needing to be "rebooted"<br />5. warped floors (likely a symptom of #2)<br />6. management company neglects to pay ConEd bill for common areas of building<br />7. cracking walls<br />8. terribly insulated windows / walls<br />10. overall contempt for everyone associated with the building<br /><br />Over the past week, at least two of our neighbors have moved out on our floor. And, from the looks of it so far, there are no new tenants. Perhaps the management company wasn't able to get three times the market value on our crappy ass apartments like they originally thought. <br /><br />My new brick-and-mortar apartment, however, can be vouched for. It's actually a historical building, constructed in the 1800-something-or-others. I'd have to look on the sign on the outside of the building.Ashley, Brooklyn Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05529862964617925293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-376529441561722884.post-90107521374978901982010-05-22T17:07:00.001-04:002010-05-22T17:07:51.323-04:00Soundtrack Edition (3)(Track 3) Mates of State, "Like U Crazy"<br /><br /><object width="500" height="405"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/CyklQsElw6s&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999&border=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/CyklQsElw6s&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="500" height="405"></embed></object>Ashley, Brooklyn Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05529862964617925293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-376529441561722884.post-46053959780632158152010-05-21T16:46:00.003-04:002010-05-21T17:09:35.311-04:00I quit. And other life-changing things I've done lately.Hey, guess what? <span style="font-style:italic;">I quit my job!</span><br /><br />Now that that's out of the way...<br /><br />I've been wanting to blog about my decision to leave my job basically since I decided to leave my job. A few weeks ago I walked into my boss' office, told him that I was thinking about moving, and that I would be leaving the company. And just like that I quit my job. In reality, it was quite possibly the least dramatic scene I played out in my head. My boss was supportive, albeit sad to be losing such a stellar employee. Naturally. And I'm sad, too. I've been at my agency for nearly three and a half years, and some of the people I've met here are very high on my favorite people ever list. My work isn't always pleasant - I interact with a lot of crazy people - but the people here are incredible. They're energetic and entertaining and engaging. I'd take a bullet for most of them. <br /><br />There was no storming out in a tizzy. I had a rational conversation which resulted in my resignation. It was surprisingly easy. In the meantime, though, I'm working just as hard as I ever did here. I care about the people I'm leaving behind, so I want to leave my position in the best possible condition for them. <br /><br />When the announcement was made in a staff meeting, a number of people asked where I was going. I'm not going anywhere (at least not yet). I've decided to take the summer and write. I hope people will pay me for it, but I don't know if they will. I don't know much right now, and I am anxious much of the time. In my head there are lovely visions of me getting up in the morning at a reasonable hour, walking to the YMCA for a swim, and then taking my laptop to the promenade to edit my novel and work on freelance projects to pay the bills. There's also a part where I watch Lost from beginning to end again. It's really very pleasant there in my head. I'm leaving reality for it.<br /><br />What will happen? What will become of me? I see a Starbucks apron in my future. Which, honestly, is totally cool with me for the time being. I'm going through my pre-30th birthday change of life, and I will drink a lot of coffee while figuring out my next move. It may be across the country (what's up, Portland?), or down the street. <br /><br />As an exceptionally anxious person, though, these last few weeks have been an extraordinarily difficult exercise in making a decision, and more importantly, making peace with it. If it turns out that this is a big fat life fail, then at least I know. I have plenty of blankets that I can cover my head and hide under.Ashley, Brooklyn Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05529862964617925293noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-376529441561722884.post-25463201739903113812010-05-17T18:23:00.002-04:002010-05-17T18:34:52.324-04:00Keep the car runningAcross the street and about a half-block down from my apartment there is a 24-hour tire shop. As one might imagine, it's a bit noisy. It doesn't help that my apartment has floor to ceiling windows that are about as thick as a sheet of paper. Often, if a truck is passing by on 4th Avenue, it sounds as though its actually coming through my bedroom. On Saturday I was talking to my mother on the phone when 12-or-something- or other-wheeler went past the building, and my mom asked "where the hell ARE YOU?" She thought maybe I was hanging out on the freeway. Nope, I'm in my bedroom SIX FLOORS UP. And it still sounds like I'm standing in traffic.<br /><br />I'm not even sure why Park Slope needs a 24-hour tire shop. Yes, people have cars -- cars are everywhere even though I'm pretty sure 85% of them aren't actually needed for anything. If you need baby formula in the middle of the night there's a bodega open somewhere within a few block radius. That's one of the great things about New York, of course. Get your Ben & Jerry's and lottery scratch-off fix anytime, anywhere.<br /><br />The shop is just tires, too. If you're in the neighborhood at 3am on a Tuesday morning and feel the urge to buy yourself some snow tires? Come on down to 4th Avenue. I'll hear you. I won't be sleeping, don't worry.Ashley, Brooklyn Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05529862964617925293noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-376529441561722884.post-34685329079729755412010-05-06T15:48:00.002-04:002010-05-06T15:51:03.667-04:00Soundtrack Edition (2)This refers to my tumultuous relationship with New York, not Rachel. Now please enjoy this delightfully campy (HA!) video.<br /><br />(Track 2) A Camp, "Love Has Left the Room"<br /><br /><object width="500" height="405"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/6pg1pfmIuGM&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999&border=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/6pg1pfmIuGM&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="500" height="405"></embed></object>Ashley, Brooklyn Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05529862964617925293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-376529441561722884.post-21607583501423565872010-04-28T10:28:00.002-04:002010-04-28T11:39:21.693-04:00Soundtrack Edition (1)Writing this blog is an enormous release for me... usually. Sometimes, though, it's also an exercise in self-censorship and self-restraint. That said, if I can't always articulate about how I feel, a song can express it for me.<br /><br />So, without further ado, this week's soundtrack is courtesy of the lovely indie goddess Nicole Atkins. <br /><br />(Track 1) Nicole Atkins, "Neptune City"<br /><br /><object width="500" height="405"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/8xdkX4z3Q6M&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999&border=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/8xdkX4z3Q6M&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="500" height="405"></embed></object>Ashley, Brooklyn Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05529862964617925293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-376529441561722884.post-19756287404474978712010-04-22T13:42:00.005-04:002010-04-22T14:30:48.161-04:00Or, as we called it in the newsroom, "Sucky University"I became interested in mommy blogs because of my job. It was important for me to read these blogs in to order understand how to pitch them, why to pitch them and more importantly, which ones not to pitch. I keep reading them, though (okay, FINE, I am completely addicted to half a dozen of them), because I want to know more about these women's experiences in toddler-raising. I'm fascinated by motherhood; I'm in awe of motherhood. I want to BE a mother. And that's not to discount that many of these blogs are exceptionally well-written. <br /><br />One of the blogs, or more accurately vlogs, that I follow is Momversation. Some of my coworkers make fun of me. Well, its on the list of things that they mock me for. I think it's interesting, so <span style="font-style:italic;">there</span>. The topics really don't hold any relevance to my daily life, but neither do a lot of things I read.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.momversation.com/episodes/kids-money-are-you-saving-college-will-you-make-them-go">The topic today is saving for your kids' college years</a>, and it reminded me of one of the reasons that I'm in so much debt -- my parents didn't pay my college. And boy, has that effed me over.<br /><br />I was allowed to choose where I went to school, and for that I am grateful. Money didn't really factor into my decision because I was 18 and pretty clueless about what real debt actually meant for my life. My parents always urged me to go to college, but I think they only really did that because I showed such an interest in going very early on. When I was about 9 or 10 I asked my dad for a UCLA sweatshirt from the local reasonably trendy store in the mall. He conceded and I wore it until I wore it out. It was gray and the UCLA was printed in blue-purple-pink plaid fabric letters. Very cool when I was 10. <br /><br />I started seriously looking for colleges when I was in ninth grade. I like to be ahead of the game. At that point, though, I was planning on going to St. Louis. As if I might fit in in the middle of the country!<br /><br />I went to Syracuse for three reasons: 1. The campus was pretty (and, along with that I had NO idea how cold it would get). 2. They had/have a great journalism program, and I was going to be Katie Couric (see my yearbook). 3. Boston University rejected me. Rude.<br /><br />Had I gone to the most economical school to which I was accepted, I would have gone to Drexel. I mulled over University of Hartford, too. But see above.<br /><br />My dad and I had an agreement that I would be paying for school through scholarships, loans and grants. But, really, I didn't know what that meant. It wasn't until I graduated and started seeing the student loan bills that I really came to terms with the fact that I went to a school that cost a small fortune. Oops.<br /><br />I wouldn't trade my education at Syracuse for anything. I wouldn't trade my social experiences there either. I fell in love, out of love, made best friends and "swam" in bathtubs after too much alcohol. It was pretty great. I had my problem with it, sure, and complained endlessly about the snow and the cold for four years, yes. <br /><br />But now that graduation is many years behind me and I am literally paying for choices I made when I was just barely a legal adult, I see why there are commercials on TV that ask parents if their IRA or whatever is prepared to pay for their child's college. Because I'm probably a solid five years away from giving birth and I should have started putting away college money yesterday. I don't really know why my parents didn't, but they didn't. And hey, that's cool. I needed food growing up more than the expectation that I would go on to study at a private university. But I'll always be a little bit (or, you know, a lot) jealous of my peers who had their educations paid for and still went to a good school like I did. But life is unfair that way. I had the food, the education, and now I'm broke. Super.Ashley, Brooklyn Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05529862964617925293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-376529441561722884.post-19870905381115321312010-04-15T13:31:00.004-04:002010-04-15T14:00:56.774-04:00Someday you may know my wrath (but not really)For whatever reason (Mom? Dad? Therapist?), I kind of like to fight. I am combative and argumentative and mean when I want to be. I'm not violent though. I won't kick you in the teeth or pull your hair or punch you in the face. Unless, of course, you're the girl I went to elementary school with who upset me at the roller skating rink and then I DID punch you in the face. Sorry about that. But, ya know, I was 12 and all pre-hormonal or something? <br /><br />ANYWAY. <br /><br />Now I don't actually punch people in the face, but I say I will (to someone else). If you didn't know me, and heard the way I talk about people sometimes when I'm angry, you would be shocked. You might even have me committed. <span style="font-style:italic;">Officer, there's this fiery little redhead over there who is talking about burning down someone's house and kicking their puppy.</span> Um, right. Well I just TALK like a psychopath, I swear. Those who I say these awful things to (but about other people) know better than to take me seriously. Because they know that I cry at commercials and would go far, far out of my way to prevent actually hurting someone's feelings. If the FBI is reading this, I <span style="font-style:italic;">swear</span> I could pass the psych eval. <br /><br />It's only in the really baddest of the bad situations that I'm in that I ever let myself slip and say something horrible to the person I'm actually angry with. Like, say you're breaking up with me and I happen to spit out a line about how mad your departed grandmother would be if she knew what you were doing to me. Ooops. The things you think versus the things you say. I should not have said that. But, to be a little more fair, you shouldn't have been doing the behind-my-backness that you were. <br /><br />And maybe once or twice I tried to put a curse of sorts on a stepparent. Or I threw water in your face when you insulted my daddy.<br /><br />This morning, I had a little episode where I wasn't sure if I wanted to tear off someone else's face or my own. See, I don't know if you've noticed how much repulsive pollen is in the air right now, but it has so much pull on me that I actually CAME TO WORK WITHOUT MAKEUP ON TODAY. Yes. My skin is excessively dry and irritated from the amount of medication I have been taking to merely function during this allergy season, and my eyes especially are swollen, red and raw. My eyes and the skin around my eyes. And by extension pretty much my entire face and neck. Yesterday it burned so badly just to sweep some of my ALL-NATURAL makeup over my face that I simply couldn't bear to do it again. Especially because I woke up feeling worse and more irritated than I did then. So, the face-tearing. I am clearly miserable in my skin and people still manage to go about pissing me off. I felt like a monster, but my hands were shaking and my teeth were clenched in anger. I was nervous I was going to turn green, rip off my shirt and grow into the Hulk at any moment. So, naturally, I start pounding on my keyboard and instant message my friend the awful things I do-but-do-NOT want to do to those who have crossed me within the previous hour. And they laugh, because, really, what else can they do when someone sounds like a crazy person?<br /><br />But I don't have anger management issues and I am perfectly normal girl.Ashley, Brooklyn Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05529862964617925293noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-376529441561722884.post-78641374913790880242010-04-13T12:50:00.002-04:002010-04-13T13:14:34.585-04:00Letter to the Boy that I AdoreDear Skidoo,<br /><br />Last night you texted me, around 10pm as you so often do. But instead of a clever catchphrase for <span style="font-style:italic;">hello, how are you</span> like usual, you said, "I miss ya Ash."<br /><br />I was sitting by my phone, reading on the couch, and I was filled with warmth and touch of terror. Something had probably happened. Because that's where my mind goes. So I responded that I missed you, too, and was everything okay?<br /><br />Yes, of course, you responded. You were just telling the girl you're dating (but not a girlfriend, I know) about me, and you wanted to remind me that you missed me. The only boy who still, after more than twenty years, has the capacity to make my heart melt. <br /><br />You, baby brother, are my best friend for life. I was eight when you was born and as soon as I saw you, I was inhabited by a fierce maternal (sisternal?) instinct to protect this little boy with the almost black hair and tiny adorable feet. I rocked you. I changed your diaper. I adored you.<br /><br />Now we've lived apart for almost ten years. Can you believe that? And every day, unless you're pissing me off, I miss you. The biggest advantage to packing up and moving back home is that you're there. You think we should either move away together (Las Vegas has come up, really?) or get an apartment just you and me. We would have so much fun. And, I have a feeling, I would be so ridiculously tired keeping up with a nearly 21 year old. Did I have this much energy and capacity for alcohol at 21? I really doubt it. On my twenty first birthday I went to the Olive Garden with a handful of good college friends and had a glass of White Zinfandel. Because, well, that's me. <br /><br />You could move to New York with me, too. I would teach you the subway system so you wouldn't get too lost. Promise. Think about it.<br /><br />And I'll keep pondering my next move as well. You're a heavy advantage for Pennsylvania, you know.<br /><br />Love,<br />Your sisterAshley, Brooklyn Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05529862964617925293noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-376529441561722884.post-40222411013671496762010-03-29T17:44:00.003-04:002010-03-29T18:15:58.496-04:00"You know I couldn't last... someone please take me home..."There's nothing like a good Morrissey lyric when you want to convey internal drama. <br /><br />Lately I've been constantly reminded of just how far beyond my means I live here. New York bleeding me dry and making me feel like a failure most of the time in this blog profile is no joke. Within the last few weeks that feeling has only increased ten-fold.<br /><br />As I've written about before, I made a <span style="font-style:italic;">choice</span> to live in New York. And despite any unpleasantness that I've come to associate with the price of living here, it may be the best choice I've ever made for myself. Now, and perhaps for the first time seriously, I'm questioning if I should stay here. <br /><br />I still love it. I love Brooklyn. I love the shops and restaurants in my neighborhood. I love the walking. I hate that my paycheck can barely cover my bills. I hate that despite my efforts and mad budgeting to get my debt in check, I'm constantly throwing away money on Chase bank fees because I just couldn't quite make the money work again this month. Because, no matter what I do, I find myself in the red.<br /><br />I know that it probably sounds like a simple solution -- spend less money. And let me tell you that I've done that. I can actually live on an obscenely small amount of money between pay checks, particularly if there's already food in the house. I've eaten boxed macaroni and cheese and locked myself in my apartment on the weekends. I've done almost everything I can think of. But I can't get caught up, let alone ahead. I've borrowed money from my generous father ad nauseum that gets recorded in a little notebook in his desk. He loves that notebook. I want to set it on fire.<br /><br />I'm older and wiser now, enough to know that this cycle of debt can't go on forever. At some point - possibly in the next few months - I will need to say, <span style="font-style:italic;">okay, New York, you've broken me. I can't do this anymore.</span> If I don't stop myself I don't know what will happen. It may be me in a rubber room. That sounds entirely feasible.<br /><br />And then, what?, I just suck it up and... go? Just like that? I just <span style="font-style:italic;">move</span>. <span style="font-style:italic;">Away from New York</span>. My home. For as much as I've talked about it, I can't ACTUALLY imagine not living here anymore. <span style="font-style:italic;">This place that I love to hate.</span> Oh, how that phrase resonates in every area of my life.Ashley, Brooklyn Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05529862964617925293noreply@blogger.com6