When your
          ware
          wear
          where
                   from here?

Off to go get more wine!

What kind of well to do female living in this modern day and age doesn't keep make up in their house? How does that even work? At this point, I start questioning a person's usefulness to humanity.

Got to Boston 1.5 hours after the show started of course. I was pretty mad a Joseph and his super late, never on time, nigga tendencies. And then he bought me a ticket for the show on Wednesday. And then I was less mad.

I'm trying really hard to stay here. I asked my aunt if I could live here and she said, 'Sure!' I was uncertain as to whether she was being sarcastic or not. I'm really hoping she wasn't. If I can't live here, I'll just hitch-hike to California or something... no, that's too basic.

I'll hitch-hike to Guam. It's probably very nice there.

I don't feel like I smell very good at the moment. Like sick. And a need to bathe. Plus, I look like this:

Not my best look. Just saying. My hair looks pretty nice though.


I feel like I'm very susceptible to being in love with random people. Maybe I just like the attention.

So I cried, and I begged for you to
Love me love me
say that you love me
lead me lead me
just say that you need me
I can't care about anything but you

Moving is so stressful.
I need a place to live.
And cardboard boxes to put all my current shit in.
And a way to get my car from here to Denver.

Now, on top of everything, I just remembered that my As Tall As Lions ticket, the ticket that I look at every single day just to make sure I still have it, is about to go to waste, because I CAN'T GO TO THEIR FAREWELL SHOW. You know why? Because I'm freaking poor. Too poor to make it to Boston and back and THEN to Denver immediately afterward. I don't even think I'll be able to go to New York for Christmas. I'm crying because I'm a puss and my life is over for the next 2 days until I get over this. But for 48 hours, I'm going to be mad as fuck.

...as Fuck.

...as FUCK.

Worst. Movie. EVER.

In the greatest dumpling spot of all time.

In Auntie Jackie's old dirty roach infested bathroom on Church Ave.

In Queens with Dwight.

1. Walk your dog!
2. Run a mile!
3. Make 7 sandwiches. Eat them!
4. Prank call all the friends you know are sleeping!
5. Make a bookshelf naked!
6. Solve P versus NP!
7. Bass fishing!
8. Grease a pig. Catch it!
9. Sing an opera in front of your neighbors home at the top of your lungs!
10. Go to Wal-Mart. Steal all the food you can carry. Donate it to the homeless. Eat it in front of them!

On my twitter, I stated that in the event that Sierra ever turned Ike against me I would put NAIR on her scalp.

I stand corrected.

If either of the liars ever come near me again, I'm putting bleach on their heads instead.

"Ashley, calm down. I don't understand why people are telling me that you think that I'm blowing you off for Sierra [on my one week back in the states before I leave to Kuwait for 400 days]. Thats stupid and I don't want to hear about it," he says.

He fails to mention the fact that he was totally blowing me off for Sierra... while she was blowing him off, of course.

I don't have time for whores, but I'll cut them both.

Fuck off.

Tonight was dumb as fuck. Why exactly was it necessary for me to drive all the way over to Larae's house, waste my gas, time, energy, brain functions on talking to Larae about nothing? Oh, my bad. To sit around and listen to her rant about "doing me" and her also not giving a grain of shit about my life either? I was fucking fine before this little pow-wow, and so was she!

I don't have the ability to strongly dislike someone for months on end, have a conversation with them for 20 minutes and then turn out to be best friends. My brain isn't wired like that. After a certain period of time, I'm just stuck. I'm not angry anymore. Hell, half the time, I don't even remember what I was even mad at. But the simple fact that I was mad at them for as long as I was means that I don't know how to be friends with them anymore. And that's whats happening here. I don't know how to be friends with Larae. It's done. The bridges were burned.

Do what you want, Chelsea. You guys can have fun with your Hasbro Family Game Night in the living room sitting next to Sierra, the girl you thought of as the spawn of Satan not 2 days ago, and you all can point your fingers and hiss at me for being so cold and unforgiving.

I'm going to ride off into the sunset STILL not giving a single fuck.

Pass Go. Collect $45.00 from Amazon.com for being a good person and selling a textbook. Feel smart.

Roll dice. Move 3 spaces. Land on Chance.

Police officer asks you, "What is the speed limit on Covington Highway?" You see sign in front of you. You reply, "45mph." Police officer laughs at you and says, "Wrong. It's 35mph." You can't possibly understand his reasoning.

Chance: You Are Assessed for Doing 52mph in a 35mph zone.

Give $192 to Bank before January 11, 2011.

Gahdammit!

Have I ever made a post about strictly pictures before? I don't think I have.

Be prepared for a whole lot of bad photography... and some decent ones too.

After spending what felt like a KABILLION YEARS in this one store with Dana looking for clothes [I had no problem with helping Dana find clothes of course, but seriously. A Kabillion years.] I looked directly across the walkway of the mall and found... Bakers! It was wonderful. There, Celeste tried on the worlds most comfy heels and I put on the worlds most fuzzy red hat. Smexy.




We went into H&M and tried on a bunch of clothes that didn't fit at all because Ian neglected to tell anyone that you had to size up because Europeans are all anorexic and shit. Whatever. The dress technically fit, but my titties were too big. I don't know how to feel about that, really.



Santa didn't need any of this shit. He wasn't even there. Don't leave the workshop unattended, son!



Okay, but for seriously? The ugliest hat I have ever placed my eyes upon. I couldn't NOT take a picture of them. Really, [blogspot consumer], would you have forgiven me if I never made you look at this picture? Would you?!





....Hi, Chelsea. Isn't she pretty? She so pretty.



Not to say that I'm not pretty or anything, but in all honesty, I just wanted a picture wearing the greatest shirt of all time. The band isn't even good anymore. Who cares? Look at that shirt!


Hey, Babeh! I'm telling you. If Allen slips up, I'm taking her. Celeste will be MY woman. No lie. I'll learn to like the cooch... ew. Well, maybe not. But the point is I love the mess out of her.


Okay then, Ladies and Dogs, this is Marquis. He's my friend, and a rather good one at that. In 50 years, when he's dead from... whatever he's going to die from in the future, I'm going to be really happy that he was my friend.

And yet, I'm not.

Shit, right?

I have a paper due tomorrow that I haven't even started. I just don't feel like it, really. I want to go out dancing. I want ... something.

Whatever.

I'm ranting about shit.

Love, let me sleep tonight
On your couch...
And remember the smell
And the fabric
Of your simple city dress...

Oh... That was so real

We walked around
'til the moon got full
Like a plate..
And the wind blew an invocation
And I fell asleep
At the gate..
And I never stepped on the cracks 'cause I thought I'd hurt my mother
And I couldn't awake from the nightmare
That sucked me in
And pulled me under
Pulled me under

Oh... That was so real

I love you..
But I'm afraid to love you

I Love you
But I'm afraid to love - you...
I'm afraid...

Oh... That was so real
..real real real...

Oh... That was so real

Like in the alleyways in England.
They're fucking beautiful, dude.

"Hey, so were you drinking tonight? Because I'm not sure if you should be driving if you were."

"Hmm? Huh? What was that?"

"Were you drinking?"

"Etz possibleh."

"1. You're not french. 2. It was a yes or no question. Requiring you to only give on of two answers. Yes or No. I didn't ask you any of that stuff."

"Maybe."

"You know what? Fuck it. God."

For taking my money on many an occasion.
You money snatchers.
Currency nappers.
Cash bandits.
BOOTY PIRATES! - wait. That didn't sound completely correct, actually.

You get what I'm trying to say.

As you can see, Bank of America is no more.

Now, put that in your pipe and do pipe smoking shit with it!

Crazy?
I was crazy once…
They put me in a round room.
I liked that room.
They gave me a huggy jacket.
I liked that jacket.
I hugged it and it hugged me back.
One day I died
and they buried me under daisies.
I hate daisies.
One day I sniffed the daisies.
They smelled so bad it drove me crazy.
Crazy?
I was crazy once …

I was cleaning my living room a few minutes ago and making a comment to myself about how many random photography business cards I just have in my possession when I noticed one that I didn't really remember. A small white card with the words

So, why is it that men have such insatiable urges to give head whenever they get excited?

It's like:

"You know, I had a very good time with you this evening. We had a nice dinner and a walk in the park, and at the moment I am greatly enjoying kissing you. Allow me to eat you out as thanks." Head under skirt, mouth on vagina.

 ....WOAH, THERE. I had a good time too, but you know, this really isn't all that necessary. Whenever I get happy that a boy buys me an ice cream cone, I don't grab a penis. Is that the sort of thing expected of me? "Oh [Tyrone], thank you so much for this slice of pizza. Hold on a moment while I dust the floor before I get down on my knees."

Calm down, son.

Frienship:

Value that is found in friendships is often the result of a friend demonstrating the following on a consistent basis:

• The tendency to desire what is best for the other
• Sympathy and empathy
• Honesty, perhaps in situations where it may be difficult for others to speak the truth, especially in terms of pointing out the perceived faults of one's counterpart
• Mutual understanding and compassion
• Trust in one another (able to express feelings - including in relation to the other's actions - without the fear of being judged); able to go to each other for emotional support
• Positive reciprocity - a relationship is based on equal give and take between the two parties.

 What's in bold is what we seem to have a problem with.

So, yeah, I'm over it. This. Us. Whatever our friendship is supposed to be. Although, now that I think about it, it means two different things to the both of us.

I mean, I'm sure you had a reason on your birthday, and my birthday, and that one day I was crying over that stupid Adam idiot, and last week, and the time at the mall, and the day that I drove all the way downtown with pneumonia and nearly crashed on the way home because I was convulsing so badly, and even tonight when you left me alone to wait for you at that club where that one guy had full opportunity to snatch me up and start touching me inappropriately and pulling me on my hair until I was able to run away and go the fuck home.

There's always some excuse or another, and I'm sure they are valid. I have 2 flashing voice mails from you right now probably saying something about your car and why you couldn't make it, and I know as a friend, I should care and I should probably be taking you home right now or some shit.

But, I just don't care anymore, Danny Swain.

I really just don't care.

Never again talk to Paul in regards to photography. Because, I swear, he gets mad whenever you say ANYTHING about pictures he takes.

I think that everyone who doesn't love me even though I want them to, will.

No, as a matter of fact,  I'm certain that that is whats going to happen.

I'll make sure of it.

Ashley-is-better-than-everyone-you-know plan agogo.

I'm really fucking happy.

I still hate He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
I still don't have a proper textbook for school (although the website apologized for the mixup and offered me a return/refund).
I'm still lonely and bitter?

Whatever.

The point is, I got one of the LAST TICKETS EVER to the As Tall As Lions show. Sadly, it's in Boston, and I have yet to work out how I'm getting to Boston from here but I just don't care. I have a ticket. I'm going to see them one last time. And then I'm going to New York for Christmas.

This year may have sucked, but it's going to end so AWESOME.

This is a text message I just recieved from some guy that I just met at the Masquerade last night.Typo's and all.

Are you serious? How does someone just unload that kind of shit on a person that they met yesterday. I don't want to know about all the shit going wrong in your life. I don't even know your real name!

Human beings, today...

So... what the fuck is this shit?
I ordered my textbook for school online this week. Not only does it take 3 days longer to come than it was supposed to, but it also WASN'T EVEN THE BOOK THAT I ORDERED.

Why... just... why?

I'm so mad, I cant even think.

Little Big Planet be fucking my shit UP.

All the time.

FOREVER.

Sierra is over at The-House-That-Has-Yet-To-Be-Named and I am not. Do you know why? Well, I don't have any reason for her to be there. I don't want to know. I don't really want to know. That is just something that isn't any of my concern. However, when she is in my vicinity, seeing as it is the complete opposite of socially acceptable for me to slit her throat and sit there laughing while rolling around in a puddle of her blood, I find it more suitable to leave. Leave the house completely.

For a while, I just hid out in Ian's room. I thought she was leaving then. But after I heard the front door close and still heard her voice, I figured out that everyone else had made the grave mistake of closing the door with her on the wrong side of it, and sought my escape.

I don't really care what anyone has to say about why I left, or if they even acknowledge that I went anywhere at all. As was stated before, that too is something that just isn't on my radar of concern.

I have a no-tolerance policy for that girl.

And I'm going to take a wild guess and say that it was the people. I still continue to come to the conclusion every once in a while that I don't like being around others for significant periods of time. I think I would be okay with just my cat for a while. At least she doesn't make fun of me for wanting to play video games.

Because, seriously. How much fun am I going to have, sitting around and watching someone else play Left 4 Dead.

None.

It was a rhetorical question.

I mean, I'm not really going to ask why there is a parade for Halloween a good 2 weeks from the day itself. I'm just going to have myself a good time.

In the cold...


In a rather small costume...

Thats okay though, isn't it?

I'm sure I'll be fine.

Not a damn anyone - NO ONE - can tell me that I'm not allowed to have a crush on Jeff Buckley. I'll do what I damn well please. And if that means that I'm going to have a crush on a man who died when I was 7, then so fucking be it. I'll dream of him if I have to.

It's my cup.
Fuck. YOU.

If I'm going to be leaving Georgia forever and DRIVING the whole damn way, I'm going to do it right.
Road. Mothafucking. Trip.
I'm going to make an event planner, trip guide, you name it.
And I'm going to stop at every pointless landmark I can think of.
I'm going to make that shit last a week.
And if no one wants to come with me, so be it. I'll do the shit by myself.

Because I'm not driving all the way to Denver from Atlanta without giving myself some adventure first.

I just stay silent about it.

Stolen from my facebook:

I learned a long time ago that the easiest way to get under someones skin is to not do anything at all.

And I fully believe that to be true. The fact that all I have to do is be indifferent to someone in a public situation (i.e.: Larae) for them to go around calling people (i.e.: Chelsea) and asking them what I've been saying because they've been "hearing things." (i.e.: I have no clue) In reality, I have mentioned no one. I have been making a conscious effort to hold my tongue about anything I am not in favor of.

Someone doesn't like me? Say nothing, it's for the best.
Someone called me a whore? Don't reply because they're wrong anyway.
Someone cuts me off and goes around telling people that I'm two-faced (i.e.: Sierra)? Act like nothing was said just to prove them wrong.

You see, I'm tired of people yelling at me or trying to reprimand me for things that I've done or said or whateverthefuckitis to offend them. So I've just taken the higher road. The road to non-comminication.

The road that means that I completely have nothing to say.
Thus, if anyone says anything about me, they will only be trying to start shit, and I can continue to Not. Give. A. Damn.




Childish post of the month, complete.

I'm tired of a lot of things.
Some emotional.
Most physical.
I just need to sleep for a week.

I've been to New York City and back within 2 days and now I'm re-applying for college. Only this time, I actually get to go somewhere.

Bel-Rae Institute is in Denver, CO and... whatever. Vacation time or some shit. It's not really like I know what to do with my life anyway.

Seriously.

A movie I saw 8 years ago that came on the Disney Channel. I was 12 and thought it was the most halfway inspirational thing that I had ever seen. Fast forward in time to when I am 21 and watching it in my bedroom because I have nothing better to do with my time, and I come to realize that it is the most half-assed movie I had ever seen.

Things I didn't like about Gotta Kick It Up:

1. Those girls were whining the whole movie.

• "I don't want to be here."
• "You won't teach us how to spin on our heads even though it's still day one and none of us can even dance yet."
• "You won't let us compete even though we just learned how to do the Washing Machine a week ago."

The only thing they exemplified was how to not know how to take any type of order and completely disrespect anything they were told.

Like the colors of my mind.

The wanting of what one can not have is a powerful act.
If you wanted it even slightly before, now you want it exponentially more.
If you didn't want it at all, now you're eyes have been opened.
You want all of it.
And I want all of it.
I want it exponentially more.
But I don't deserve something so good.
Because I'm a bitch.
A user.
A horrible girl who would only bring pain to somewhere pain has no need to be.
Don't love me.
Don't even like me.
Don't bother listening to me.

All will be as it was.
As it should be.

I know I shouldn't get upset with things people have to say about me. As a 'grown woman' I should be able to brush off anything I hear from another person. Sadly... I'm not all that grown.

Now, the amount of people coming from the woodworks and the faucets and leaking from the ceiling telling people how much of a user I am is greatly upsetting to me. Who's heads have I been messing with?

I'm just leading dudes by the nose left and right with no regard for their feelings at all.

Don't fuck with Ashley, because she's just playing games. She'll fuck a niggas head up.

What kind of person do people think I am? All the more incentive to get the hell out of Georgia. Maybe people somewhere else I go won't think of me as such a using ass hoe.

Here's to hoping.

"Ashley! The doctor gave me the - ahhh - the all clear. So monday will be your last day. If you want to do it, let me know, if not then - ahh - just let me know."

Roy, I'm not sure if I had time to tell you this before...

I refuse to write about it.

Moving the fuck on...

The General Plan:

To fuck. Done.

Step 1:
Convince female that they are special. Tell them things they want to hear in order to gain their trust. Make them like you. Tell them 'secrets,' things that they believe you've never told anyone else. Let them know how much you love them. Convince them that they feel the same.

Step 2:
Go to great lengths in order to be around the female. Fly, swim, crawl, make them drive 14 hours. Just be in general vicinity of female.

Step 3:
Fuck.

Step 4:
Act like nothing ever happened. Cut contact with said female. There are more females to unleash the plan on. The feelings of the previous female are no longer of any concern.

Nothing of value was lost.

I fucking hate dudes, I'm just saying. I refuse to have sex with anyone I haven't known IN PERSON for at least a year. Because all this shit, and I'm not even saying this in general relation to myself, makes me sick. And angry. And makes me want to punch the nigga(s) I'm talking about in the face.

I've wanted this costume for the past 3 years.

I'm just saying.

My mom found a camera in the basement of my aunt's new house. Its pretty much some old Canon PowerShot something something piece of trash that still runs on 2 AAbatteries.



I love it.

Fuck the fancy Nikon shit. This camera and its 4x zoom and 7.1 megapixels are the truth.
FOR TRUTH.

Not that good a picture... but I'll accept.

I'm heartbroken.

Cass: I like how he's staring right at your chest.
Ashley: He knew what was up.

Okay, seriously, I want this hoodie really badly. Like, really, really badly. Look at it!

Not only is it a band hoodie, something I haven't had since that one incident where someone stole my Fullmetal Alchemist hoodie in the 11th grade (the bombest hoodie to ever grace Towers High School, I must say), but it's a Dillinger Escape Plan hoodie.

DILLINGER ESCAPE PLAN HOODIE.

Aka, the hoodie of my favorie band (of the moment). I want this hoodie. And I'm going to get it. Even if it is $80.00. I have plans for my life this winter and it includes being warm with a book by the fire (what fire?!) in a hoodie that says DILLINGER ESCAPE PLAN in a vertical fashion.

I may be completely late in learning this, but I can’t help but think that this is how all females should feel.

The sweet confirmation from your body that you aren’t pregnant. That wonderful feeling of “hey, wow, I’m totally not ruining my life by having unplanned children.” Not to say that anyone should wait around thinking that they’re pregnant all the time until proven otherwise. This however just seems like a nice little way for my insides to let me know that I’ve done a good job in not being a brainless whore.

“Here’s a trophy for using a condom. Its called menstruation.”

Just throwing that out there.

• I hate my job. I used to love it, however, I suppose that was back when I was working at the other Leslie's in Stone Mountain. Maybe it was the atmosphere of not being inside of a cluttered shopping center. Maybe it was the fact that I was able to tolerate my co-workers for extended periods of time.  I don't know. I just loathe working at the Decatur store. It's lame.

• I hate being stood up. With certain situations. I accept the hands that I am dealt, and in this one, I accept it slightly less gracefully than I should, but it is accepted nonetheless. Over the past month, I have been stood up three times with no explanation from three different people, and none of it was ever even for a date. RJ stood me up this weekend. Why? Who knows. We were just supposed to hang out and watch a crap movie, but answering the phone was just not on his agenda. It would have at least been more polite to call me back and say, "I don't feel like it today." I wasn't doing to drop down dead from lack of contact. Danny! even stood me up on his birthday. How graceful. I have honestly decided that no fucks will further be given. I honestly don't have the energy to care anymore.

• I hate the fact that Adam Homer Lawson is currently in possession of my soul. Not even figuratively. I'm being literal. I made a book laced with little bits of my life and soul and gave it to him like a complete idiot. I made it for him, of course, but if I knew that he was going to be so completely ungrateful for the time and energy it takes to make an entire fucking book, then I would have kept the shit for myself. I honestly want it back. He hasn't said as much as a word about it. Not a, "thanks, this is kind of nice," not a "oh, wow, what was living in your locker when you were 15 that you so carefully wrote about," not even a, "this is kind of lame." I would have accepted anything to at least let me know that my words were even read. But no, I've got nothing. Seriously. Fuck that guy.

First order of business: My hair is now short and some variation of red and brown. I'm not entirely sure which it is as of yet, but you get the point.

This is the worst picture ever taken of me bee-tee-dubbs. I really wish Paul would learn how to listen to people and take this shit off Facebook. I really don't need people seeing this. I'm only putting it on LiveJournal because it's not like anyone gives a shit what I say here, anyway.


Second order of business: I have come to the conclusion that I officially hate my job. Hatred. I really had working at the Decatur Leslie's. You wouldn't think that sitting around on your ass all day reading would suck so much, but you thought wrong. So very wrong.



Third order of business: I would imagine that running away to Denver would be a rather decent change of pace at the current moment. The constant reminder of being lame as shit and doing nothing in Georgia is really not what I want out of life. Not that I want to move to Denver and become a VetTech... but at least its fucking something.

It looks nice enough there...


Fourth order of business: Tech N9ne and Circa Survive are coming next month (not together), Dragon*Con and AWA are both this month, and Gavin Castleton has a new album coming out. At least these things I can look forward to.


Fifth order of business: Today I bought shoes that are just too damn high to stand in let alone take a walk in. They are going to be promptly returned for a nice pair of sensible boots. I'm sorry shoes.

Once you realize that you can no longer establish what was once on the plate.

"Is that old ravioli, or was that fish?

 Please calm down. No one hates you and I'm really getting tired of you asking if we do.

Alright, so maybe this might make me seem like a bit of a stalker, but at this point that doesn't matter.
On some website with his picture, were the links to both his twitter and tumblr pages. The follow button burned with the white hot speed from which I clicked.

I just have one question to ask: Who blessed this boy?





Good lord.

And I was sad up until 2 minutes ago because a boy didn't like me. I can't even be mad anymore because the boy most definitely does not look like this one...

In in celebrity cyber-stalker love.