Dead in the Ground

I'm sorry to say that ihatemylife.com is no more... But I have relocated virtual spaces. Try visiting me here. http://www.ashleycabulagan.com/category/blog/

Kindergarten Nostalgia Minus the Birdy Legs

My whole life I have preferred to be understated. I only shared my opinion when someone asked, avoided public speaking or performing. My mannerisms, my relationships, my personality, my wardrobe reflected this preference.

That's right my wardrobe was very modest. It consisted of grays, browns, blacks. But as of lately I’ve been craving a brighter wardrobe. Going through a little identity crisis where I want to jump out from the shadows and scream “I’m Here! And I’m bright yellow!”

Now I wear this crazy bright neon yellow shirt 24-7. I love it but I’m starting to have regrets.

When I wear this shirt every random person that walks by has to comment on it. One random called me a highlighter. When my mom picked me up from the airport she covered her eyes to block my radiating light (which she thought was really funny) then she said I look just like I did in Kindergarten.

Also let me just say when you all of a sudden get put in a situation where you want to fly under the radar, say in Vegas when a tacky butt rock cover band is grabbing people out of the audience to have a dance off and you want to look like a tree, well in that situation you don’t want to be as bright as Dr. Manhattan.

Before my identity crisis I also avoided skinny jeans, why? Because you have to have skinny legs to do skinny jeans.

(Side note: Why are all the talented artists and musicians crazy skinny? Artists are made for skin tight skinny jeans? There's only one incredibly talented musician whose collar bone doesn’t poke through his old vintage Tees and that’s Isaac from Modest Mouse.)

Anyways, I broke down with Chelsi’s help and got some sexy black Deisel’s. And I’ve been starting to feel confident wearing them. Well I see my Grandma, who I love with all my heart and her unwaivering honesty, and I’m wearing my skinny jeans and she says “Well you don’t have your little birdy legs anymore.”

Johnny

This was a scary moment for us and for Johnny, who we met outside the food coalition. He volunteered to help us. Johnny was so sweet and funny. Justin and I are still unsure of what happened exactly. I quickly got the impression this wasn't uncommon. It made me sad and it made me want to take Johnny home with me. I'm sure the roommates wouldn't mind.

I'm a Crazy Person Magnet

I’ve just recently finished a little video project to win a 2010 Ford Fiesta.


My project involved cardboard signs. I’m in the passenger seat putting tape on my window and Justin is outside my car setting up this great shot,when three crack heads emerge from the dark alleys and garbage cans. The first asks Justin if we can give him a ride and the other two smash their heads against my window. One of them says “I know what you’re doing!” and opens my door, grabs the tape out of my hands and starts messing with my window. The crazy lady with him opens up my backdoor and gets in my seat where my cardboard signs are. She says with a toothless grin “I see your SIGNS!!” Like she’s onto me, she found my cardboard beggar signs.

I get out of my car and in confusion I just stand there. How does one handle this situation? I’ve never had any formal training or even considered a plan of attack for when a crack head won’t get out of your car. My eyes and mouth are wide open and I look up at Justin for help. His face informed me he was in my same state of confusion.

I tried to reason with the toothless lady but was unsuccessful. I was so frazzled Justin said at one point I started clapping my hands and whistling for her to come out. Not a proud moment, however she responded well to the “come on.” She finally exited my car.

After that we took my camera to the food coalition. I met a really great guy named Johnny with long curly hair. He was so sweet and perfect and he agreed to hold a sign for us. The crack head who asked Justin for a ride starts yelling and cursing at Johnny for some unexplained reason. I started recording to get the shot and run. Next thing I know crack head runs into frame and takes a swing at Johnny. They exit the frame and you hear him yelling. He punches Johnny. I again try my best to be diplomatic and reason with crack head, but there is no reasoning with crack heads. You can hear me in the background going “uh okay…whoa…uh oh! Please don’t do that…oh my gosh.” Johnny gives the crack head the sign and runs away.

We really didn’t mean to cause such problems. It started out as a Ford Fiesta Movement video, but I might change it to a “Don’t do Crack” commercial.

Check back for an uploaded clip of the craziness. For now, here's my finished video

ihatemyDREAMlife.com

I hate my dream life dot com too. This dream must stem from feelings of inadequacy in my work place. I work at a ski resort. Skiing is definitely an elitist activity and since I can’t ski or snowboard I’m pretty much a worthless waste of flesh.

In my dream Bekah and Josh decided to teach me to ski. Josh insisted I use his nieces “special skis,” so simple to use even a child could ski down a mountain. With confidence I thought if a child can ski with these “special skis” then surely I could too. We drove to someplace comparable to the Deer Valley of my Dream Land. A day pass cost 100 bones! We journeyed for an entire day, from gondola to gondola, then we trekked on foot to the top of my Dream Land’s Mt. Everest.

There we were atop the Earth and I waited with anticipation as Josh pulled out my “special skis.” To my dismay Josh opened his hand to reveal two deflated animal balloons.

He said with enthusiasm, “these [pause] are the special skis”

“What?! I’m not skiing down this mountain with balloon animals strapped to my feet!”

This argument went on and on. Till finally Josh assured me everything would be fine and to trust him. I decided he was probably right. He inflated the balloons and carefully tied them to my feet. I looked down the snowy mountain, took a deep breathe then stood up.

POP…..POP

In my parallel dream existence I’m freezing on top Mt Everest, 100 dollars less in my pocket with deflated balloon animals tied to my frost bitten feet.

BLOOD BATH in the TREEROOM

Why? Because I had way too much energy bottled up and was ready to combust. Potential combustion plus absolute boredom behind the bar equated blood bath.

Started out whipping the towel “WHHPSH!” (uh that’s the sound of me whipping the towel at great speeds.) Then I grabbed my serrated knife and started stabbing holes with all my might into objects. Then I moved to juggling which as it turns out, I’m reasonable decent at. A natural juggler for sure. Next hackisacking with a lime which is stupid. Then I decided to start doing tricks with knifes. Which is why I’m almost missing a finger and I have blood all over my freshly dry-cleaned white work shirt.

It was blood bath 2009 Jason style (which I mostly saw on Friday the 13th…Classic. No screen writing and dialogue can compare with Jason movies)

Who Wants me Dead?

You all remember my previous post about being sick for 12 days, the will, the funeral plans? Well I recovered only to find my immune system failing me once again. Swollen glands, aches, headache, sore throat. I'm starting to feel like that poor, helpless, little girl from The Sixth Sense (Marissa Cooper) whose step mom kept putting poison in her soup to keep her sick. I'm the vomiting girl in Sixth Sense! Whoever is trying to keep me sick, I'm not into it.

This is a threat: If I meet my premature end, I will come back from the dead, cold and pale, in a pink night gown, hide out in your little red tent and under your bed and I will expose you! I know whats going on!

Updated Will:
Yankee Hotel Foxtrot Vinyl....Lacy

Mui Bien Tamale??

I would just like to publicly congratulate myself because I have just now and officially finished 24 tamales in less than seven days. I accomplish things. I have goals. Some people finish college, get real jobs, start families. Some people eat 24 tamales in less than seven days.

We have exchanged corpulence for starvation and either one can kill us.

12 Days and Counting....

…I’ve been sick. I think it’s an appropriate assumption to assume that my days here on this big blue and green earth are numbered. I’m dying. It’s a tragedy the plague cut my life so short. And even sadder I went out with out really contributing to the history books. Didn’t invent anything meaningful, or say anything profound. I didn’t even get my face in a newspaper. If I croaked now my existence could be forgotten and on my tombstone it might as well say “she settled for mediocrity.”

My Will:

All the cash in my wallet…Lone Tree Hill, the homeless Indian guy I met at Pioneer Park. (Please ask him to tell you the joke about the cow and the wife).

And this song will be played at my funeral:

Goodbye cruel world…Geeze you didn’t even give me and Lone Tree a chance.

Batman: Year One

If you know anything about living, you know that life recycles certain themes. For my roommate Lacy and I, it’s bad plumbing. If I didn’t have this blog I might have forgotten lessons learned from a previous encounter with bad plumbing. Read about encounter here. So what did I learn from the last time our plumbing threw in the towel? Peeing in the shower is better than peeing in the backyard and peeing at Smiths is better than peeing in the shower. The Rotor Rooter is still scary, as it attacked Lacy last night. An aspiring superhero, such as myself, prays for their big break into the super hero trade. This was my big break to save Lacy from certain death or at least devastation. In my moment of truth, I turned out to be a gutless coward and Lacy was eaten up by the Rotor Rooter and all the terrible things you could imagine coming up with the Rotor Rooter. Isn’t it ironic that a coward, such as myself, could be so obsessed with super heroes?

Meet my nemesis. My affliction. My plague and scourge. The Rotor Rooter.

You Remind me of a Winter Storm

It’s January 4th and the furnace has said its final goodbye as the heat slowly seeped out of the cracks of our house. In the winter I become a hermit to avoid the unforgiving cruelty of winter. I stay in my pajamas. I read a lot of books and comics. Watch a lot of movies. And do a lot of blogging. Anything that allows me to stay under blankets. I make excuses to not run any errands that involve leaving the house. Well my winter game plan has been spoiled with the slow death of our central heating. Right now I'm wearing every article of clothing I own. My bed is stacked high with every blanket I own. Lacy and I have consumed everything hot in the kitchen. I’m not sure how there were life forms before central heating. Surely everything existed after furnaces and cell phones. One other thing, I’m convinced nothing is more unattractive than long-underwear.


And my socks haven’t matched in years.

Christmas, The End of 2008 and The End of All Things (An ihatemylife.com Production)

The holidays were rather generous to me. Christmas was full of fancy salamis, warm, moist hand towelettes and Christmas cheer. It was especially generous considering we’re marching forward into economic desperation and recession. I’m glad I went out with a bang, not a quiet whimper.

There is no need for excess where we’re headed. I’ll have to pon off my satin sheets and ivory tusks. Sell everything and live the life I’ve always dreamed of: my tiny cottage with a fire place for warmth and a garden. Just me in my drop-bottom flannel full-body pajamas, a dusty book and an old record player. And I’ll eat porage. I’ll hang old socks with holes above the fire place next Christmas. I’ll be my own Tiny Tim story in 2009 and then I’ll understand its true meaning. I doubt it involves fancy salamis.

I don’t know what the future holds. My dark side, which embraces the spirit of chaos, couldn’t help but feel the curious hush and last whispers of American gluttony. And then my honest side thought, “Dude, how could I even breathe with out all forms of Comcast?!”
[Pushin the Drop Bottoms in 2009]

Our Modern Day Plague

The other night I ordered a large pepperoni pizza. It was way past the average person’s weekday bedtime and definitely past the hour dietitians recommend eating anything. I was starving and wanted to eat that huge greasy pizza all alone while watching and crying to the Fellowship of the Ring. I had a Fat Kid pizza fantasy that I would eat that pizza so fast all the blood would rush to my head and I would pass out right on the couch. I wasn’t really ashamed until the delivery boy showed up at my door and I found myself pretending there were people in the kitchen there to help me consume this huge artery lubricating delight.

“Ha oh Pizza boy you didn’t seriously think I would or even could eat this whole pizza by myself?!” “Billy! Johnny! Fat Pete! Come on! Get out here and help me eat this pizza.” “They must be downstairs or in the backyard making pipe bombs.”

I’m on the swift path to corpulence, the Great and Final Plague of America. We’re feeding ourselves to death like those poor little ducks that make delicious foie gras. I bet my liver tastes yummy and would go well with Walnut Fig Brioche.



Thats me and Fat Pete.

Get Down Girl Go ‘Head Get Down

Sorry if I’m starting to sound like a broken record, but I spent my day off today waiting for my car to get a new chin and a face lift. I say that because I’m starting to feel like I’m married to some gold digger who is divorcing me and taking all my money. I thought me and the Dodger were in love and this was forever, but apparently The Dodger doesn’t feel the same way. It’s taking me for everything I own and leaving me high and dry with nothing. I guess nothing is forever. And I’m back on the market or I will be soon.

Confession

Our plumbing hasn’t been working this past week, which has made for some interesting situations. Last night around three in the morning in my state of delirium I needed to pee so badly it was making me sick. My car was trapped in front of Lacy’s so I couldn’t drive to a public restroom and I didn’t want to wake her up. So what’s a girl to do?! I figured the only logical thing was to pee in the backyard. I know you’re thinking I’m strange right now. It wouldn’t be so strange though if I was a boy or a dog. But because I’m a girl its socially frowned upon. So this morning while Lacy and her brother are on the roof fixing the plumbing (Lacy is Wonder Woman by the way) I confess to them both that I peed in the backyard. Lacy says “Confession, I peed in the shower last night.” Chelsi, our more normal roommate, drove to Smiths like a normal person and used a bathroom.

Brit and I....Twinseys!

I had a dream last night that I was walking around public places with holes in my underwear, only in my underwear! I wasn't insecure that I was only in my underwear, just that I would have holes in my underwear. I think this is telling. I should consult a dream doctor. Inadequacy seeps over into my dream life. Welcome to my world of insecurities and paralyzing self-doubt.

Kill The Clown

I’m on my way to work with my friend Garrit and naturally we are both starving. He eats about as much as I do. We weren’t sure if we were willing to gamble on family meal at work. The odds are about 1 in 10. So we decided to hit up the drive through, which is consistently greasy and delicious and fast- the American Dream. We both established that we were craving McDonalds chicken nuggets with sweet and sour sauce like pregnant women. Garrit, who is quite persuasive, convinces me that we both would be better off getting 20 pieces, each. The lady who takes our order can’t quite grasp that we want TWO twenty pieces. Finally she accepts it. We pull forward and the guy at the window looks at us and says, “it’s gonna be a while.” Garrit is like “Oh that’s fine.” The dude continues to stare at us awkwardly. Garrit gets uncomfortable and is like “do you want us to pull forward?” The guy sticks his head out of the window and is like, “Its forty chicken nuggets!”

Yes. I ate them all and two packs of sweet and sour. I don’t even want to go into the nutritional value of that. Or what parts of the chicken McDonalds uses for their nuggets or how much sugar is in one pack of sweet and sour. I just don’t even want to go into that. Well here’s the ihatemylife.com part of this whole story. Last night, I spent a good hour on the bathroom floor reeping the benefits of twenty chicken nuggets and two packs of sweet and sour.

Pirate Mechanics and Silver Garbage Cans

I spent all day bartering with some pirate mechanic to pass my worthless piece of tin off on its safety slash emissions test. This pirate mechanic was kind enough to pass the old Dodge Neon on emissions though it was smoking out of its tail end. Of course, I had to beg him. The things we do to survive in this cruel, heartless world. Apparently I can’t pass safety, something about loose bolts and engine mounts. Sounds kind of serious but since I don’t want to put another red cent into my blue Neon, I refuse to deal with it. I just pour a container of oil into my engine once a week and ignore the smells and smoke that trails my car and pollutes this big green and blue earth. I’d be better off riding around in a silver garbage can.

So for those of you generous souls who are feeling charitable and would want to donate to the United Keep the Air behind Ashleys Car Clean Fund I am accepting all forms of payment.

Moved the Couch to my Front Lawn

I love it when I think my court time is at 9 AM when really it’s at 10:45. Sitting in the court room for almost two hours I felt my class points dropping and my vocabulary worsening or getting more worserer..or whatever. It’s what happens when you spend too much time in settings like the court house or the DMV. I get such terrible anxiety in these two places. I’d rather spend my day at the dentist’s office or a public bathroom.

Too much time in environments such as these can seriously drop you down a few rungs on the social class ladder. You’ll start believing things like “Happiness is being a Grandfather” and have to fight the desire to apply colored eye liners. You start thinking places like Toledo, Ohio would be a good location to live or the State Fair is a cool place to hang. You’ll even crave food from gas stations. Thanks to a few hours at the court house I now own an IRON MAIDEN shirt with cut off sleeves.

Dear social class ladder fairy, please help me find a way to move back up a rung or two.



These are my new friends I met at the court house.

*For those of you curious as to why I went to court, I just had to prove I had insurance and after much anticipation the Judge found me….not guilty. Thanks your honor. But I'm still guilty of owning and re-filling my BIG GULP every morning at my local 711.

Ribbon Cutting Ceremony

For those of you who have had any sort of communication with me know that I often link the statement slash imaginary website “ihatemylife.com” after many stories slash rants. Stories such as I got my hand stuck in the garage door today, or I was on my death bed for four days with the bubonic plague, or Juice and Java stole my debit card…insert “ihatemylife.com.”

For so many of you this has been deceiving. Some of you have attempted typing in your blank URL space my make-believe website and were disappointed to find I was false advertising. But not anymore, I decided to make ihatemylife.com a reality. I am pretty confident that I will continue to have ihatemylife.com worthy stories to fill endless imaginary internet pages in magic web spaces.

To commemorate this special event me and fifteen random kilted people will cut the ribbon and offer a blood sacrifice and prayer for the new website (blog) ihatemylife.com.