Archive for the ‘Atlanta Antics’ Category

The Key to a Great Weekend

For Memorial Day Weekend, a group of us (8 to be exact: 4 girls, 4 guys) decided to go to Liza’s lake house (yes, that Liza…from Scoutmob).

Correction: I decided we should go to Liza’s lake house and sent her this note via email on May 13 with Natalie and Kate CC’d:
Liza, are you in town memorial day weekend? Should we go to the lake!??!!?

She was nice enough to allow it. Which is why we’ll forgive her for what happened.

Picture it: an excited group of 20- and 30-somethings caravaning up to Lake Oconee on Saturday morning, ready for a weekend of fun in the sun (and maybe other stuff like, you know, skinny dipping). We hit the grocery and liquor stores when we got into town and stocked up on major goods: eggs and sausage for breakfast, all the necessities for Kate’s Saturday night jambalaya, chicken and steak for Mike’s Sunday night dinner, cold cuts for sandwiches, ice cream, salsa, cold beer, bourbon, vodka, Sinless Margarita, you name it.

We arrived at the lake house, got all the groceries out of the car (I remember being weighed down with a bag or six), ready to put everything away, get into our suits and hit the dock when Liza realized she didn’t have the key. We laughed it off, throwing out “Oh, Liza, you would!” and “Typical Liza!” comments, figuring there was a spare somewhere. Calls were made to her parents to try to locate the spare and after a few unsuccessful searches of the grill and its surrounding area, reality started to set in and all of us went on a search mission around the house mumbling various degrees of “If I were a spare key, where would I be?”

30 minutes later: no key.

Photo by Nick Tapp

At least we had semi-cold beer. And melted ice cream.

We thought an upstairs door might be open, so Mike “The Spider Monkey” Dean decided to scale the back of the house.

Photo by Andy Carlyle

Unsuccessful. But still fun to watch.

Liza’s dad finally tracked down a neighbor who had a spare. Let it be known that said neighbor didn’t have a cell phone, so her dad had to try him at three different country clubs before locating him. Must be nice to only be reachable by country club concierge. We were told he’d come by after his golf game and bring us a key, so we grabbed the beers and the Cheez-Its and headed down to the dock.

Mr. Country Club showed up a tad later than expected, but we did finally get in the house, about 1.5 hours after we had arrived. And as far as we know, all that meat and cold food was still good. Well, at least no one has gotten sick…yet.

Regardless of this minor snafu at the onset, it turned out to be an epic weekend, complete with skinny dipping (I wasn’t joking), boating, beer pong, Kate tumbling down the stairs with a full glass of bourbon, and stories that will remain in the Memorial Day Weekend 2K11 vault.

As if it need to be said, Kate and I have already approached Liza (read: invited ourselves) for 4th of July Weekend.

Someone else will be in charge of the key.


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Whooopsiiiiieeee. Sorry about that long-ass hiatus, you guys. I just got so caught up preparing for Hangout Fest and then it WAS Hangout Fest and then this whole week I had to RECOVER from Hangout Fest, so you know how it goes.

Okay, majorly lame excuses. I actually got back together with my pro wrestler ex-boyfriend and he knocked me up a couple weeks ago and we’ve been trying to figure out how to deal with that.

Just kidding. The Hangout Fest excuse was way closer to the truth.

So anyway. Hangout Fest in Gulf Shores, Alabama last weekend = the best 3.5 days of my life. Bands/artists like the Foo Fighters, Cee Lo, The Black Keys, Avett Brothers, Amos Lee, Girl Talk, etc., etc. on the mother-freaking beach. It was awesome. And we stayed in a beachfront condo instead of in a tent or some shit like I heard they do at Bonnaroo. No offense to Bonnaroo, but I think Hangout is way more my speed.

Aaaaannndddd…..we got to road trip, so you know what THAT MEANS!

Time to act like high schoolers.

I was totally on board with this. Literally. But when we stopped at Subway and a member of the other car we were caravaning with got a hold of the paint marker when we weren’t looking, THIS happened.

I mean, sure it’s hilarious and we embraced it, but do you guys KNOW what happens when dudes think there is a car full of single ladies riding around in redneck Alabama? Of course you do. And when we were stopped in traffic around the festival grounds with our windows down, it was even more interesting.

Also, I’m a little scarred from seeing THREE guys pleasuring themselves in their cars over the years (two in traffic, one sitting in his parked car right outside of Twisted Taco) so I don’t like to be involved in anything that could provoke such a thing.

Go ahead, call me a prude.

But would a prude insist we stop at this place on the way down? (I may have even asked for a job application.)

More to cum, er, come.

You guys are sick.


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“Is That Lassie?”

When I worked downtown at 360 Media, I would bring my dog Dewey to work, and taking him out to pee was ALWAYS an adventure, mainly because of all the homeless people that would yell at him/us. What would they yell, you ask? Always the same shit:

“Lassie!  Is that Lassie!?”

“Look at Lassie over there!”

“Is that dog named Lassie?”

Yes, everyone.  My dog is named Lassie. I couldn’t come up with anything better than that.

But, I always politely smiled and/or laughed at their comments, all the while trying to pull Dewey away from the tossed-away chicken wing bones that are so plentiful on the streets of downtown Atlanta.

When I left 360 and no longer had to walk Dewey around those parts, I thought the Lassie commentary would subside.

It didn’t.

The corner of Ponce and North Highland is where it happens the most, and there is a halfway house a block away which may have something to do with it. I’m just saying. A few weeks ago, a man called out, “Lassie!” while I was on the corner waiting to cross, and when I made it across, another person asked, “Is that dog named Lassie?”  What…a double header. And, just yesterday on the Freedom Park Trail, a homeless-looking man came running toward Dewey (BIG mistake) yelling out “Lassie!  Is that Lassie?” I had to drag Dewey away from that situation so quickly, you would have thought there were a dozen chicken wing bones on the path in front of him.

I just have to ask. What is the homeless population’s obsession with my dog, and more importantly, what is their obsession with Lassie? And MOST importantly, do they really think a witty girl like me would name her dog after the most iconic dog in the world? Okay, so maybe they don’t know I’m witty. Wait, am I?

And, to actually answer the question “Is that Lassie?”, the answer is NO. Lassie is a fictional character, and as for the dogs that played him on television and in movies, they are dead. All of them.

But still, maybe they’re onto something. Maybe Dewey REALLY does resemble the canine superstar.

You be the judge.

The Mall on a Saturday Night

Because I “work well under pressure” (read: do everything last minute), I always stop to get gifts while on the way to a party. My friend Christina’s engagement shower was Saturday evening, so of course, I stopped by Pottery Barn at Lenox on the way there to pick up some goods. What….a disaster. I had forgotten what a CLUSTERF*CK the mall is on a weekend night. Every teen and their mothers (ok, so probably not their mothers) were there, the girls in hooched out sloutfits (that’s my new word for slutty outfits) and the guys looking like they came straight off the set of a Lil’ Wayne video…

…except they had shirts on.

One fella that was actually “of age” (or so he looked) hit on me while we were on the escalator so I couldn’t escape. As if that wasn’t bad enough, I have escalator anxiety because of an injury from 2005 so that took it up about 10 notches.

Anyway, I was wearing a romper that I have officially deemed my new favorite outfit (NOT a sloutfit, but maybe with a couple buttons undone, it could qualify). Since I purchased the romper at a store in the mall, I decided to pop in and see if I could snag one in another color; that’s how much I love it.  Have you ever gone into a store to purchase the exact same thing you’re wearing? I felt like a total douche. And, then I had to ask a salesgirl to check my tag to make sure I was getting the right size. Another douche move. But, I found one in a different color and my size, so mission accomplished.

On the way to Pottery Barn, I noticed “Coming Soon” signs outside a storefront for…wait for it…a Microsoft store. Ummmm, can’t wait to see the lines outside of that store. SIKE.

Can you picture it? A line wrapped around the mall when Microsoft Office 2012 edition comes out? I don’t think so. Microsoft, I love you and all, but leave the whole “storefront” thing to Apple. It’s embarrassing.

Then, I got to Pottery Barn. I wanted to get Christina a cocktail shaker and a sack of fake lemons right off her registry. Why you would register for fake fruit, I don’t know, but Christina has great taste, so I’m sure she has big plans for those lemons. Well, she better, because it took about 3 hours for the Pottery Barn staff to find a sack of those f*ckers. Ok, so it was only about 10 minutes, but come on! I was about to grab 6 of the lemons on display, put them in a bag and call it a day.

When they finally tracked down the 2 items, the cashier lady asked if I wanted them gift wrapped. Uh, duh. Then, she passed the gift off to another lady who asked me if I wanted to wait for the gift wrapping or come back. Excuse me? Since when is gift wrapping a lengthy procedure? I know those people gift wrap items all damn day especially now that it’s wedding season and they should be able to do it in under 5 minutes flat while I stand there and watch.

“Uh, yeah I’ll wait. I’m on my way to the party. How long is this going to take?”

“About 15 minutes.”

I bit my tongue. I have a baaaad tendency to snap in situations like this. And, I bit my tongue again when she took my present into the BACK. What…was going on here? Now I felt panicky. I had no idea how long they were going to take and I couldn’t even stare at them impatiently to speed up the process.

So, I waited.

And waited.

And tweeted.

A couple came in and did their entire registry while I waited.

Ok, that didn’t happen, but it could have. I started lingering around the back of the store as if that would help. I saw the door open and expected it to be Gift Wrap Lady, but it was NOT. It was Cashier Lady, with her bag over her shoulder, ready to go home. That’s right. Cashier Lady had completed her shift in the time it was taking to wrap my one damn present.

Gift Wrap Lady finally resurfaced but she couldn’t find an envelope to put the card in.

“It’s fine. I’ll just slip the card under the ribbon.”

She looked at me like I had just spit in her face. “But, we always put the card in an envelope with the gift receipt!”

WELL THEN FIND ME A DAMN ENVELOPE, LADY!  I felt like screaming that. But, I didn’t. I waited patiently AGAIN while she searched and finally retrieved what was probably the last tiny envelope in the store. Last envelope. Last sack of fake lemons. I was really cleaning them out. And, they deserved it.

Never again will I go to the mall on a weekend night…even if it means shopping in advance.

Who Says Romance is Dead?

I got a voicemail from my Pure Romance (read: sex toy party) consultant Annette the other day.  Here’s the bulk of it:

“Hey Ashley, it’s Annette from Pure Romance.  Hope you’re staying dry (no pun intended).  I am checking in with you, young lady, because you have not responded to my email that said I owe you $40 in hostess credit!  I was wondering if you wanted me to send you something or if you wanted to wait until next week because I will be coming home from Nashville with new product. We have no idea what we’re going to get so it’s going to be a MAJOR surprise, for me and for you!”

First of all, I never received said email so this was QUITE a shocker.  In more ways than one.  I don’t think I’ve ever received a voicemail so amazing.  I have free money to spend?!  AND, there are new products to select from.  Hook it up, Annette.  Hook. It. Up.

I called Annette back but she couldn’t chat because she was checking into her hotel in Nashville, but she texted me later:  “OMG!!!! The product line is off the chain.  Bronzers, lip stains, lipsticks, up-all-night wipes and so much more!”

Umm, I’m sorry, but I buy my bronzer and lipstick from Lancome, girl.  What about the real goods?  The battery operated kind?

Then she wrote this:  “And new toys, too!”

Phew.  That…was a close one.

I just wanted to intro Annette with our most recent encounter, but I’ve been meaning to pimp her out on this blog anyway.  She has done 2 Pure Romance parties for me and I will never use anyone else when it comes time to gather the girls and fill our goodie drawers.  She. Is. The best.  Why?  Well, she’s fun, knows how to engage the crowd, and she has an arsenal of sex knowledge and tips.  Oh, and this is how she rolls.

That’s me at my 26th birthday.  And yes, those are vibrators in a rifle case.  Talk about…packing the heat.

For the last party I hosted with Kate as a “pre-Valentine’s” soiree, Annette brought a clearance bin and it was pretty much the most amazing thing ever.  Edible panties for $5?  Yes, please.  I mean, I probably wouldn’t pay more than $10, but I thought $5 was quite a steal.  Here we are checking out the goods:

Poor Natalie didn’t even see that shlong coming.  Literally.

Oh, and look who else showed up!

Wait a minute, is that….what I think it is!? Edward, put that back in your pants!!

JK.  I stuck that “Mr. Dependable” on him.  Wondering why I have a lifesize cut-out of Edward Cullen in my apartment?  Don’t worry about it.

So, basically if you want to do a sex toy party, Annette is your girl.  Check out her site, give her a buzz (ha) and prepare for a good time.  Better get her while she has all those new goods from Nashville, too.


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The Weekend’s Top 5

In case the title isn’t self-explanatory enough, I’m sharing my top 5 moments of the past weekend, because I don’t think I have one incident worthy enough of a whole blog entry.  I know.  How sad.  If only my neighbor would have broken in and puked on my couch or something….

1: Male Porn
One of my girlfriends (who will remain nameless, I guess) and I caught an episode of Real World: Las Vegas last weekend and the hottest male cast member admitted that he had been involved with a “male webcam-based site” in the past.  Obviously we had to check it out immediately, so we went straight to Frat Pad Dot Com and took the “free tour.”  I freaked out a little bit at first because I wasn’t expecting to see a big, flaccid you-know-what flopping around right off the bat, but I got over it.  Fast forward to this Friday night during a girls night in and 3 of us decided to pay $2 for a 2-day trial, because….well, why not.  I’m not going to talk about what we witnessed because this isn’t that kind of blog, you guys.  But, I had to watch with one eye closed.  Talk about…a one-eyed monster.  Go ahead and check it out for yourself…if you dare.

2: Pillow Fiiiiight!
Saturday was International Pillow Fight Day (yeah, I know – WTF, right?), which means about a hundred people got together in Freedom Park and had an all-out pillow brawl.  I had to go shoot the event for AOL and it was actually very entertaining.  This guy, however, doesn’t look so entertained….

Seriously, what’s his problem?

On the other hand, I think this is the cutest picture I’ve ever taken and/or seen.

3:  Dinner Conversation
Bakeshop does after-hours BYOB dinners that are amazing and delicious (3 courses, $40 a person, check out for more info).  I went on Saturday night and about halfway through the first course, my friend Lauren (author of my favorite Atl blog besides my own), leaned across the table and said, “I know this may not be dinner talk, but…did your neighbor really pee on your couch?”  I think we all know the answer to that question, Lauren.

4.  KEVIN!!
If you’ve ever seen The Proposal, you may know about “Kevin,” the cutest dog in the universe (clip HERE).  Sunday, while we were laying out on the rooftop deck of Kate’s new house, we heard a puppy bark and peered over to the neighbor’s rooftop, only to catch catch a glimpse of a real-life Kevin!  And, his owner just lifted him right up so we could freak out over him.  And, we did.

5.  Face Time
I saw the Face Raper in person.  And, he’s extremely good-looking and tall.  And, that’s all I am authorized to say about that.


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OMG, like WTF is up w/ Emoticons These Days? :-) ROFL!

This week’s podcast with Sully of Dave FM explores the serious subject of emoticon overusage, especially when it comes to dudes.  :(  We also discuss a celeb sighting I had on the way to the station (most MAJOR celeb I’ve ever seen in person), aaaaaannnnddddd….the One Love Date Auction happening Thursday, April 7, which I am so freaking excited about and hope anyone who’s in Atl and available (as in, you don’t have plans, not that you have to be single), can come to!  :D  Click HERE (then click play) to listen and happy weekend!  <3 <3 <3

Urine Trouble

If you’re friends with me in real life, on Facebook, or follow me on The Twitter, you may know about my downstairs neighbor, who pretty much has the worst profession EVER for apartment living: he’s a f*cking DJ.  Which means he practices his annoying, techno DJ sets right under my floor in our 100-year-old building so I can hear every stupid beat while I’m trying to concentrate.  When I first moved in, I would just bang on the floor with a 5-pound weight until he turned it down.  That’s the universal sign for “shut the F up,” right?  But, after 3 or 4 times doing that move, he came UP to my APARTMENT, knocked on the door, and told me we needed to have a discussion because I was being “passive agressive.” What…a crybaby.  But, since then, I’ve learned to tolerate him.

Until he pissed on my couch.

It was midnight-ish on a Saturday and I was in for the night early.  Downstairs DJ was practicing his set entirely too loud and I had big brunch plans in the morning and needed to get my rest.  So….I brought out the free weight and gave it a few hard pounds on the floor until he turned down his tunes.  It was the first time I’d used that tactic since our come-to-Jesus talk but it needed to be done.  I wasn’t about to go down there, bra-less and in boxers, and break up his hipster dance party/orgy/smoke fest/whatever.

The next morning, I took Dewey out for a walk and neglected to lock my door (which I always do now, so don’t even think about it, potential burglars and/or rapers).  I came home, showered and was preparing for brunch when I saw it.

My couch…covered in piss.

Oh. Hale. No.  No no no.  I have had Dewey for more than two years and he has NEVER EVER once had an accident.  EVER.  He won’t do it.  He would rather jump through a window than go to the bathroom in the house.  It’s been proven.  So, there was only one conclusion.  Downstairs DJ.  I know what you’re thinking: Ashley, there is NO way your neighbor watched to see when you left the building, checked to see if your door was unlocked, then busted in and urinated all over your couch.

Well, like I said, Dewey has never had an accident.  The spot was still wet, which means it had just happened.  AND, Neighbor and I had just had a “passive aggressive” altercation the night before.  You do the math.

I had to tell Kate what happened via G-chat and get her feedback.  You can also consider this a lesson in personal safety, ladies.

me: hey i think my neighbor pissed on my couch
kate: WHAT. stop it
me: i bet he knows i dont lock my door when i walk dewey.  and i pissed him off on sat. night
kate: there is no. way.
me: and it happened sunday
kate: you pissed him off so he pissed on your couch
me: i just dont know when dewey could have done it
kate: i mean, that is really a stretch, ash. even for you
me: well, it just doesnt seem right
kate: also, you should lock your doors when you walk him
me: yeah i am now. i cant afford to keep dry cleaning my couch
kate: some people wait for you to leave and then go in your apt and rape you
me: how can they rape me if i leave? oh, you mean, like they hide in there?
kate: they rape you when you get back.  and you are all like, unsuspecting.  they can also do it when you take out the trash

Lesson. Learned.  About locking my doors.  As for my neighbor, he just better watch his back.

And control his bladder.

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Assault with an Oral Weapon

Kissing.  Making Out.  Frenching.  1st Base.  Swapping spit (ew).  Whatever you want to call it, we’ve all been doing it for like, at least 8-10 years now at this point, right (assuming most of my readers are “of age”)?  I remember my first kiss like it was yesterday, but I’m not going to share those details because it was embarrassingly later than all my friends and it was totally gross and sometimes I still want to throw up in my mouth when I think about it.

Ohmygod, I just gagged.

But, seriously, don’t we all know how to kiss?  Even if we didn’t quite “get it” in middle or early high school, we figured it out by watching TV, movies, Internet porn, whatever.  Relax your lower lip, try to minimize your saliva, don’t use too much tongue (at first).  You know the drill.  Well…apparently some guys still DON’T know the drill.

While I was trying to rest up for the marathon, er, half-marathon on Saturday night, a girlfriend called me at 1 a.m. I silenced her, of course, but she left a panicked voicemail about something horrible that had just happened to her.  The next morning, I got the whole sleazy story.

She had been face raped.

Picture it:  SUPER cute guy, totally normal, met through mutual friends that night and he invited her back to his place for a nightcap.  Too bad nightcap meant FACE RAPE.  In this particular case, the “incident” started out with him grabbing her face and smushing her cheeks and lips together the way your grandparents would do if they hadn’t seen you in a while.  Then, he proceeded to make out with her smushed-up mouth.  After that, he started kissing her (or what he thought was kissing) with such quick, forceful movements that her head started banging into the wall repeatedly.

For the record, head banging against a headboard during you-know-what: ok.  Head banging against a wall during a makeout: NOT. OK.

Then, he completed the deed with about 12 full-on face licks.  Face. Licks. Like a dog would lick your face.  Only worse.  Because he was a human.  And it happened 12 times.

Why did she proceed to let this face rape happen for so long, through cheek smushing, head banging and a dozen face licks?  Well, for one, she was stunned.  Two…she couldn’t get away.  When she finally broke free from the face raper, she made up a story about needing to get home to her dog (who doesn’t even lick her face like that), bolted and ran out into the city streets, arms flailing about for a cab.  Poor girl.

But more importantly, poor guy.  How has no one told him this is just NOT acceptable?  Or, maybe someone has told him and he just thinks his style is better?  What does he think when he sees a makeout on TV or in the movies?  That THEY are the weird ones?

I guess we’ll never know.  But, let this be a lesson to anyone out who thinks they have a “unique” kissing style.  You don’t.  If you’re doing anything that involves smushing or licking a face, or performing any sort of act that resembles giving your kissing partner an oral exam with your own tongue, just stop it.  You’re face raping.  And, it’s a crime.

The Big Finish

Warning: this post may not be funny.  There was really nothing funny about running 13.1 miles yesterday, except for the fact that I actually did it in a decent time without any training.  But, not sure “funny” is the right word for that (click here for the background on the race decision).  Oh, but there was a spectator on the route with a poster that said, “The results are on the Internet FOREVER!” so that was kinda’ funny. Would have been better if she’d said “World Wide Web” though.

Anyway, I did it.  In 2 hours, 11 minutes and 52 seconds, which averages out to a little more than 10 minutes per mile.  I don’t know if it was the fact that I had zero expectations for it or just randomly happen to be in shape or what, but it was…ok, I’m just going to say it….pretty easy.  Well, until about mile 11 when my knees just totally broke down and I had to slow it down for the last 2 miles.  If those f*ckers would have stayed pain-free, I would have beaten my time from 2 years ago (2:06), but I digress.

Not to get all inspirational, but if you’re thinking you could never do a half-marathon, or full marathon, or 5K or WHATEVER, I want to say that you can (unless you have physical limitations).  I am still slightly in shock at what I was able to do yesterday, but when the moment comes, you just find the inner strength somehow.

Ew, I just said “inner strength.”  That’s enough inspirational talk outta me.

I celebrated at Rosebud afterward, which was just like any other Sunday.  Except I wore a medal (for a photo op), and maybe consumed just a tad more champagne than usual.  This is what I like to call the “totally-exhausted-slightly-scary-no-makeup-hurry-up-and-take-the-picture-now” look.  Also known as: sexy.

So, until the next race, er, blog post…..CHEERS!