Posts Tagged ‘funny blog’

Balls at the Mall

On the drive down to Miami from Tampa with my cousin and his wife, I was informed that we would be stopping at the outlets so my cousin could pick up some Brooks Brothers shirts for work. To be honest, I just wanted to get to Miami and really didn’t have any desire to get out of the car and mosey around an outdoor mall. I think a slightly bitchy, “Are you serious?” even slipped out.

They were serious.

But, as usual, I ended up finding plenty of entertainment in the short half hour we were there and regretted my previous negative ‘tude. When we walked into Brooks Brothers, I immediately started pointing and laughing at all the ridiculous outfits they put on display for men in that place. For the record, I like a guy in a pink shirt, but head-to-toe pastels are a whole different story.

Yellow pants + pink collared shirt + purple argyle sweater vest equals a HALLOWEEN COSTUME in my book. Or an Easter Sunday outfit for the Jolie-Pitt daughter that always dresses like a dude. Not a sexy ensemble for a full-grown man. And, don’t even get me started on anything that has little embroidered animals all over it.

The fratastic clothing was so intense, I could almost smell the hot Beam & Coke breath and hear the sounds of a cover band singing “Sweet Home Alabama.” It was time to get out of there. I exited the building and went on a search for bottled water.  And, stumbled upon THIS:

Yep, that’s right. Children. In hamster balls. This was something I could get on board with. If I ever decide to have children, you better believe I’m going to put them out in the backyard in giant hamster balls in an above-ground pool and let them occupy themselves all day long. I know from experience that hamsters can stay in those things for hours on end, so I’m sure children are no different. I felt a wave of relief that maybe, just maybe, I could have kids one day.

As for dating a guy that prefers pastel pants over jeans? Still not going there.

And a trip to the outlets can never change that.

Offended because you like dudes in head-to-toe pastels or are a dude that wears such things?  Awww, I’m sorry.  Why not subscribe anyway using the button at the top, and post a comment on how much you hate rompers?  Seriously.  I can take it.

Why I Hate Cab Drivers

Let it be known that I have major issues with cab drivers. Not ALL cab drivers, but about 75% of them, especially when they’re rude, try to charge me $12 to go less than a mile, and throw tantrums when I try to pay with a credit card even though I can SEE their credit card swiper sitting right on the passenger seat. I’ve had some very shady-slash-hilarious incidences with cabbies in my life (especially one involving the Brookhaven Kroger), but Saturday night in Miami trumped them all.

I was staying with my cousin and his wife in Tampa this past weekend, and Saturday, we drove down to Miami to stay with my aunt and uncle. My BFF Cory and some other friends from Delaware/Philly were coincidentally in South Beach, so, of course I had to meet them out. My cousin dropped me off at Barton G and I planned on cabbing it back to the house that night or the next morning. Around 2 a.m., I got totally lame and decided to take my not-drunk ass back to my aunt and uncle’s, so, I hopped in a cab. I was prepared to shell out some cash to get back, but I was thinking around $40. $50 max.

The douche of a driver “took the long way” back and was not friendly at all. Shocker. And, of course he didn’t take credit cards (when is everyone going to GET WITH IT?!), so I had to be taken to an ATM, which is always a great place to get mugged or knifed in a metro area at 2:30 a.m., so I was excited about that. When we finally pulled up to the house, the meter read something around $53. I handed him all my cash (almost exact) and he gladly took it and counted it with no mention of me owing him any more. ALSO, keep in mind, he was playing the “me speak very little English” card. Even though he was an a-hole, I still wanted to tip him because he had driven me all the way out there, so I told him I was going to run in the house and see if I had any extra cash.  He still didn’t seem to be comprehending, so I figured we were all set.

I went in, searched through my bags and found no cash, so I got into pajamas and prepared to hit the sack. I figured the dude was long gone.

Then the doorbell rang.

Nope, it wasn’t the cab driver.

It was a cop.

Let it be known that I ALSO have had issues with cops, so when I see one, I immediately think I’m getting cuffed and taken to jail. It didn’t help my anxiety that the doorbell had woken up my aunt and cousin’s wife and they came rushing to the door, and I also was wearing a thin tank top with no bra. Arrested for indecent exposure in my own home? It would only happen to me.

The cop explained that the cab driver had called him because I hadn’t paid him in full.

You. Have. Got. To be. Kidding me.

And that “non-English speaking” mother F’er was sitting right outside the house, running his meter the entire time.

My cousin’s wife, Ashli, sprung into action and took over because truth be told, I was stunned. And inappropriately dressed. And did not want to face this jackass cabbie for fear of getting arrested for battery.

His meter now read $73 and we had to pay him to settle the dispute. For real. Ashli and my aunt took care of the cash and got his personal and company information, which apparently scared him a bit. And just for the record, when he spoke to Ashli, he was speaking perfectly clear English. Of course he was.

I’d say the cab driver won this one. He got an extra $20 while I got all shook up and my family had to ensue police-involved drama at 3 a.m.

But, he’ll get what’s coming to him.

It’s called car-ma.


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Girls Lie About Their Weight

The following is a real conversation. My friend’s name has been changed because…she’d probably want me to.

Me: my health insurance broker called me skinny today.

Serena: nice!

Me: but it was over the phone. and I lied about my weight. soooo……

Serena: omg. that is really funny. I mean….they asked me my weight and height before they gave me my IV. and I lied about my weight.

Me: oh good.

Serena: but, then I was like NO I LIED because I didn’t want them to not give me enough and it wouldn’t work!

Me: how much did you lie about?

Serena: 5 lbs. it was embarrassing

Me: I lied by 7.

Me: ok  I just lied again.  it was 9

Serena: that’s a lot

Ride It, My Pony

This is me when I was little.

You know how some girls are insecure about their looks so they end up being slutty to compensate?  Well, I’m not quite sure if that was my mentality when I was 7 years old, but I was definitely not so cute, and……the picture speaks for itself.

I mean, what mother thinks this is acceptable behavior for a child and then decides to photograph it?  Cindy Hesseltine, that’s who.  And, the booty shorts?!  Or is that just straight underwear?  As for that shirt, don’t even get me started.  Ok, fine, I’ll get started.  My dad used to have an employee that made spandex clothing (NOW I realize she was probably a stripper by night) and he would bring me home swatches of spandex and let me choose colors and designs and what kind of apparel I wanted.  I once “designed” a pair of pants that were one black leg and one hot pink zebra-striped leg and my parents let me wear that shit to second grade.  Cindy is currently on the hunt for photographic evidence of THAT fashion disaster.

But, what can I say?  They let me “be myself” whether I was going to be a horseback rider, fashion designer or exotic dancer and I thank them for that.  I could have turned out a whole lot worse.

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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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