Home Sweet Home

I spent a nice chunk of time tonight writing about my recent cross-country trip for my friend’s wedding in Wine Country.

And then it just – poof! – disappeared!

And now I can’t remember what I wrote, and I’m grumpy, and I’m afraid it’s going to happen again, so, highlights and pictures it is!

I ❤️ San Francisco.

A well-meaning (and hopefully legally blind) woman asked if I was my friend’s MOTHER.

I left my actual child at home with Dad and Nana, and he was totes fine without me (😢) but was SUPER excited to see me when I got home (😍)

I ate, and drank, so many amazing things.

Speaking of drinking, we maybe almost sort-of got kicked out of our hotel room.

My wonderful friend married a wonderful man.


Lucky Charms

Last night, my beloved Baltimore Ravens won the freaking Superbowl, and I kissed everyone in my house square on the mouth. Aggressively.


Today, I have a cold — so lesson learned. Less celebratory kissing.

Also, you’re welcome, Baltimore — because I was decked out in what I can now confirm are my luckiest of charms:

1) Purple sweatshirt, which I wore throughout most of the season and every post-season game. Why not a jersey, Ashley? You have two?! Well, one is too small, and one is way too big. And also, HELLO, IT’S MY LUCKY SWEATSHIRT.

2) Lucky undies. Yeah, that’s right. After the Broncos game (which even after a Superbowl win, might be the greatest game I’ve ever seen — unless you’re a Broncos fan..) I was all, “everything on my body is magical!” so I wore everything again for the NE game (after washing them, naturally) and then I was like — I’m totally on to something here. But I have a bunch that look exactly the same (thanks, Victoria’s Secret) so I took a sharpie, and drew an X on the butt. Last night clinched it. Lucky underwear.

3) A big ass amethyst ring. My mom gave it to me for Christmas, and I love it. I had it on for every post-season game AND when my car decided to flip over on top of me.


Speaking of my car flipping over, and lucky charms — I’m totally fine. Thank you all for all the well wishes, and messages. I’m seriously the luckiest person, ever. Plus, my neck totally stopped hurting in time for me to get my Beyonce on last night (and this morning — and really, right this second.)

And even though football season is over (victoriously!), our next embryo transfer is coming up in a few weeks, and you better believe I’ll be wearing all those lucky charms to the doctor’s office.

*UPDATE! After I posted this, Mike called to remind me that I needed to go to MVA to do some paperwork for my totaled car, insurance, blah blah blah — so I hurried up and just threw on my lucky sweatshirt and I’m totally still wearing the lucky underwear, because I haven’t showered yet. Shut up, whatever. Anyway, I get to the MVA, and I’m not exaggerating when I tell you they gave me my number, and I got called immediately. Like, the woman said to me, “Just listen for I26.” and then the thingymabobber said, “I26 to window 6.” I got my replacement title, in and out the door in five minutes. This is a miracle. So, since I’m on a roll, I bought some lottery tickets, just in case. And I am DEFINITELY wearing all these lucky charms to that embryo transfer…

Car Ghost

A few days ago I was out running errands, when my car radio started changing the station ALL BY ITSELF.

It wasn’t like I accidentally bumped the scan button either — 1) because my car isn’t that fancy, and I don’t have any buttons like that on the steering wheel, and 2) IT HAPPENED SIX TIMES.


It didn’t jump from one pre-set to another either — each time it happened, the car ghost (because clearly, my car is haunted) turned the tuner knob one click, so it went from music to static.

It was terrifying.

And today — it happened AGAIN.

Also, the ghost hates pop music.

Nicki Minaj? Changed!

Maroon 5 and Pink? Nope, the ghost says no.

Kanye? Pffft. Please.

After this afternoon, we can add Tone Loc to the list too. Apparently my car ghost has issues with Funky Cold Medina.

Ghost approved acts? So far, Fleetwood Mac & Bryan Adams.

I guess I’ll be listening to a lot of Lite 102.


Dancing Queen

I love dancing.  I’d marry dancing if I wasn’t already spoken for, and she would have me.

Also, yes, dancing is a girl.  So I’m gay for dancing.

I dance everywhere.  I’m the girl you catch dancing in the car.  I dance down grocery store aisles.  I dance in my kitchen, and my mother’s kitchen.  I dance in the shower.  I dance at my desk at work.

When I was waitressing in college, I danced around the restaurant.  Someone bet me that I wouldn’t dance up to a table, dance while I took their order, and then dance out their food.  Uhhh, of course I’ll do all those things – because in addition to being an awesome dancer, it’s almost impossible to embarrass me.  After that, someone made me a new nametag:  Dancing Queen.  People asked to sit in the dancing girl’s section.  I made a lot of money that summer.

Somewhere there are dozens of pictures of me and my two bffs, Kristina & Matt, dancing in our underwear.  It was choreographed, on the spot.  The pantslessness can be easily explained — it was summer, we didn’t have AC, and we were probably drunk.  The DJ at my wedding found out about it, and called them both out onto the dancefloor with me, and Matt whispered, “do I have to take off my pants?!”  That’s how serious I am about my dancing.

Mike does not dance.  Well, he slow dances — but that’s usually only at weddings, or in our family room if our song comes on.

(Now our song is playing, and I’m dancing, again.  Alone.  Sitting down.  And I look good.)

In the almost three years I’ve known Mike, I can count the number of times he’s danced with me for real on one hand.  I’ve danced with my best friend’s husband more than my own – but I’m ok with that, because it’s not really his thing.

Mike did recently make up his own dance though.

He calls it the Jazz Triangle.

And it’s amazing.

But most of the time, we look like this: