Sunny Daze Ahead (Probably)

I told Matt I was going to create a series of blogs about “how to not do college” and he kind of just gave me a blank stare – then goes “considering you completed 4 years of undergraduate college and 3 years of law school… I’m not sure you’re qualified to speak on the matter.” 🤣

He has a point.. I DID college, I did a lot of it. Wayyyy too much (0/10 recommend). But that’s precisely why I know exactly what NOT to do to YOURSELF during college. Consider this a how to: how to survive ages 18-22, how to make GOOD decisions (vis á vis my BAD decisions), and I may even sneak in a fashion tip or two. Basically, consider yourself enrolled in the world’s longest extended lesson on everything not to do, because it’s tried and true.. and I’m not sure that I’m what you would consider #goals.

First, please note: I was unaware that college was a choice.

When I say unaware, I mean, I had no idea that it was an option/there was no legal obligation to go to college, like there was in high school. Not going to college was simply not a discussion in our household and it wasn’t until I heard of people in high school that were going to go straight to work 😱, that it even crossed my mind that college may (possibly) be a choice. Don’t be that kid. You’ll just look dumb in front of your classmates. (thanks mom and dad! 😑)

Also, I recommend having a clear understanding on the inner workings of college credit hours BEFORE enrollment. Otherwise.. you will try to sign up for 15 hours of class a day and have a breakdown in the enrollment classroom (in front of all your new classmates) because it keeps telling you that you’ve hit your credit limit.. tenfold. Fun fact, I had no idea that college students didn’t go to school from 8:00-4:00. 🤦🏻‍♀️

yep. That’s RIGHT. I thought we were going to be going to classes all day, every day, just like we always had. For how long, you ask? UNTIL I WAS LITERALLY CRYING DURING ENROLLMENT. As in, yes, I was actually AT the college when this little nugget of truth was revealed to me. (Thanks again, mom and dad! I feel STRONGLY that this could have been brought up at least ONCE before you set me free on the world).

Goals are good. Have goals. But don’t shape your entire college experience around a goal that you have predetermined is your ONLY option. Give yourself a little grace – up until three months ago, you had to ask to go to the bathroom. Dip your toe into college, at the shallow end, and take a minute to get used to the temperature. DO NOT dive headfirst into the deep end and suddenly discover you do not know how to swim. I have never been a strong swimmer.

So for example, Med School. I think it’s a good idea to think about it, pursue it, but don’t like.. cut-off every other option in your life. Especially for a goal.. you are not 100% committed to completing (come to find out!). 18 is a hard to time to decide what to do for the REST of your existence. It’s okay if you need to give it some thought. Most people do.

Otherwise, you’ll be so determined that you are going to med school that you fast-forward the whole college experience by completing 21 credit hours (you know, those introductory classes in college) before you even get there. Inevitably, you’ll be thrown in the pre-med program, and taking calculus as your first college class, when in reality, the last math class you took was in like ninth grade.. and it was elementary algebra.

How bad was it? I’ll paint a picture. Imagine me, walking into my first college class, sitting down, and getting up after 5 minutes and leaving class, because I ASSUMED I WAS IN THE WRONG CLASS.

The limit (of how under-qualified you can be) does not exist in calculus class – which seriously sounded like some weird cult-language to me. 😳 Imagine my horror when I realized I was in the right place and had to go back in. I know they mean something else when they say the walk of shame.. but this particular moment had to qualify somewhere on the walk of shame – scale of misery.

One final token, and this is an important one, do NOT wear your cute new dress, with your sexy new thong, and your fancy Vera Bradley backpack, to your first day of college.

Inevitably, you will walk the entire length of Jayhawk Boulevard (I don’t know- 1/2 a mile? Give or take) with the bottom of your dress tucked up your back, by your super snazzy, new backpack, and your ass will just hanging out. FULL BLOWN ASSAGE. Let me just say, it’s not actually as breezy as you would think. And I’m not sure there is anything quite as awkward as mistakenly thinking you look like hot shit and appreciating the stares and finding out later it was for ALL the wrong reasons.

Talk about the walk of shame. 🤦🏻‍♀️ bless the upperclassman that finally pulled me aside and updated me on the butt situation. I have no idea who she was, or what she has done in her life thus far, but she truly deserves all good things at all times.

LEARN FROM ME! Sunny daze ahead, friends (probably).

Wellness — I have spent so much time trying to understand what it means to me lately. I know I have alluded to it in the past, but I’m going to be straightforward, right now.

In September, I opted to switch my anti-anxiety medications around. This was a decision that weighed heavily on my heart, but ultimately, I felt like I needed a change.

I’m pretty “in-tune” with my anxiety; after all, it is my longest, nearest, and not-at-all dearest frenemy. I have struggled with anxiety for almost as long as I can remember breathing. Medications, therapies, good times, bad times. So in September, I felt like it was time for a change. I felt ready to make a change.

It almost ruined my life. I have never been so sick, so depressed, so low, so anxious in my entire life. I honestly should have been hospitalized. I spent 3 months absolutely miserable… and I couldn’t remember why I decided a change was needed.

And being that low really does make you think… what is wellness? What does wellness mean to me?

Wellness used to mean climbing on my horse’s back, taking off at a full gallop, for as long as we both could last.

Wellness used to mean spending hours brushing her, detangling her mane, and kissing her soft spot on her nose.

Wellness used to look like walking around the Lawrence dog park with my TWO favorite girls, stopping to let Harley take a quick swim.

Wellness used to look like my home, in Lawrence, sitting on my roof, staring at the stars, and listening to the steam whistle signal class was over for the night.

I used to know what wellness looked like for me. Wellness used to seem easy.

I’ve come to realize that wellness is a choice, and it’s a choice that you have to make every.single.day. Wellness was so, so hard to see during those 3 months.

But I see wellness in taking a night to binge watch my favorite tv show, in my favorite place (bed) with my three favorite poochies.

I see wellness in mopping my floor (is there anything that makes you feel like your shit is more put together than a mopped floor?) and testing out a new recipe (I recently started testing out the instant pot.. it’s a little scary LOL)

I choose wellness by choosing to love others when I don’t feel like loving myself. By sharing phone calls, and telling stories, and setting lunch dates.

I feel wellness in sitting on my back porch, sharing a cigarello, and jamming out to Brian Davis, with Matt. Sunshine on our face, summer breeze through our hair.

Wellness looks like sharing a good meal, with good friends and good family, making memories.

I choose wellness when I let myself say no, when I remind myself to take time to me, when I remind myself to rest.

I feel wellness when I sit down to watch a game, at a favorite restaurant, and share a couple of budlights, and an appetizer or two, with my favorite guy.

I feel wellness with a good bubble bath soak, a juicy murder podcast in the background, and a glass of wine, before an early bedtime.

I feel wellness when I sit down with a good book, or to solve a puzzle with my mom, or sit down to watch dateline or go grocery shopping with my dad.

I feel wellness on lazy Saturday mornings, cuddled up with Matt and our three babies, telling stories and laughing with one another.

I’ve come to realize that wellness takes different forms on different days. Wellness changes with the times and changes with the needs. I have to be honest, I would love to have access to some of my old “wellness” techniques, but how exciting is it that the entire world is open for the pursuit of wellness?!

I plan to keep pursuing wellness, for myself, and I’ll keep you updated on what I find out. Pursue wellness, friends, we ALL deserve it.

Sunny daze ahead friends, surely. 💕

In this classic rendition of what Matt describes as an “Ashley-only Scenario,” I may have accepted roofied salsa from a stranger in the grocery store parking lot. It went like this:

The other day, like the mature/responsible adult I am, I went to the store on my way home from work, because inclement weather was pending.

PS: I don’t watch the news, it’s depressing. So I only knew this because we got the option to remote into work. REAL ADULT LIKE.

So anyways, I’m minding my own business, grabbing the essentials: Oreos, milk, frosting, Mountain Dew and cereal, like the adult I am (and the adult I feed at home expects 🤣).

Fast forward, and I’m trying to load up my truck with the goods, and the guy parked next to me has every single door to his vehicle open. Every single door.

I’m trying not to be a dick, but like… it’s cold and… my sunroof wasn’t open for easy drop in (because winter), so I kindly ask if he minds if I shut his door nearest mine for a second. This dude is super polite.

But like… it was weird. This bro had over 8 open coolers in his vehicle. I’m trying not to stare because ya know… you do you, boo boo. But this guy has an ASSLOAD of salsa in his car. Like.. 800 containers. It really gets the mind rolling on who could possibly need that much salsa.

As I am maneuvering into my truck, this guy yells out “hey, you ever tried Big Mama’s Salsa?!” … um no. “Hot, medium or mild?!”

And me being the weirdo I am, and my inability to NOT channel Paris in uncomfy situations, I just blurt out “Hot, that’s Hot!”

🤦🏻‍♀️ why am I me?!

So.. he gives me a random container of hot salsa, in the middle of the grocery store parking lot, mid-evening. And me, being an IDIOT, kindly accepted it and ran home to show Matt my prize.

Matt… immediately is not proud. 0% part of him is beaming with the face of a proud papa, the way I imagined this win was going to go over. WHO DOESN’T LOVE FREE SALSA FROM STRANGERS IN PARKING LOTS?!

Apparently, NE has a human trafficking problem. Matt is convinced I received roofied salsa. There was some logic to his argumentation… but I wasn’t ready accept the salsa was a no-go. To the fridge (of expiration) it went.

AND THEN I SHIT YOU NOT.. today, I go to the store to pick up more milk (seriously, Matt has a problem🤢) and THE SALSA MAN IS THERE. turns out he’s totally legitimate and sells homemade salsa to Hyvee.

So.. that’s the win of the week. My salsa wasn’t roofied. But, what kinda asshole gives you free salsa without including the Tostitos?!

Back to the fridge (of expiration) it goes. No promises that we’ll ever eat it, but let me know if you end up trying Big Mama’s Salsa and liking it. It’s apparently all the rage.

Sunny (roofie-free Salsa) daze ahead, sweet friends (probably).

To start, I should mention, Matt and I have been dating 3.5 (billion) years as of today. Yep, 3.5 years ago, he invited me to his cousin’s wedding and the night before the wedding had the epiphany that he had no idea how to introduce me. I had just driven up from KC, we had hung out.. twice (the second time is a story for another time), and he was suddenly bamboozled by the fact that I was going to meet the entire extended family. I could tell it was hitting him hard.. he was getting a little pale, but eventually he mustered out the “so.. should I introduce you as Ashley, my date, or Ashley, my girlfriend?”

I cannot understate the sheer beauty of the moment.. the date or the girlfriend?

All laughing aside, words have never been his thing, and this was a big moment for him. Matt, my Matt, was the perpetual bachelor, and he wanted ME to be his girlfriend?! Yes, yes, a million times yes. Now that I have had time to think about it, I think he was into the whole KC ➡️ Omaha distance thing. I was low threat. LITTLE DID HE KNOW 😉

People often ask us how this beautiful love story got started: an Omaha boy, trained in the trades, obsessed with working out, with a mean(ish) dog, and then me, the KC girl that would NEVER leave the city, had one more year of law school left with her sweet and loyal sidekick puppy-dog by her side… and was most definitely NOT obsessed with working out; and let me just say, it’s QUITE the story. Hold onto your butts- it’s about to get exciting.

But first, how many of you have heard of Country Stampede?! It’s a 3-day long country music festival in Manhattan, Kansas. As a Jayhawk, this is most definitely enemy’s territory, but what can I say? Manhappenin’ throws a hell of a party. 🤷🏻‍♀️ Most festival attendees camp out in the park that the festival is hosted. Stampede attracts a certain kind of crowd. There is minimal showering, potentially no teeth brushing.. or teeth. There are often mud fights, and at least one person vomits an hour for the entire 72 hours of the festival. The crowd is rowdy, but in all the best ways. Boys wear shorty shorts, and America themed everything; girls are clad in daisy dukes (I have underwear longer than some of these “shorts”), bikini tops on, but boobs most definitely barely hanging in those tiny, tiny cups. (I swear, the bikini tops are always 10 sizes too small). And the cowboy boots. Everyone is in cowboy boots. It’s truly a sight for sore eyes.

I know it sounds like I’m judging, but I swear I am not. I miss that crowd more than anything. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime kind of hang. Those are my people!

My mom and I go every year (besides this year- thanks COVID) and it’s always a girls weekend to “pre-celebrate” my birthday. My best friend (Logan) and her mom join us too. It’s a whole EVENT. While we have all certainly adjusted to High Five Friday and Slap Ass Saturday… the first year we went… it was just my mom and I, and we most definitely sat in the mud and cried. This was not our proudest moment, but I’ve promised to be honest with you. We’ve toughened up a LOT and slap all the asses now. But, under no given circumstances, do we camp. And we NEVER will.

HOWEVER; we do/did get there early every day, mid-June, to sweat our imaginary ball-sacks off, for HOURS before the first show starts. It’s actually my friend Logan’s fault. She insists on the best seats in the wide open field, every. single. year. (Logan, you know I love you). So it’s all part of the tradition, if you haven’t sweat your brains out and dehydrated twice before nightfall, you’re not stampeding right.

So.. after the first year/mud-sitting/crying fiasco, mom and I got smart. We learned to bring chairs. Of course, we forgot to bring them with us every year, so they ended up being NEW chairs every year, but whatever… chalk it up to another stampede tradition.

Thanks to Logan, we would get there nice and early and have our 4 chairs lined up in a little row, optimal viewage (I’m making this a word) to the main stage, the catwalk, and both screens. Logan was on it. It may have been early, but she put in the work.

SO BACK TO MATT, the reason for this post (sort of). 😉

It’s mid-afternoon, I’ve already dehydrated once, I’ve watched the drunk people throw each other into mud pits, I’ve seen the hourly vomiter… I’m rubbing my once cold Aquafina on my forehead, pretending like I don’t hate everything (including Logan for getting us there so GD early!), and this guy catches my eye.

First, he catches my eye because despite the fact we’ve been set up for HOURS, sweating it out for Old Dominion, he and his crew roll up, walking between two rows of chairs, and set up all 6 of their chairs, smack in the middle of everyone. Not even TRYING to follow the crowd lines. But they were hot (like visually attractive, not just sweaty… everyone was sweaty), so no one really cared.

I couldn’t stop staring at Matt, but I promise you.. it’s not for the reason you think. Matt (my precious, angel Matt) was apparently intoxicated (which had nothing to do with his attraction to me in the slightest BTW). He was chatting with his friend, Nate the Great, and I have never seen anyone so engaged in a conversation in my life. His facial expressions were priceless, you could tell he was 900% invested in the story. Seriously, the best kind of audience. (I often wonder what happened to this listener when I am reminding him for the 15th time where his keys are 🤣). But anyways, I was enthralled. My prior boyfriend’s inability to use his ears at all may have played into it, but my god, I was captivated. For hours.

Admiring from afar, but most definitely not making a move. UNTIL he and his tribe of dipshits (sorry Batman, Nate the Great, Clingy Girlfriend, and Man Piece (yes, these are the names I gave them)) decided to use the exact moment that Old Dominion broke onto the stage (ya know- the headliner) to stand up and have a photo op. Like multiple photos.

In true Ashley-fashion, my cool was lost. Undoubtedly choice words, such as, HEY YOU THERE, FUCKERS IN FRONT. SIT THE FUCK DOWN. NOW. were uttered.

And Matt swears that was the moment he was hooked. So he spent the entire night flirting with my MOM. Before the night ended, he asked me for a dance. After the verbal assault I unleashed on him, it was the least I could do… right? And the rest is history. ❤️

So my question for you is this: if you aren’t screaming at them to sit the fuck down, are you even really in love? I’ve never been more sure of something or someone in my life. I am so grateful that I get to be Ashley, the girlfriend. I’ll never stop being thankful for that “Ashley” mouth of mine, getting me into the right amount of trouble. 3.5 years later, and he still sits on command… sometimes. 😉😘

3 truths and a lie, you know the game right? Someone tells you four interesting, juicy, somewhat unbelievable, tidbits about themselves and their lives; 3 are true, one is a lie. It used to be a game you could play in high school to “flirt” with your crush over text or it sometimes showed up as a “fun” get-to-know- you game that your teacher/educator forced you to play (that you most definitely hated). Here, it’s showing up as an intro to a blog post, so love it or hate it, let’s play:

1. I have rode horses since I was 11 years old, and got the first love of my life, Star, at the prime age of 12. I lost her December 26, 2019… and life hasn’t looked the same since.

2. I love to grocery shop and HATE to clothes shop. Clothing is so challenging and it never fits me the way I want it to fit.

3. I have a subconscious, but increasingly evident, obsession with black/white colored mutts. I’m on my 4th (with Zeppelyn) in 9 years.. and I have no regrets. Apparently, they’re just the best.

4. I lead a Pinterest-perfect life, full of happiness and joy, at all hours of the day.

So.. which is the lie?

What I thought was the obvious lie… wasn’t so clear. Hint: I don’t lead a Pinterest-perfect life, it’s not all giggles and kicks over here, and sometimes.. I just lie. We all do. Social media is a lie – a carefully constructed, photo album of all the happy, joyful moments, that seems to seriously lacking in work place drama, discontent, self-loathing, internal battles, sickness, relationship turmoil, and all other “negative” feelings. The truth is… happy sells. 🤷🏻‍♀️

I’ve always considered myself a very honest, candid person. And then, a few months ago, I made a Facebook post. It was stupid, I had had a bad day and I was frustrated about something (I honestly don’t even remember) and so I posted a “rant” about how over adulthood I was. I got the normal sympathizers, the “feel ya there, girl,” all the “it’ll get better’s” a girl could want, but then I got an unexpected response.

I got a message, from an old high school acquaintance, that simply said: “sorry to hear you are going through this, but I have to admit, you always seem SO happy. It’s nice to know you are human.”

Immediately, I thought.. what a weird thing to say to someone who is truly going through a mental breakdown/break-through (I’m choosing break-through these days🌞), that has been sick as hell for weeks, that hasn’t gone 2 days in a row without crying in months… yet, here I am… Little Miss Sunshine, a gigantic liar.

I should preface this by saying- I hate liars, but it’s all part of the game.. isn’t it?

I’ve come to realize lately (like as I am drafting this blog) that this kind of lying is okay. It’s okay to put your foot down and only share positive things, it’s okay to portray your life the way you want it to seem (habits take time, after all). It’s okay to share photos that make your heart smile, quotes that set your soul on fire, and just “fake it until you make it”.

The other option is to be negative all the time, and sad, and never share anything that adds joy to your life.. or anyone else’s life for that matter. Do you know what I call that? Manifesting the SHIT out of that SHIT. sad stories, complaints, sickness, negativity. The more you share, the more you manifest doom and gloom.

I choose joy. I choose sunshine and rainbows. And sometimes, it’s a lie; and sometimes, that’s okay. In the face of the current state of our country, COVID, racism, unemployment, police relations, I choose joy. It’s not naive, it’s not thoughtlessness, it’s not being close-minded or ignorant. It’s simply my only choice – I choose to manifest dog love, family, love for Matt and self-love.

Manifest what you love and you’ll reflect that love. 🤷🏻‍♀️ even on bad days, even when you’re going through tough times, positivity can become so entwined with your identity, that it is shocking to others to find out that you actually have more complex human feelings.

As a consequence of this epiphany, and the knowledge that I seem “always happy,” social media is suddenly jaded. I’ve come to realize, all those Pinterest-perfect people… probably also have actual problems, and real emotions, and hardships too. Maybe all those bodies we envy, the marriages that we covet, trips we turn green for, the babies we long for, are the silver-linings to some real shitty shit. That’s the beauty of social media-maybe they’re faking it until they make it too. Maybe we’re all a bunch of fucking fakes; but at least, we’re trying.

In a roundabout way, this is all to say: choose joy, friends. Fake it, until you make it. Celebrate other people’s wins, because you never know what shit happened behind the scenes of that perfectly crafted Facebook post. Don’t envy, don’t hate, don’t get jealous. Your comeuppance is coming, and the sooner you embrace the joy of YOUR journey, the happier you’ll be. I’m saying this as much as myself as much as I am saying it to you – a happy facade is better than nothing at all.

Sunny daze ahead friends (optimistically)