SIX EXITS

What a year, what a year. Although I'm no closer to finding out the B.F.F.S. (big fat family secret), I'm a lot closer to realizing that I, Ashlie, may be inching towards adulthood. Okay, more like staring down the barrel of a gun with "thirty" written all over it still feeling like the slightly pudgy seventh grader with an asymmetrical haircut before my piano recital. Those pictures have been burned. I could make some lofty resolutions like every year past (eat right, exercise regularly blah, blah, blah....),but instead I'm going to just reflect on 2007.

• Celebrated year two in Baltimore without getting shot, mugged or stabbed. Quite the accomplishment by any standard.
• Added what I am now referring to as a second "child" to our family. She is the sweetest fur ball in four counties. Friends and family with actual two legged children can now proceed with the "just you wait until you have a real baby" comments.
• Enjoyed a second year and a hefty raise working for blessedly profiting airline. Will be reaping the rewards of profit sharing any day now.... Have yet to suffer any major injuries flying except a bruised tailbone and equally bruised ego.
• Joel and I bravely exited the big door marked "honeymoon phase" (Phase #1) of our marriage. We then proceeded to kick and scream to be let back in with no success. Spent lazy, wonderful hours working on Phase #2 in the West Indies. Coconut ice cream and turquoise waters seemed to help smooth the transition.
• Decided that I could have won the Nobel prize while running a marathon and reciting Shakespeare in fluent French with all the hours I put into worrying about things that I can never do a gosh darn thing about. Ever. Resolution #1-50: Stop worrying you moron. That is all. Now repeat 49 more times.

Joel and I had our own private celebration this New Years Eve which was a pretty, um, great way to end 2007 and start 2008. This year may not be better, but it will be different. Good different? We'll see. For now I'll just cross my fingers, say my prayers and keep on a truckin'.....

And other incoherent words. I've been waiting. And waiting. And waiting. And dying a slow death all the while. I don't know Jack. Or crap. I was told by the powers that be that the timings "just not right". I'm not sure when I'm going to find out. Tomorrow? Next week? Next month? I guess I'm going to have to deactivate the worry machine for now. Its been making this funny grinding noise with all the overtime its been putting in.

On a brighter note. I just got back from Joel's parents home up by the Canadian border. I think we may have even passed a sign that says "Welcome to the Boonies!" at one point. Anyway, been having much fun which has consisted of snowshoeing, cross country skiing, eating loads of junk food and making everyone sit though the movie Waitress for the third time. The fire has been blazing inside while the snow has accumulated up to 3 ft seemingly overnight. The view from their home is amazing, white peaked mountains with lacy looking trees draped into a wide expanse of snow covered valley. I could stare for hours. While I'm not watching Waitress that is....

We leave on Sunday. I'll update you when I get back home and make sure my dogs haven't eaten through any walls or decided to take up gourmet cooking.

Till then,

Sleepless in Spokane.

Instead of sending out elaborate Christmas cards this year, we're mailing a short letter with a picture montage of the year's highlights. Included in that video was this short little clip we took with our camera last night. The Christmas video will only be playing music so we just said a bunch of crap. Like? I hate you. Rotten cheese. Wishing cancer upon you this year! It was quite enjoyable. So? I've uploaded it for all to see. *Notice the death grip I have on Hoss Dog with my thighs. He was not going anywhere for at least 29 seconds....*

p.s. Cancer is bad. Joel does not want you to get cancer. He just wants you to up your fiber intake to at least 25 grams a day! Gooooooo broccoli!



I spoke to my mom on the phone yesterday and mentioned that I dreamt about her getting a $109,090.95 inheritance (it was a weird dream that involved cereal, fire and cats). She thought it was funny and laughed (boooo). But? When I mentioned that I'm looking forward to dreaming about another one of my "secret theories" which was the new older sibling she got flustered and asked me if I was talking about Kaitlen visiting (my younger sister). When I told that I thought I had an older sibling she changed the subject. Hmm.... Suspicious? I think so.
Only 3 days left until I find out.

After that dreary picture I painted of Thanksgiving I must clarify a few things. First, yes Claude, the potatoes were gummy. And runny. It was a real treat. Now that you got to hear the worst of it all, let me tell you the best. It was so nice having company over! Especially a friend from ye olden days of Ashlie and Joel. He brought his charming girlfriend with him and we had a blast. By Friday we were all well acquainted and the food poisoning had settled enough that it wasn't putting a damper on his day. So? We went to the Cheesecake Factory, did a little shopping and watched Beowulf in 3-D. Dress any movie up with "3-D" and I'm a complete sucker. Saturday I didn't have to work until 8pm (thank you sweet baby Jesus!) so we hung out around the house for a more leisurely day. Willy helped Joel put the hardtop on our Jeep and Amy helped me bathe Winnie dog after she ran chest deep into 3 ft of mud at our local park. The mud was followed up by burrs which I had to cut out with my sewing scissors. For that I'd like to say: Thanks Amy for not minding smelling like a wet dog! You are a real trouper....

Here's a little something that made me laugh. You may or may not have read it before. A little late for Thanksgiving perhaps, but right on time for Christmas.

There was a young turkey named Fred

Who was forced to live in a shed.

‘Twas quite all right, for six dark nights

‘Til he realized someone wanted him dead.

~

Fred sat on his bed, all alone in his shed

Pondering his own demise.

Innocent was he, til suddenly

He learned of a recipe.

~

Through the swinging door

Flounced a woman, bound for the store.

Her list noted sherry, butter, onions, and spread

With which to baste poor, succulent Fred.

~

Fred gobbled in horror, and shook with dread.

Visions of mayhem danced in his head.

“Bread crumbs will be stuffed,

Where no bread crumbs belong!”

His turkey heart stopped,

At thoughts of the prong.

~

“I’ll be roasted til warm!

My tender carcass torn,

By murderous hordes, with mouths all agape…

Unless I contrive to escape.”

~

Fred bemoaned not his fate,

Nor the loss of his mate.

(She fled to Mexico, Tuesday last.)

Just stroked his waddle and strategized cunning bait.

~

Devoid of malice, Fred hoisted a ballast,

Trimmed with feathers from his own tasty back.

With any luck, it’s the fake that would bake

On the family’s turkey rack.

(Fred hoped it would taste of old, moldy tack.)

~

Decoy in place, Fred waddled for space

In the Underground Turkey Base.

(A halfway house,

For Turkeys in Need Due to Thanksgiving Greed.)

~

Fred’s tender haunches swaying,

The nasty basset hound began braying,

Alerting the cook to the dash,

Of her prized turkey stash.

~

Fred danced through the yard,

As the woman in her rage knocked a bucket of lard.

Fred weaved from post to tree,

The cook weeping and waving her brie.

~

“Stop him!” she cried,

“Our dinner must be trussed and tied!”

So brawny farm boys tore out,

To save for their dinner Fred’s broad juicy stout.

~

Large hands closing in,

Fred’s gobbling made quite a din.

As he braced his round quarters to be

Dunked in sherry, butter, and tea.

~

“Hark! What’s that ringing?

Are those angels singing?”

Thought poor Fred,

Quite distraught at the thought of being dead.

~

Shrill blaring, brought blank staring

From farm boys unfamiliar with advancements like the phone.

“It’s the President!” yelled the woman

Who to screeching and cheese-waving was prone.

~

“That damn Bush! He’s pardoned our dinner!”

Screamed the woman, brandishing for emphasis her salad spinner.

~

“Thank the Great Fowl above!”

Gibbered Fred, suddenly filled with boundless love.

As he said a prayer for Bush

Witless savior of his tush.

~

The farm boys ate spam

While Fred boarded a tram

Bound for parts unknown,

Filled with relief that his cavities remain unsewn.

~

The End

~

Somewhere Martha Stewart is laughing at me. Thanksgiving didn't quite turn out as planned. Don't get me wrong. The decor was really gorgeous and the smells were channelling Rachel Ray but the whole shebang was a mess. To top it off I don't even have a camera to show you the "good" bits. One of us lost our camera and it wasn't me. Of course Joel said it wasn't him either. Anyway, back to Thanksgiving.
Our company arrived early (an hour before I got home from work) which means that I ran around the house trying to get the airplane smell out of my hair, touch up my makeup, bake the biscuits and worry about being a poor hostess at the same time. Multi-tasking at its finest. That in itself was not that big of deal. The real issues are as follows.... One of our guests had food poisoning and couldn't eat a thing let alone barely hold himself up at the table. I had managed to *sip* two glasses of Riesling by 5pm and my cooking skills went downhill from there. I decided that measuring cups were for sissys and I eyeballed all the contents of my green bean casserole and biscuits. It went something like this "Tra lala, I loves me some wine but now I must make some green bean casserole. What is green bean casserole anyway? Have I ever even eaten it? Would a large bag of frozen green beans equal two cans of green beans? I'm going to say yes. YES TO THE FROZEN GREEN BEANS. YEESSSS!" and later "Hmm... I don't have a potato masher. What shall I do? I know! Lets put the potatoes in the food processor! Weeee!". You get the point. I was a hot mess. If I was to make a recipe for my Thankgiving it would have looked something like this.....

1. First, take one guy and give him food poisoning at The Hard Rock Cafe.
2. Douse with Riesling.
3. Add some more Riesling.
4. Add to much garlic to your potatoes and then put in a food processor for "pureed" rustic potatoes instead of "mashed".
5. Throw some Bisquick in a bowl. Add what you think may be one cup of milk. Or was it two? The Riesling no longer cares.
6. Make something that resembles this mythic green bean casserole. Do not worry about the actual amount of green beans put in. The fried onions will save.
7. Top with Riesling.
8. Pour butternut soup into roasted acorn squash bowls. Laugh when it spills over. Throw some sage on top even though you are pretty sure its supposed to be Thyme.
9. Set cold soup on table.
10. Light candles.
11. Move centerpiece 'cause it is WAY to tall.
12. Call guests to dinner. Even the one puking in the bathroom.
13. Warm up pies. Pies can do no wrong.
14. Nervously watch people eat.
15. Make sure sick guy doesn't puke on table.
16. Offer to bring out pies. No one wants pies.
17. Crawl into bed with bottle of Riesling.

Okay. Number 17 may not have happened but you get the picture. I'll fill you in on more of the festivities tomorrow.....

Love,

The Hostess without the Mostess....

I wonder where I get my "witty" sense of humor from? Apparently the dive resort forgot to advertise its killer coconuts.

Then we drove down to Key West. Stopping only to use the filthiest bathroom in the world.

My dad wanted to see how his cigars were made so we stopped at this little shop and watched the lady make Joel a couple of cigars. Raspberry and apple. They are now in the freezer. I think Joel just likes knowing that he has a couple of Cubans on standby.

This is the Hemingway House. As you can tell by the bars it was closed. My dad refused to hoist me over the top to see the mutant cats. I suggested a stakeout complete with cat nip but once again he refused. Bah.

Day Two, Pie Count: 3

We set sail for our snorkeling trip early afternoon. The weather was warm and the breeze was calm as we made our way out to the Molasses Reef. My dad and I, being the only uncool snorkelers, kept mostly to ourselves. Once a diver found out we were snorkeling they would usually say "oh, you're snorkeling..." followed by a sniff and a subtle turn to start a conversation with another diver. The segregation was almost comical. Even the crew who was so focused on the divers forgot to tell us to stay within 100 feet of the boat as to not get HIT by other boats. At one point as I was following a couple of barracudas only to look up and see a huge glass bottom boat within spitting distance. The passengers were about to see a new species below their feet....bloody snorkeler.

Aftermath: My dad and I have decided to get dive certified for next year. Once I realized that I couldn't pee on the divers below me snorkeling lost most of its charm.

I love this picture! My dad taking the big leap off the boat. I used the ladder. I am a wuss.

Why are all these people so pensive looking? Are they contemplating what to do when they meet the local Nurse Shark, Lucy?

This is the windblown look. Complements of sea water, sunshine and uh... wind.

If I was a super hero I'd be Wetsuit Woman. My powers would be squeezing into tight Lycra outfits and making pouty faces. My arch Nemesis would be bloat and botox.

Day Three, Pie Count: 4

Before we made the sojourn home we decided to check out Key Largo and Islamorada a little more. Of course we ate more pie. God bless Key limes and the pie they live in.

We got a complete demonstration on glassblowing. And a headache. I don't know how these people can stare at that flame for hours on end.

One of my favorite stops was at the Wild Bird Rehabilitation Center in Key Largo. This little old woman rehabilitates all kinds of local birds who have been injured or abandoned. She does it purely through donations. The picture below is Pickles, an 80 year old parrot with a big mouth. Apparently he will talk your ear off around closing time. Since it was 2 o'clock we only got a very good impression of a wide-load truck backing up. Or maybe it was a siren. Either way it was amusing coming from an ancient parrot.

What have I learned from this trip? Four pieces of pie in three days is too much. Coconuts can kill. Dads can be friends as well as parents. Diving is the way to go. Doggy paddling can save your life. Wet suits are NEVER flattering. Sharks aren't as scary if they have names like Lucy. Glass blowers will eventually end up blind, and parrots will always bite your finger if they get the chance.

I can't remember the last time I went somewhere with my dad. Without my mom or four siblings. I think I may have had a perm and was probably wearing a Hypercolor tee shirt... Ah, the 80's. So last spring when I suggested taking a vacation, just him and me, he jumped at the idea. We decided on going somewhere warm to do a little snorkeling. Eight months later, here we are packing for our vacation to the Florida Keys. He arrived from Washington yesterday with his signature farmers tan and a look that cried "I NEED A VACATION NOW". Don't worry dad. We'll have your tan evened and that stress melted away faster than you can say "Barracuda at twelve o'clock!"....

Some people decorate with motion-sensor skeletons that make your dogs freak out and then pee on themselves. Or your shoe, whichever happens to be closer. In this case, it was the shoe.

Here's the part where it gets a little strange. A demon in a wheelchair? Or the Travelocity Gnome paying the price for one to many "trips" to Amsterdam? You decide.

For me, it was a good reminder that I need to sign up for long term disability at my work. You never know when your eyeballs might catch on fire.

At first I thought this was some sort of memorial for an accident. Kind of like a giant white cross on the side of the road except this time it's a giant blue Miata in someone's front lawn.

As I looked a little bit closer and realized that, yes, it indeed was a tragic accident. Apparently the skeleton had one two many shots and the good purple witch of the Mid-Atlantic took the fall. Or the crash through the windshield. Is that her ghost I see in the backseat? Whoever it is, it looks a *little* to happy to be freshly deceased. And look at the front. That bastard of a skeleton is sleeping it off on the hood. I bet he didn't even call 911. For shame...

Our next exhibit involves the white trash pumpkin. He's puking out his guts and STILL drinking a Coors Light. That is what we call a puke and rally, folks. How could I tell that he was white trash? The cheap beer perhaps? Nope. It was the wallpapered toilet that gave it away...

Last, but not least, we have the phallic symbol decor. This lovely string of lights belongs to our neighbors. I'm thinking about leaving a small note on their front porch that says a little something like this.

Dear neighbors,

Your Halloween lights look like franks and
beans. That is all. Happy Halloweenie.

I mean Halloween.

Love, the people across the street.

Stay tuned for the Christmas edition!