ashleyuninterrupted-blog

[ashleyuninterrupted-blog]

I’m not Cool and it’s Okay.

“I’m not one of the cool kids, but I don’t care- I’m me. I just do my thing and enjoy life. I don’t want to be a cool kid.”

My eight year old said this to her camp director last week when speaking in terms of her regular school mates. It broke my heart first, doesn’t every mother want their kid to be one of the “cool kids”? Then I stopped-wait...no!

I want my kid to be whatever the hell she wants to be. Fuck the cool kids. Fuck the bullies. My kid wants to be her own unique person, it’s actually amazing.

I don’t want her to try to fit in with kids she doesn’t like. I want her to find her own tribe. And she’s found it.

And I’m super fucking proud of her.

It’s a shame that there’s “cool kids” and “misfits”. It’s a epidemic. It was present when I was in school and it’s present today. It will never go away.

Talk to your kids about where they are at in the cess-pool of school social status. Tell them to be who they want to be. Love them for who they are.

Tell them to eat bullies for breakfast, and to stick up for themselves. But most importantly- love themselves for who they are.

I never realized how important it was to do this until now.

[ashleyuninterrupted-blog]

HEYYYY YOUUU GUYSSS!

Hey you guys, its been awhile. Just wanted to check in on you all and ensure all parental units in the world haven't taken to killing off their young or selling them to Gypsies. You haven't, right? I surely could not blame you if you did. I get it. I've been there. I've done that. And I rock. And YOU ROCK. I'm talking about the survival part, not the murder part.....to be clear.

FUCK YEAH! WE ROCK!

The positive outlook is that with this whole marijuana explosion, soon our children will probably be playing on playgrounds built of weed, and the water fountains will spurt pot-infused water. and all the little snacky-snacks will have some strain of mind-relaxing pot in them. Children will start listening, they will learn to cook dinner, they will load and unload the dishwasher without calling you a fucking asshat behind your back. They will pick-up (dispose of) their crunchy socks and actually not miss the fucking hamper for once. It will be awe-inspiring. And everyone will love each other. World peace...

Sorry, I just woke up from a great dream. Where was I?

Yeah- summer/kids/crazy/fucking-help-us-all

We are still standing strong in my house. Summer camp, "bored kids", and heat that makes the coldest bitches produce crotch sweat. It's summer ya'll and I'm lovin' it. Drinks for me, drinks for me, drinks for me.

And a drink for you too. 

I'm off to bed. Last night I had a dream that I bought a 70's-Deco Modern house. I hated the kitchen, took a sledgehammer to the back-splash, then bought a horse and made the kitchen half horse-stable, half Food Network worthy professional kitchen. The horse did not like the blender so I let him roam my excessively long hallways that turned into a forest at some point. I also trained a chipmunk to slaughter a chicken named Schnookums. It was weird. So so weird.

I am weird.

Love you all, and thank you for reading this rambling non-nonsensical rubbish full of cuss words, fueled by a ever-exhausted fraggle-esque woman who for some reason cannot stop tying even though she has OCD and just now realized this turned into a run-on sentence and now its bothering her because GRAMMAR AND PUNCTUATION ARE FUCKING IMPORTANT. USE IT!

Smooches. -Ashe

[ashleyuninterrupted-blog]

Dear Diary: An Introspect into Hugs & Drugs.

Dear Diary, I’m sitting in bed on my phone typing this, praising the Google Gods for creating Google Docs. I often snag a computer to clack on, but tonight it’s a one-fingered affair. Just my iPhone and a finger. Sounds like a bad millennial porno… I’m betting with the cat that I don’t fall asleep while writing this. I say no, Potato (the cat) says yes. The cat is a cheeky asshole anyways.

It’s late. The excitement in my life was eating a CBD gummy bear and chasing it down with meds for my nerves and meds for my pain. And before your knickers get in a twist, its beneficial for any judgmental banana-heads out there to know that CBD is not a Drug. Do some research, pull the underwear out of your ass, and see yourself off if you can't handle what I'm dishing out. Or, stay and just be a cool motherfucker.

Having a incurable disease kinda sucks, but I’d rather have this then crabs or crotch-crickets. I’ve had neither by the way- I’m just saying I would rather have a disease that may one day physically handi-cap me over your standard everyday STD.

A girl has priorities.

And while I sit here wondering how rapidly my body is consuming my nerves (which is the unfortunate truth), I can’t help to think how desperately I need a hug. Like

I NEED A FUCKING HUG RIGHT NOW.

Which is odd because I’m not a hugger, or at least I never was one before. But now it’s all I want. I want to be bear-hugged, or placed in a basket hold, or shoved down a hill really hard. A huge shift in emotional and physical needs right there, but I’m so pent up I’m surprised I’m not hanging off my ceiling panting like Zuul, the Gatekeeper of Gozer, anxiously awaiting the Key Masters arrival.

My kids come to me for hugs, but I’m the one who hugs the hardest. I’m the Mum, the protector, the giver of hugs. Couldn’t I just hire someone to hug me? Did I just come up with a new entrepreneurial opportunity?! Like a Escort service but without the awkward sex, and lots of hugs.

Professional Hugger.

Professional Cuddler.

Hugs Extraordinaire.

I Will Fucking Hug You.

BINGO!

I Will Fucking Hug You. It’s perfect! I’ll need a staff. Interviews will be done in hugs. Best huggers get the job. Bonus points for good hygiene and emotional instability. Must love cats named after ground vegetables.

You see darling diary, the best ideas come to fruition in the most desperate of times while sitting in bed pants-less with a furry potato staring you down silently willing you to fall asleep.

I’m signing off to go watch some ASMR videos now and fall asleep like the middle aged rockstar I am.

PS: Think I’m really gonna try launching this hug business

PPS: I have the strangest craving for watermelon right now- is that weird?

PMS: Haha, fuck the cat, I won!

[ashleyuninterrupted-blog]

I Have it All.

I have it all.

I have a full time job. A car payment, a house payment, utility bills, child care bills, health care bills, credit card bills, student loan bills, and a huge damn pile of debt.

I have Health Insurance, Life Insurance, Dental Insurance, and Car Insurance. I’m so fucking insured

that I don’t know what to do with myself. Go scuba diving in a underwater landmine with Great White Sharks

wearing a meat-suit after snorting a 8-ball and drinking 10 Red Bulls? Might not be the smartest idea but

would make one hell of a newspaper article.

I have two children. Two AMAZING children. They are what I live for. What gets me out of bed everyday.

There is nothing else. I don’t think I would still be here figuring out my life if I didn't have my children.

But Christ, they are expensive. And can I be truthful? Sometimes I flip them off behind their backs.

Sometimes I flip them off quickly, a little bird-blip, and sometimes I flip them off with both hands waving

wildly in the air while I sing Ludacris's song "Get Back" in my head for.the.longest.time.  

Let's be honest here, they try my nerves.

My children have lessons, and tutors, and appointments, and a social life far beyond what I have as a full

grown adult. I have no time for friends because they have SO MANY friends and my time is spent shuttling

them to and fro for the sake of keeping them socially accepted. Rock Night, Sleep overs,

play dates, man hunt outings. Hanging with the Bro's, chilling with the girl squad. I'm jealous of my kids

social life.

My only goal in life is to raise these humans, who power through food on a daily basis like veracious

stoners, to be respectable adults with manners, and worldly class, and wisdom. I have the responsibility

of  that, and I assure you it would make the emotionally strongest of parents want to have a mental

breakdown, because this parenting shit is tough. You guys, its just fucking bananas.

I have insane responsibilities. I have endless questions to answer all day everyday. I have bosses

to report to,and people who need me. I have so many people who need me that the long line never

seems to end. I'm like a Disney attraction ride, but all you get with me is a roller coaster of emotion

that swears at you in English or Spanish, depending on the day. (or sings the Ludacris song in her

head silently at you).

I often think that we collectively "want it all", but what that truly means is we only want the good stuff.

We don't want the problems and issues. We don't want the bumps and bruises, but how the hell

can you ever "have it all" without the stressful stuff to?

I might be high-strung, and always stressed out and anxious, and stand-offish. I might come across

as a stuck-up bitch, or disinterested, or nothing worth anyone's time until they need me but I am not

this person all the time. I'm merely trying to get through my days, and juggle everything that I have because

my plate is bountiful, and all I'm really trying to do is not completely lose my fucking shit.

The next time you happen across a human being, you know like face to face and not on a screen, ask them

how they are doing. Genuinely ask, and listen, and try to carry out a conversation. At the end of the day

we are all just trying to reach the same goals-

Survivial

Success

and a

Happy, Full Life.

I have it all. And it may not be everything I ever wanted it to be, but I have it and I own it the best

way I know how.

[ashleyuninterrupted-blog]

From Scratch.

Well, here we are.

Four years ago I made the decision to stop sharing life with the masses and hang up my Pro-blogger status. It's been four years and almost everything has changed. And of those months I've spent the last 90 days anxiously pacing around my computer talking to myself in nonsensical gibberish, giving myself pep-talks and smacking myself in the ass like some football coach who has too much to lose and his team is down by 50 points, and he snorted too much cocaine so he's just running around yelling at everyone and smacking them in the ass. And through this momentary cycle of insanity I questioned if I should, or could even could start again. At 7 pm tonight I finally jumped of the cliff of virtual insecurity and uncertainty and came back to my old stomping grounds.

If you ask my why I gave it all up, everything I had worked for, the money and time I had invested, there are no simple answers. Even I have spent the last 48 months pondering the answers. I grew and grew as a blogger, I had a web designer on speed-dial, and companies emailing me wanting to work with me, but at the end of the day I was completely empty. I guess I just wanted to know what the point was because it all seemed so fucking pointless at the very end.

The realness of my posts stopped and became automated. A post "just to post" and get something out there so I wouldn't lose views and social status. Some people will say "no way Ash, that wasn't you", but trust me darlings, it most definitely was. I'm the slickest motherfucking chameleon you will ever meet. Things unraveled fast- and one day after years and years of blogging and sharing my life publicly....

I just stopped

and

never looked back.

I believe the term for that these days is called being ghosted. One day I was all up in your business shoving my life in your face and the next day I was gone. A virtual break-up of sorts.

Now here I am sitting in front of a computer bra-less, typing, bouncing in my chair with the giddy enthusiasm of a freshly crowned prom queen about to lose her virginity on prom night, eating Tim Tams even though I know they will go straight to my already-fat-ass. It's not pretty but its real. After all, this is how my former brand started. A confused and overwhelmed girl with a passion for raw honesty, who put her voice into written word and shared her ridiculously dramatic life with others.

I'm so excited for this that there are no words to describe it. If you put your washing machine on spin cycle and sat on top, while eating Tim Tams braless, then that might just make you feel as excited as I am. I'm not saying you should do this, I'm just trying to give a example. I mean, you truly haven't lived unless you've tried the spin cycle thing at least once in your life.

So I'm back where it all started. A free website, with a free template, and a cat picture I don't know how to replace under my header. I've named the cat Mr. Smoochykins, you should say hello and get to know him because I'm rusty as fuck with my coding and html, and I no longer have a web designer on speed dial.

I have a lot to catch you up on. Spoiler Alert: I still don't know why I am here on this earth. I still don't understand most complexities in life. All I know is that I'm starting from scratch,

and it is just so fucking good to be back.