How 'Bout Them Apples?

I've always been proud of my ability to throw a spiral with a football. Apparently, this is a skill all the H*g***n daughters possess since we were each the superstar on our high school Powderpuff teams, respectfully. Just ask us about the Touchdown Trio.

Do you think it's weird that I think one of my perfect dates would be to go to a park on a sunny day and toss around the football? Seriously. I love playing catch! If I have a son one day, he is going to be in good shape to be a QB because his mama is going to want to run drills with him in the backyard. Especially with mine and Scott E's genes. Good arms on both sides.

In fact, here is a picture of me when I was playing catch with my 6 year old niece. I wanted to teach her how to throw a football...and she wanted to hula-hoop. Which, by the way, I am also fantastic at doing! I used to hula hoop for HOURS! So we combined our efforts and in the process, I discovered a new hidden talent of mine. I am a Hulahooping Spiral-Throwing Queen! How 'bout them apples?

I'm kind of pulling a Jordan move here too with my tongue hanging out. If I had gotten it a little farther, I could've been a triple threat and shown my other talent...touching my tongue to my nose. So hot!

Hello? Hello? Who's Out There in Cyberspace Reading This?

When I first started this blog thing a couple months ago, I thought it was the coolest thing ever, but I am slowly learning that it can throw a kink in my personal life. At first, I was pretty selective in who I told about it, but I guess eventually it is irrelevant because, really, anyone can find it if they do the right research.

I sort of assume that the only people reading my blog are those that are actually making comments to my posts, which are mostly my blogging family members and friends. (Let me make it known that non-bloggers can make comments too as "other" or "anonymous"). But occasionally I'll be talking to a friend who will make reference to my cottage cheese salad or will ask if the scab on my leg is a result of my rollerblading accident or if my car brakes have stopped squeaking yet....and I am pleasantly surprised to learn that they have been reading my blog! Great! I'm happy to hear that I have an audience, as stealth as they might seem because of their absent comments.

The one's that kind of catch me off guard are those that know I have a blog, but I never told my blog address. Thanks to Google, they were able to find it pretty easily, which I knew was a possibility so I shouldn't be shocked. Hey, everyone does it! Googling other people is totally a guilty pleasure of mine. Let's just say that I ran into [someone] recently who I met a few months ago, but haven't really talked to for a week or two, for some reason or another. And let's just say, totally hypothetically, that [this person] mentioned that he read my blog. What should my first reaction have been to hearing this? Should I have felt pleased and flattered that he took the time to find my blog...or should I have turned bright red in embarrassment? Or should I have gone home and read my entire blog to see what sort of insight he may have gained to me by reading my blog? Well, let's just say I did the latter, (hypothetically speaking of course). I fully assessed the situation before I determined any emotion on this subject. What would someone who had been getting to know me, who already knows that I am quirky, interpret about me just by reading this blog?

1. I sometimes eat weird combinations of food. Big deal.
2. I'm edgy enough to take a belly dancing class, but not voluptuous enough to actually look great doing it.
3. Every Tuesday I eat catered lunch at mansions. That's just how I roll.
4. I'm an athlete, but I throw a baseball like a moron.
5. I use the word "piggy" and I actually chose this as a topic to write about not only in a college paper, but yes, also on this blog. Who isn't entertained by a little potty humor?
6. I will use just about any man for their handyman skills (or lack thereof). But, keep in mind that I will not compromise my morals just to get some work done.
7. I may or may not have an extremely obese family.
8. Our local weatherman may or may not think I am a stripper.
9. I know a lot of frickin' random people. What can I say...I'm a social butterfly.
10. I've got an ex-boyfriend or two that might be generally referenced...but I've got a pretty healthy attitude about relationships. If it's meant to be...it's meant to be, but don't dwell on it.
11. I want to have Scott Erickson's babies.

Okay. That's not so bad. No skeletons in the closet revealed here. I'm an open book kind of girl. I may exaggerate some of my stories a little bit just for effect, but for the most part, this is me.

HOWEVER, the thing to also remember is that my blog is linked to other blogs, including family. Who's to say where my readers might be linking and what they are learning about my family, which may be freakishly represented depending on what posts one is reading.

For instance, if someone were to link over now and read some of my family members' blogs, they may think that:
-My oldest sister, pregnant with babies 5 and 6, is such a progressive mom that she dyed her 2 pre-teen sons' hair bleach blonde and put cornrows in her own hair.
-My brother asked a 20-year old pimp to instill wisdom into his 15-year old son, whom he calls "stupid" and encouraged to watch porn.
-My sister-in-law is apparently nostalgic for her carefree hippy days of 13 years ago...but now has a 15, 14, 4 year old...and a baby girl. Huh?
-My other sister really loves her kids and husband, is a total goodie-goodie and has a content life watching Family Feud and going to bed at 9pm.
-My dad is so in-love with my mom that he still remembers poems he wrote her, but spends his free-time counting in his head the number of terrorist that are running around in Iraq.
-My mom, the non-blogger, wants to feel involved and so she leaves comments on every single blog, on every single post.

That is why, as long is this blog is accessible on the internet and I continue to publish self-deprecating and unflattering posts about myself and link them to my family member's blogs, that I may, just may, run the risk of freaking some people out who are still getting to know about Ashley. But, it's a risk I'm willing to take. This is Ashley. This is my family. We blog.

Chuck Knoblauch Syndrome

I remember watching figure skating in the Winter Olympics about 10 or 14 years ago. I couldn't tell you who got the gold that year or what any of the routines were like, but I do remember one routine in particular. One female French skater got out on the ice and started out her performance beautifully. She was so graceful...until she had her first nasty fall during a jump. That one fall skewed her concentration so much because she knew she had blown her chance at a medal, that she basically gave up. I think she fell at least 5 more times during the same performance. It was almost embarrassing to watch it. Although I didn't know what to call it at the time, I like to refer to this condition as Chuck Knoblauch Syndrome. Let me explain....

Some of you might remember when Chuck Knoblauch got traded to the Yankees after his run with the Twins. When he was playing 2nd base for the Yanks, he started fielding the ball and would overthrow it to first base. After a couple of bad throws, he started thinking about it too much and soon enough, he was incapable of performing the simple motion of throwing the ball from second base to first base. Nothing was wrong with his arm...it was purely psychological.

This same thing happened to me when I was pitching softball in high school. I could fastpitch with the best of them. For a petite girl, I could throw some heat! Problem was, I got so good at that underhand motion, that when I had to field the ball on the mound and throw it to first base to make the out, I had to remember how to throw that completely different motion overhand. Same thing happened to me as it did to Chuck...I "over-thought" it and ended up "over-throwing" on what was supposed to be the easiest out in baseball!

I remember playing in one game specifically, where the other team really messed with me. After the coach discovered my condition of not being able to throw to first base, he started coaching the batters to bunt the ball, leaving me to field the ball every time. It was almost a guarantee that the batter would get on base if that pitcher with the bad arm got to the ball! What a mean coach! (I think I fought back with my own ammunition and struck a couple of them out with my killer change-up before they could bunt on me). But, at least I didn't feel so bad when I found out even MLB guys getting paid millions of dollars had the same problem. To this day, I still have problems throwing overhand. "Yeah, I was an all-star pitcher, but I can't play catch with you or play in your softball league, because I still don't have confidence in my throwing abilities." Really embarrassing.

So why is this coming up now? Well, because I can now relate my condition to another sport of mine. I've been logging about 60-70 miles a week on rollerblades. Three times around the lakes about 6 days a week. Even though I've been rollerblading for years, this is definitely my biggest year yet. I'm addicted to rollerblading! The amazing part of it is...I have NEVER wiped-out going around the lake. I have had tons of "close calls", tons of times where I have almost run into someone, tons of times where I have hit a rock and tripped over my skates like an idiot until I have gained my balance again...but NEVER actually wiped-out...until yesterday...when I did it twice.

I guess it was only a matter of time. The more miles I racked up, I figured it was inevitable. Yesterday, I decided to be adventurous and try a different route. Mix it up a little. So, I took a path to a new lake and failed to see the chalked up sharp right turn arrows on the sidewalk and the "SLOW" signs. I took the turn a bit too fast and just couldn't keep my control and BOOM...I was sprawled on the path. I recovered quickly, got up and continued skating with nothing but a scrapped up shin and some pebbles embedded into the palm of my hand. Good thing it was early in the morning and not many people were out, because I'm sure it would have been funny to watch.

There was something about that wipe-out that was a total blow to my ego. I've actually bragged about my skills and clean rollerblading record to several people recently. I can't believe I fell like a loser! Sure enough, I was 20 minutes into my skate, when I had another crash. I skated up behind a girl running and right before I was going to pass her, I saw a huge amount of sand on the path. Sand is not good for rollerblades, so I put on the brake and came to a screeching halt. Don't crash, don't crash again! But I didn't stop fast enough and I completely crashed into this running girl from behind. Smooth, Ashley.

(And on a side note...I also walked into a table in the front lobby of my work building hours later and spilled my cup of tea all over the mahogany wood. My head was completely turned talking to someone behind me and I walked right into the huge table with a rather large audience. Maybe I just had a clutsy day)!

No accidents whatsoever on rollerblades...and then two on the same day! My first accident was so on the brain that I was paranoid I would do it again...and I actually did! Needless to say, I'm glad it is supposed to rain today, because I think I need to take the day off to gain back my rollerblading confidence. I can't afford to get any more scraps on my legs during skirt season!

I'm a Handyman Whore

My brother and sister in-law gave me a "Do-It-Herself Guide to Fixing Almost Anything in the Home" book for a housewarming gift. While this was a great idea for a young, single woman homeowner, this book has been collecting dust on the top shelf in my closet. In my opinion, the book only needs to be one page and should say, "Call up handy friend/ boyfriend/dad/brother. Ask them to help you."

As much as I try to be a "do-it myself" kind of woman...I'm just not. I have on many occasions, taken out my big yellow toolbox and looked at the witchits and gadgets and pushed tools around pretending like I know what I'm looking for. It's filled with screws and nails and thingamagiggies, but I just don't know what is supposed to be used for what! When do you use a mollybolt and how do you know when to use a screw over a nail? Are they supposed to go into the drywall or are you supposed to nail into a stud?

Dad has come in handy a lot...last summer he helped me move, hooked up my tv, and rescued me when I got a flat tire on a 99 degree day all in about one weeks time. Of course all of this happened during a brief period when I was single, so Dad politely told me after all of this, "You need to get a new boyfriend to do all this stuff." I also promised brother in-law, Big J, a couple of years ago that my new boyfriend owes him "big time" after I got a flat tire in -10 degrees about 3 days after I broke up with a boyfriend. What timing!

The on-going problem in my condo is that my closet rack keeps collapsing. Here is the sequence of events:

July 1, 2005: Closet rack installed by Dad
Late July 2005: Closet rack collapses. Current boyfriend as of July 2005 (we'll call him "J")repairs. I actually ask him to do this on our 4th date. I cook him a sophisticated dinner of Rice-a-Roni, chicken on the George Forman grill, and salad out of a Dole bag in exchange for his services.
September 2005: Closet rack collapses again and "J" now lives far, far away. Time for a professional. I ask the cute, young handyman who does work in my building to help me this time. He installs another hook thingy in the closet and this seems to work until...
April 2006: I come home from vacation to find the rack collapsed again. Conveniently, I am single again. I call up Guy friend #1, who seems all too eager to help newly single Ashley fix the closet in her bedroom. I greet him at the door and preface his entrance by telling him that I am allowing him into my bedroom to FIX MY CLOSET ONLY! No funny business. He concedes and when he finishes, I give him a pat on the back and a Corona.
June 2006: Yep, closet collapses again! I send email to current date as of June 2006 (we'll call him "W") at work and casually mention my closet. He responds to my email, but fails to respond to the part about the closet. Maybe "W" isn't so handy!

I send a text message to Guy friend #1: My closet collapsed again!
Guy friend #1's response: bummer!
My text: I have Corona in my fridge!
No text back from #1. Guess my payment of a Corona wasn't good enough for him.

Ask handy Guy friend #2 for his help, who coincidentally just moved into my building. He is willing to help, but is on his way out of town and can't help until next week. So he takes a look at it and advises me on what I need to do to fix it. Thanks #2.

Yesterday I came to terms with the fact that if this is going to get done, I'm just going to have to do it myself. So I make a trip to the hardware store. While I am there, I remember that I need to buy an allen wrench in order to rotate my rollerblade wheels. Who knew there were about 58 different sizes of allen wrenches? Guy friend #3 had rotated my wheels last time with his set of wrenches, so I gave him a call from the store.

Me: Guy friend #3, I'm at the hardware store. What size allen wrench did you use to rotate my wheels last time?

#3: I don't know. Why don't you just have me do it again?

Me: Because I don't want to have to call you every time I need to have it done, #3!

#3: Okay, why don't I just come over and do it for you and I'll leave the right size one with you so you'll have it for next time.

Me: Okay. Also, my closet fell and I need some hook things and some plastic screw things and bolts and stuff...do you know what size I should buy of them to make it stay?

#3: [Sigh] Ash....I'll bring over my whole toolbox.

And an hour later my blades were rotated and my closet was fixed. It was #3 who gave me the best advice of all. "I think it might be time to bring some clothes to Goodwill. It keeps collapsing 'cause you have too many clothes on it!"

Let's count 'em shall we? Were you able to keep track? In the last 11 months, I've had 1, 2, 3, 4...5 men do work on the same damn closet rack! And that's not counting the others I had look at it or ask if they could help. Am I a handyman whore? Can't I just find one trustworthy handy-man who knows what he's doing?

Maybe I do need to dust off that book afterall...