2.0.0.7.

Well...when I first started this blog just before the start of freshman year I made myself a promise that no matter how crazy life got, I'd post at least once a month. I also told myelf that I'd never revise or edit an entry post-publication. Well...4 or 5 backgrounds and about a million titles/taglines later I've stuck to my oaths fairly well. Never have I ever edited content or fixed spelling or grammar in a post and never have I ever deleted a post due to backlash of any kind. I'd also managed to stick pretty well to posting relatively regularly...until this semeter. Posting effectively stopped in September, though I did manage my "once a month" rule up until December. I guess, in the end, 2006 changed my entire perspective, right down to my journal-writing ethics.

I'm still not sure if the change was for the better or for the worse. I guess that I'll be better off for the changes, even if I won't necessarily be happier because of them and I think that when you hit a certain age that comes with the scenery.

At the end of the day, I came out of this year with a new perspective, a favourite author and a theme song. Not a bad haul, I suppose.

And you know what? Between the lines of fear and blame I'm still the kind of person who's sucking up all their fears and worries and going to live in abroad for 6 months. I'm not ashamed to boast about that though I am kind of disgusted that my pension for quoting overly played songs has managed to stick it out through it all. Oh who am I kidding? I'm a bit of a tool and I love it.

PS: I still haven't decided if I'm going to start a new blog for my tenure in Scotland. If I do I will most certainly post the new address here and will more then likely resume writing in this one when I return to the States.

Well then...

But my God woke up on the wrong side of his bed.

I am alive and, depending on the definition thereof, well. Life has decided to run the Marine Corps Marathon of Amuck and occasionally it's all I can do but sit back and giggle.

We only have one 21st because the second would kill us.

Shea and I

I really think she might kill you if you try and take that drink from her

Shots

I honestly don't know

Still terribly confused...

More shots

Dear god was there ever not a drink?

Sam, Kat, Shea and Amanda

My very first drink as a legal (bought by Sam)

Adam being awesome

Terrified of Red Lion...

I pretty much left for DC the first day the dorms opened (Aug 18). After a quick drive and an interesting dinner where, for the first time ever, my dad sat down and enjoyed a long conversation with another human being (Kat's dad) I unpacked my worldly possessions and shortly thereafter I arranged my room . Please note that the Wall of Memories is already slowly starting to accumulate just above my pillows. I then proceeded to spend the week driving frantically around the city in one of these...

And eating here (Congressional Country Club off River Rd)...all the while making copious amounts of money. Don't you wish you were me? (The correct answer there is no...no you do not). And then there was the day I spent in West Virginia rafting down the Shenandoah...I capped off the week with a special breed of fun known as...
And just for fun's sake...I did have my first class today. Gangs and Gang Violence. I walked into the darkened classroom to a video of a pregnant teenager undergoing a beat-in somewhere in a small town in the Midwest. Apparently this kind of behavior is "too common to be truly shocking or terrifying." Damn, my major is just straight up possessed by the devil.

I used to say...

...you know you're at a low point when talking to Earle is the only thing that makes you feel just a teeny bit better about the direction of your life. I can now safely say that on my jetplane to rock bottom, I passed that particular level of pathetic about 2,000 feet ago.

Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you the newest phase of the Rock Bottom Strip Mall: When canceling plans with friends seems like a fair trade considering the fact that you wouldn't have to actually get dressed and could remain in your running shorts/tshirts for a few more days.

Yeah, that's right. I'm that person.

More disturbingly, I'm getting that "last week of summer...I don't really want to go back to school" vibe that always rolls up in a pimped out Escalade around this time of year. I know the second we make the turn onto Wisconsin off of East-West Hwy I'm going to start bouncing excitedly in my seat but for now I just keep thinking "who really needs a BA anyways? Masters? HA! I scoff at thee, higher levels of education!"

As a general rule, I attribute this feeling of "just 5 more minutes...please..." to several months spent as an unproductive waste of space. Yes, I survived and managed to have fun doing so but surviving/having fun is a far cry from doing something worthwhile and last semester I was so damned productive that Dr Bennett felt he should send me a letter congratulating me on my achievement. The downshift, which was very much needed in May and June is now just plaguing me with doubts of my own self worth and, ultimately, that's just not good for the psyche.

So, in order to maintain the semblence of mental health that I've managed to create for myself these past few months, I'm going to suck it up, keep my plans and maybe even put on a skirt. But I'm still going to grumble about paying $3.00/gallon. Sept. 15 price break, you haunt my soul and one day you will pay for your endless taunting, crazy-guy-who-wears-lipstick-in-Billy-Madison style.

Felony? Theft? Cup of coffee?

...I feel that I can adequately tell this tale...

So on Sunday morning everyone who had...how shall we say...drank themselves silly at the party the day before was feeling kind of...off. Without exception to this, my mother was feeling "ehhhh...god hates me...must die...." and requested that I run down to the gas station (on base) to pick her up a cup of coffee. She handed me my dad's credit card and I figured, "eh, why not? It's right down the road and she's too ill to drive right now..."

So I walk into the store, fill up my little cup of coffee and proceed to the checkout queue where I had the following conversation with a cashier.

Ash: Good morning

Cashier: Hi. Credit, debit or cash?

Ash: Credit

Cashier: Ok, with a credit card I need to see ID.

Sidenote: The day before my mom had purchased a similar cup of coffee (on the same credit card) without ID. The back of the card is signed so, by civilian law, she can't request identification. Also, please note for future reference: on base, you can't use any credit card that's not your own. Continuing on...

Ash: Uh, I don't have ID and it's my dad's credit card, at any rate.

Cashier: I can't take that then.

Ash: Well that's the only way I can pay, I don't have my purse with me...

Cashier: Well, that's stealing and I'm going to have to call...

the MPs...

Ash: *blind panic* Uhh...*stutter* Umm...

Cashier: *picks up phone*

Ash: *thinks fast* Listen, I'm really sorry, I'm visiting my cousin who just got back from Iraq and I'm not usually on military bases. Let me leave my credit card here with you as collateral and run back to his house on Jacksoon Loop to get cash for you...

Cashier: *hard stare* *2 minute pause* I'll just dump it out this time, but make sure this doesn't happen again

Ash: Absolutely not. *Exit stage left* *Que tears and shock*

Now, most of you probably aren't familiar with the military, much like me, so let me pull you into the loop as to why this was so utterly and horrifically horrible. When you're on a base, any crime committed is an automatic felony resulting in immediate detention in a federal prison until such time as your bail can be posted. My cousin Ruthann actually got thrown into a federal prison for about 4 days once for driving 2 mph above the speed limit on base.

So for you slow students out there let me break it down for you...I nearly...

-Got thrown into federal prison for at least a day for attempting to buy a cup of coffee

and

-Almost had my entire future destroyed because, as you're probably aware, the FBI and government in general will not hire anyone with a felony on their record. I'm over 18 so that little incident would not get expunged and you can be damn certain that all it would say would be "Felony: theft on a military base." I'm pretty sure they would neglect to mention the fact that it was a cup of coffee that I had the money for.

I think there's pretty much only one way to sum up that particular occurance in the life of Ash...

http://mewing.net/meinkampf.shtmlGo ahead. Click it. I dare you.

Who spiked a watermelon? Yeah...that'd be me.

In typical Ash-fashion I really don't have the words to describe the NY soiree I went to this weekend. I (and everyone else) had a fantastic time. In this spirit..let's go through some of the highlights, eh?

-"Don't drop the baby!"
-Shots of liquid cocaine
-1 PFC who had to be dragged to his car
-a Sgt. who had to be wheeled to his car (on a chair...that had wheels)
-Brian falling head first into the keg
-Brian then proceeding to crash into the drinking table to avoid spilling his shot
-Lt. Matt
-God knows how many passed out guy's I walked across to get to a water tap the following morning

I think I drank approximately 15 shots of everything from rum to vodka to Crown from around 4 in the afternoon to 8 in the evening and stayed on my non-British feet the entire time. Notice the eyes? I'll choke the bitch who tries to take my margarita.

Pictured (left to right): Row 1: Jose Cuervo, Rum, Whiskey

Row 2: Jaegermeister, Vodka A, Kahlua, Vodka B, unidentified

Row 3: Margaritas, ice container, pepsi

Missing: Keg, bottles and bottles of Crown, crates of Jaeger and Red Bull, unidentified liquors of varying genres.

Welcome home, EM.

It only hurts when I laugh...

...if by laugh what you're really trying to say is breathe.

Yes, that's right ladies and gentlemen, the return of the infamous Plague has mysteriously coincided with my glorious return to the North. Luckily I've got some Penacillin left over from having my wisdom tooth taken out. Incidently, I was supposed to take them all but panicked when I reacted so badly to the vicodin and just stopped taking everything. Dammit, I do NOT miss those hallucinations.

After spending about a day and a half in Pennsylvania after South Carolina/Tennessee, I went to DC for a few days to work.

Now the drive down to DC is seldom entertaining and never life threatening, but this time was clearly the exception. Let's just say that the area we were driving around in was poverty stricken like its hot and I was abandoned in the parking lot of a McDonalds. I shall not mention the name of the person responsible for this, mostly out of spite. You know who you are. I know where you live and I will get you back one day. Then there was the glorious discovery that M Street dead ends somewhere around Georgia Avenue...into a dirt pile and, also, that there's a street in DC called, I kid you not, Quackenbob Road. Also, people around Howard U are so fond of Eddie Murphy that they named a road after him...incidently I'm pretty sure they misspelled his name.

Having finally gotten into a part of town that was neither life threatening nor absolutely lacking in parking, I hopped the metro to head to Dupont for lunch...only to have my pants eaten by the damn escalator.

Fast forward a few hours and a few hysterics later and I'm hanging out with some rather amazing chicas and then proceeded to finally settle in for the night at James' where some mild debauchery took place. And by mild debauchery what I mean is having my ribs crushed by 6'5" Scottish man who clearly hates his life so much he's dying to encourage me to put another vendetta on his head. I'd like to point out that my last name is MacVEIGH for the love of god and there is no one on the planet who is less Jewish than me. Or less Mexican.

My plans for working in DC for a few days fell apart rather unceremoniously and, to say the least, I was unhappy. Frustrated and angry, I left DC to go to Avon to relax/chill/sunbathe for about a week. And relax/chill/sunbathe I did. I'm now pretty much as tan as I (being horrifically Scottish) can get, and despite a rather unpleasant train ride and coming home to constantly feuding parents, I'm pretty damn mellow.

This mellow-itude is not particularly characteristic to me. If I had to guess, those who know me best would probably have a few choice words to use in describing the essense of me and I highly doubt "mellow" would be near the top of the list.

I'm wondering if maybe intense blood loss has something to do with it.

Say hello to Anopheles gambiae more commonly known as the mosquito or skeeter. This little bastard is apparently pretty damn fond of Yankee blood and came close to sucking me dry in a rather vampiric fashion. Then, when he had gourged himself in a manner that would have made Henry VIII cringe, he called his little bastard children in for the feast. That's right, your daddy can't pay mommy child support, but he can leech off the blood of innocent bystanders and pretend that he's "providing" for his family. I may make it my personal mission in life to eradicate these creatures from the face of the planet. I'm pretty sure they're the only of god's creatures that he doesn't love, so no harm no foul.

I think my record for bites was 5 in 1.5 minutes sustained while walking across the yard. Incidently, one night I subconsciously itched a hive so badly that I scratched the hive and the first layer of skin underneath it off.

Despite the little bloodsucking monsters that plagued me, my tenure at the beach was both necessary and fulfilling. Tomorrow afternoon (August 4) I'm leaving until Aug 7 for upstate New York/Canada. Then I'm back for good. And I hope you realize that by good what I'm really trying to say is until I pack up to leave for fall sometime on Aug 18.

Does Pedro sleep? No, no he does not.

Around 4 am this morning we crossed the Mason -Dixon after having been in the Deep South for slightly over a week. Our first stop was the beaches of South Carolina where we stayed in the condo pictured below which I named (quite aptly) the Giant Condo of Doom.
Myrtle Beach was pretty much a pathetic, soul sucking tourist trap, but I got a nice tan and got to relax a bit. Somewhere during the course of our stay, my parents purchased a time share in Florida. I'm still not entirely sure how this happened, truth be told. They just came home one morning (I had taken the opportunity to nap on the top deck) and informed me of their purchase. If you're noticing a mildly stoic tone in my voice, it's because I'm still shell shocked. I'd like to point out that this purchase happened approximately last Tuesday. Who's up for Florida sometime around Christmas, 'cus I'm damn well not checking that thing out by myself for the first time.

So yeah...Myrtle Beach...yeah...words really can't describe that place so I'm not even going to try. However; I would like to point out that our GCoD was located on a golf resort and (oddly enough) very close to some marshy area. So one day I was wandering around outside , chatting on my phone, when suddenly the guy next door starts screaming "Blonde girl on the phone! DON'T TAKE ANOTHER STEP FORWARD! DON'T GO DOWN THOSE STAIRS!" Confused, I looked out slightly over the ledge I was standing on and, focusing intently, was able to make out a slithering shape blending into the drying grass. Pictured below is a pretty close representation of what I saw. Ladies and gentlemen, please let me introduce you to Agkistrodon piscivorus more commonly known as the Cottonmouth. For those of you unfamiliar with snakes and other creatures of death, it's one of the deadliest snakes in North America. And it was about 6" away from eating my foot. South Carolina was, by no means, a bad trip. On the contrary, aside from the moment when I was nearly poisoned to death I had a great time and I'm truly glad I went. But if you think that's the end of my tale, you clearly have no concept of my histrionic tendencies...or god's wrath on me.

On approximately Wednesday we lit out for Tennessee, because my dad hearts the mountains like whoa and because we're expected at the Gathering of Rednecks that is to take place a few days later. I drove most of the way on the Strom Thurmond Freeway cackling maniacally at signs that describe Pedro's insomnia as well as entire counties called Waccamaw. Somewhere in North Carolina, my dad finally wrenched the wheel out of my hands and steered us through the Great Smoky Mountains Nat'l Park. NOTICE THE PRETTY!! NOTICE IT!
Tennessee was great, everything I've come to expect from visits down there. One of the high points of the trip was learning a lot about my family and solving The Great Mystery of Ash's Heritage. To date I am:

.5 Scottish (obviously)
.25 Native American (way more than I anticipated...rock on)
.25 Dutch. Apparently my grandpa was Dutch. Who the hell ever saw that one coming.

Like I said, the trip and the party was a huge success, everyone got pretty damn drunk on everything from Bourbon to Allegrini to moonshine. Dion sang that god forsaken Statue of Liberty song (dedicated to me) while occasionally taking swigs from his hip flask. I personally opted for half shots of the XXX all night with my cousin and learned...well...you get good and drunk but it's an entirely different kind of drunk. The only way I can describe it is a "batshit crazy" kind of drunk. Let's just put it this way...I finally passed out around 1am, and some of the stronger hillbillies were still going strong. Sidenote: The party started at 12pm and everyone was drinking by 3. A family friend (Charlie) came 'round to check on me and my cousin Amanda around 2:30am and, apparently (as I have no recollection of this) I sat up (very wobbily) said (in a perfect southern accent) "YOU AIN'T GOIN' KILL ME!!" and punched him with a hard left in the jaw. Yeah...like I said, batshit crazy.

Another example of the debauchery is pictured below. I'd like to point out that these women are blood relatives of mine, in their 40s-50s and, yes, your eyes deceive you not, wearing my bras on their heads. They were stone cold sober. Things like this are common at Kope(ki)-Fuller/n gatherings. Don't you wish your family was as cool as mine? Probably not, no one should ever have to see that.

The real creme de la creme of the trip was my encounter with yet another deadly creature. This time, it was not a cottonmouth, but rather his close cousin, the copperhead. This one would have struck out and hit my knee if my cousin Dion hadn't tackled me to get me out of the way. I'd like to point out that it was not my incompetance that brought all these deadly snakes into my presense this fateful trip, I'm just absolutely convinced that god flies the Rebel, drives a pick up and still holds a grudge against Sherman for the whole buring down Atlanta bit. My damn family's from the South though, so you think I'd catch a break. But no. Rest in peace, deep South, for I am so done with you.