Parisian Perfection

Hey,

So the plane gets into Paris around 8pm, and because I landed in a smaller airport, we had to take a bus into the city. I was grateful that we did, because it allowed us the opportunity to see the French countryside. Unlike in Rome, where I felt history, in Paris I just felt. No matter that the city itself is gritty, unforgiving and much dirtier than I'd imagined, there is LOVE everywhere. I arrived at night, and spotted at least 8 couples making out as I forayed my way to the hostel. I would see couples kissing all throughout my journey in Paris. I will tell you this, there is something in the air in Paris. I don't really know what it is...whether it's a smell, a sensation or a feeling, but it's like aromatic euphoria. Every time I would get angry, stressed or sad, I'd breathe that air in, and it seemed to say, "Chill, you're in Paris." That's pretty much how I felt. Like I was in a dream, and couldn't wake up. But, after my first night, I really didn't want to.

Ironically, though I considered Paris to be dirtier, the hostel itself was MUCH more modernized than the one I left in Rome. It had internet, a bar, a sauna and decent showers. I was more than excited to see the showers that didn't soak your feet because the drain was too slow. I have to admit, I also had another reason to get excited about Paris, and that reason was waiting for me at my hostel. I was very glad to see the reason, my buddy Terry, live and in the flesh, and after being solo for a while and fighting off some loneliness, it was nice to have some company. Together, we saw the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame and the River Seine. I actually enjoyed just being lost in Paris, randomly walking down streets just to see where they led. Surprisingly enough, none of the alleged Parisian crime affected us.

After he left on the third day, which did make me sad, I decided to take advantage of some of the other sights of Paris that we didn't see together. So, I found a free walking tour of the neighborhood Montematre, where all the artisans reside, and the home of the famed Moulin Rouge theatre. I caught the Paris metro to the train stop, got out and walked around for a bit. While doing so, I stumbled upon the first and only Starbucks since London. I went inside, and it felt less like Starbucks and more like a Parisian cafe, which appealed to my tourist side, but the slightly homesick for America side was expecting to see the Americanized version of which I've become accustomed. Imagine my disappointment, as I was searching for something, anything, American to forge a temporary connection.

After I took a deep breath and got a dose of "Chill, you're in PARIS!", I quickly recovered, found my tour and discovered my favorite parts of Paris, Montmatre. Full of hills, monuments to artists, little squares of people singing and dancing to well performed music, it was the infusion of spirit that I needed. Walking around some parts of Montmatre is like accidentally stumbling into a quaint village, while other parts seem to exist as its own city, independent of Paris. There are plenty of affordable and not so affordable shops to get food, clothes and mementos. It is hilly, so good shoes are definitely required, but the views of Paris and the cityscape from some particular streets is absolutely breathtaking. I started to get sick for my mom, not because I missed America, but because I wanted her to see the things I saw...and I knew that she'd be one of the only people I know who would see them the same way I would. Plus, watching her climb up these hills would have been a hoot. Although I would have gotten smacked for making fun of her arthritis.

I completed a staring contest with the local scam artists, who gather in the square below the Sacre-Coeur. The scam is simple, and it scares many tourists, enough so that they give you a lecture about it on the walking tour. It works like this: they come up to you (and usually they are African men), pretending to know little to no English, and they tell you that they want to give you a friendship bracelet. (In some cases, they don't tell you.) Before you can reply with an "ok", they slip this string looking thing around whatever arm you have available. Then, as you try to walk away, you realize they are holding the end of it. The scam comes in when they tell you that they want a certain amount of euros to release you. Depending on how scared you are, how little you are, or how big they are, it can range from as little as 5 euros to as much as 50 euros. I spotted this con being pulled on many of the unassuming tourists, and after accidentally bumping into some of the guys pulling it, I realized the con was that their english was pretty perfect. However, the face I was making must have been incredibly scary, because I found that they never even thought of messing with me.

Later, I was convinced to go on yet another pub crawl, but unlike the one in Rome, this one sucked. The places they were stopping seemed to be very....low rent, and the drinks were weak. So, I made an executive decision to ditch the crawlers, and go walking around downtown Paris. Yeah, that might not have been the smartest decision, but I did it. And, I managed to stumble into a not so great neighborhood. I saw some guys who were pointing at me, and began to walk behind me. I kept the eyes that grew on the back of my head on them, and decided to cut back across the rue (street) to return to an busier one..and through an alleyway. Moving quickly, and losing sight of the guys following me, I felt relief. I stepped onto the corner, and in doing so, I found a tiny slice of Parisian heaven.

Understand that I know some French. I'm nowhere near fluent, like I wish to someday become, but I surprised myself with being able to go to the store, read signs to do my laundry, pay for Metrocards, order bread, find clothes and manage with basic conversation. I amazed myself at how much I really knew. With that in mind, my Parisian heaven, was a place where English...was out the window.

It was a tiny lounge in the basement of a coffee shop that sold genuine African food. Greeted by a beautiful cocoa-skinned woman in all African garb, she beckoned me inside. I walked in, not because of her, but because of the smells. There are no words in any language, English or French, to accurately describe the loveliness, divinity, mouth-watering, passionate, salivating awesomeness of that smell. A combination of rice, spice, seafood, chicken and fruit...it was heaven. The beautiful woman told me to call her Maman, which is part of the word "bonne maman" which means grandmother, even though she looked like she could be my sister. Without much of a discussion, she asked me if I was hungry, and I nodded. She asked if I liked lamb and I said no, and then she disappeared. Music was thumping, people behind me were dancing and gyrating, really just having a great time. I watched Maman, hard at work at a small stove off to the left and in front of me. I couldn't see what she was doing, but I sat patiently.

After being hit on by two guys, one of which I kept turning away from because of his rank breath, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around to face a smiling Maman, who held a bowl in her hands. She extended it out to me. I peered inside, not knowing what to expect, but found the most beautiful looking pile of rice and peas that I'd ever seen. "Pour la vegeterianne" she says, smiling. (For the vegetarian, which she assumed I was). I dove into it....and it was FANTASTIC. A simple meal cooked well. Sauteed tomatoes, yellow rice, onion, garlic, and big beautiful peas. Sigh. I would find this place and go there twice before I left Paris, and the people tried to get me to teach them English in exchange for food. I explored, but never found nicer and warmer people than in that little lounge. Paris, I'll be back.

Roman Sentiments Part II

Hey,

So first, I have to apologize in the delay between blogs. I've just been busy. But anyway...back to the Rome trip.

The idea of a pub crawl is something I'd never experienced before in life. It's a genius idea actually, if you think about it. In a pub crawl, you pay the operator (usually a local promotions company) a set amount of money, and you get to go from club to club over the span of several hours. Because you paid the fee to the promoters, you don't have to pay to get into any of the clubs, and usually you get a wristband that allows you some deep discounts on drinks at the various clubs. Well, this pub crawl I joined did all that, plus they gave us shots as we walked along the club route. I didn't know that they would be doing so, and had a couple of drinks before we left, So, by the time we reached the 1st stop of the evening, I was more than a little intoxicated. (Sorry, Mom). I also have to add that the pub crawl gave me a chance to actually walk the streets of Rome, which are amazingly beautiful at night.

Roman nightclubs make me feel like I've decided to climb into a time capsule and travel back ten years. The decorations are dated, along with much of the music, (they played YMCA by the Village People for goodness sakes) but there is something magical about these places. Unlike American clubs, they have a feel of someone's living room and aren't the cold and unfeeling places I've seen in past club outings. The people there are focused on two things 1-having a good time and 2- drinking. If you come across as not doing either, you should be prepared to spend the night alone. I was able to do both until 2AM. The Kissing Hour. (cue "doom" music) It is an unofficial rule in Roman partying, at least in all the clubs I visited, that everyone start kissing when the DJ announces it. Well, the DJ announced it, and I look to my left. Kissing. Look to my right. More Kissing. Look in front of me, MORE KISSING. The crowd parts, and an attractive but sweaty Italian guy comes a-walking in my direction. At this point, I only had two options. Deal with him directly...or run. I chose the latter, hiding out in the unisex bathroom.

After all the kissing was over, I emerged from the bathroom and decided to walk back to the hostel. I did so without a map, and really was able to take in the city. Of course, I made sure to not freak out my Mom and I did so with two guys I'd met who also were staying at the same hostel as I was. I'd be grateful they were with me, because not less than one block from the club, a random Italian homeless man began shoving roses he was selling in my face. Then he tried to hug me and touch my butt. The guys stepped in and got him off of me, and we made our way back to the hostel, which was a long walk, but we made it safely.

Over the course of the next few days, I would see all Rome had to offer. I went to the Trevi Fountain, the Pantheon and the Vatican. I ate such wonderful Italian food and drank fabulous wine. I even made friends with the staff at a wonderful restaurant called Miscellenea (find a review of it here), where Mikki, the manager, and his waitstaff made us feel like we were hanging out with friends instead of in a place of business. So much so that we could have gotten away without paying, they were so relaxed about it! It's right near the Pantheon, but only open for dinner. If you go to Rome, you must visit, if not for the inexpensive food, have a glass of the 2 euro 'sexy wine'. Unlike regular red wine, it is made from fermented strawberries, and not grapes. As a result, it has a smooth sweet taste and smells like fresh strawberries. I bought a bottle home with me, and my mom can vouch that it is amazing. I intend to go back and get more.

There are some aspects of my trip to Rome that I hated. So while I talk about how magical Rome is, and how you can smell the history and touch buildings that are older than Christ, there were moments where I wanted to leave. Walking around for two hours looking for a bank was one. Being propositioned as a prostitute was another. An Italian man asked if I had a hotel and if I would sleep with him for euros. After being disgusted and walking away, another Italian told me that because of my complexion, people would mistake me for being Brazilian, and the Brazilian women are perceived to be thieves, prostitutes and otherwise of bad moral character. It explained a lot of some of the treatment I received, but didn't make much sense because I spoke no Portuguese, had an American passport and an American accent. But they were convinced. A vendor spat into a sandwich that he tried to sell me which led to me screaming for my money back and having to call the police, a lady followed me around in a store because she thought I was going to steal something, even though I had no place to put anything, and I was glared at in many places. Later, I would find out that Brazilian women broke up a lot of Italian marriages and used to openly be spat at in Rome as they walked through the Piazzas. I was just grateful that never happened, because I'd be in Italian jail right now for murder.

While I enjoyed the beauty of the city, the saliva-free food, the wine, the architecture, I found myself more and more ready to leave Rome behind for Paris. The last night I was in Rome, I went to bed early after eating a three course meal for only 10 euros (about 16 dollars), made sure my clothes were clean and ready to be packed. On the plane, I found myself wishing that I'd been able to share the experience of Rome with someone else, and for the first time, I felt lonely. I watched out the window as the plane propelled up into the air and shut my eyes, wanting to get to the destination I was the most excited to see: Paris, France.

As I sat on that plane, I thought about my trip and realized I'd miss Rome. It's a city with so much history and beauty. Places like the Campo de Fiori look beautiful at night, as well as the lights all lit up on the Tiber River. The Vatican is breathtaking, as well as Saint Angelo's Castle. The Pont Angelo (Angel Bridge) lined with majestic angel statues that literally take your breath away, the clear blue water of the Trevi Fountain, the powerful emotions when looking at the Spanish Steps as well as the Tomb of Raphael...it's a city that serves as the model for many American cities. If you have the chance, do go see it for yourself. Even though I had some downs on my trip, I don't regret going in the slightest.

Before I knew it, the plane was landing outside of Paris, and the next leg of my journey was soon to begin.

Next Blog:

Parisian Perfection

Thoughts?

Ashley Robin

Roman Sentiments

Hey,

After I said a goodbye to London, rode a train and arrived at Stansted Airport in the suburban London countryside, I would get on the flight from hell and head to Rome. Not only did I arrive at the airport entirely TOO early because of my own poor planning, but I was tired from being out the night before TOO late. I got up too late, and rushed, breaking my neck and not realizing that I could have taken my sweet time and arrived just like I wanted. However, getting there so early allowed me to experience what the airport SHOULD be.

In a word, Stansted cannot be described. It's clean, sunny, bright and people are really happy to be at work. Well, except those who work for RyanAir. (I'll get to that later). The airport is totally state of the art, with internet stations, showers in the restrooms, duty free shops like Chanel, M.A.C., Sephora, and a full fleged deli with caviar...sigh. Duty-free shops are simply places in the airports overseas where you can buy things and not pay taxes on them. Unlike America, where you pay MORE for goods at the airport, in Europe, it is LESS. Hindsight, I would have bought more from there. This is what it looked like.

Well, the flight from Stansted to Ciampiano Aiport was interesting. I'd never seen anything like it. The flight on RyanAir was more like the Wild Wild West. Passengers were drunk, flight attendants rolled the cart down the aisle selling food, then trinkets, then liquor, then jewelry. Random babies then began to walk up and down the aisles, and then they started to cry. There was a smell of body odor that ran rampant, and the Italian lothario on the flight proceeded to make his way down the aisles flirting with woman after woman, and by the time he got to me, he reeked of rum. People were not wearing their seat belts when told, the flight attendants were screaming at people...it was pure insanity. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I instead shrugged my shoulders and did a lot of head shaking.

Finally, I was off the flight and in Italy. Signs were in Italian, people spoke Italian. I landed at night, in an empty airport, and I got in my hostel late. I managed to drag my hefty bag there, and fell asleep. The next morning, hungry and out of money, I searched for a bank. In doing so, I would get my first taste of true Roman hospitality.

"Get out!" were the first words I heard upon surrendering my purse to a locker, and walking through a kind of revolving doorway that locked as you stepped in, which was unlocked by bank staff. I was confused. I'd said nothing and done nothing, and after walking in triple degree heat, I did not understand why I was being treated in such a way. I asked if they knew how I could get money from my account, and after rudely being told that my business was not wanted or desired, I was escorted (and I use that word nicely) out of the bank and into the street. I started to walk away, until I realized I'd placed my purse in a locker. I went back and after some fussing at the guard, I was able to retrieve it, safe and sound. It would take me almost two hours to find another branch, one in which my money and my business was appreciated. It happened to be in a tourist-y area, where I should have remained.

As I did in London, after getting enough money to last me for a moment, I began to explore my surroundings. However, while I was amazed by the history, and noticing the buildings and underlying beauty of Rome, I began to notice something else. People...were staring. At me. And I didn't know why. I walked along the Tiber River, down to the Campo de Fiori and watched the city light up at night. I walked past Termini station and down into Chinatown, where I scored two of the most comfortable pairs of sandals I've been fortunate to wear. However, I felt like people were staring. When I got back to the hostel, I asked why the people of Rome might find me so interesting and got no reply from the Australians who worked the desk. I showered, went out to eat my first Italian meal and shrugged it off.

My first Italian meal was pasta, of course. I washed it down with a Coke, and it's pictured to the left. It's known as a local seafood special, and consists of mussels, langoustines (shrimp), scallops and clams tossed with olive oil with garlic and a hint of basil on a bed of linguini pasta . The plate doesn't look too big, but it was deep and cheap and orgasmic. I found myself eating here everyday, where they knew me as an American, and because I tipped well, they took care of me. I was so hungry on my first visit, that I ate this bowl and took another as a take-away (to-go)! Hey, why not, I was on vacation! Who cared if my waist expanded? After a night of walking around, I settled in my room and went fast to sleep. The next day, I did not wake up until around 430pm. I didn't realize I'd slept so long until I looked up and realized housekeeping had managed to clean all around me. Invigorated, I decided to try my hand at a night of Roman partying in something called a pub crawl.

To Be Continued in:

Roman Sentiments, Part 2

My London Love Affair

Hello All,

Some of you who read my blog know that I've always wanted to go to Europe. It's been something I've wanted to do since I first knew about it in grade school. My eyes would always grow big when teachers spoke of foreign places, and I always wanted to see the places spoken of with my own eyes. Well, just after my 25th birthday (eek!) I was fortunate enough to go on the trip of a lifetime. I planned it myself, without the help of a travel agent, and had no regrets. My money was saved up, my route was planned and directions were printed, research was completed. By the time the day came when I was due to board the plane to London, my first city of a few that I would visit during my 18 day trip, I was so excited to go that it didn't really hit me..I was getting on a plane and going to a place where I didn't know anyone.

I never told my mother, but about midway through the flight, it hit me. "What if I get sick? What if I get lost? What if I get robbed or attacked, or worse? Who would be there for me?" The closer I got to London, the more these thoughts seemed to disappear from my mind and more practical things filled it instead, such as "How the hell am I going to lug this bag around? What am I going to eat? What should I see first?" I stepped off the longest flight I'd ever taken on the Atlantic and faced the unknown with the optimism of a newborn. I breathed the air, looked around me and threw my arms up in absolute joy. This gesture, along with my American accent and naivete, was greeted with laughs and grins. I didn't care, though...for 18 days, the overseas world of Europe was mine, and I intended to do all I could to conquer it.

The trip started in London, actually Heathrow Airport. I remember stepping off the plane and not knowing what to expect, if people in the Queen's Guard uniforms would be standing there or if I'd be immediately offered tea and crumpets. I certainly did not expect to be interviewed for at least 5 minutes by the UK Customs Officials, while I saw plenty of other Americans bounce past the officials in seconds. However, I took it with a grain of salt, and carried on. After getting my luggage to the train, or 'the tube', lugging it up stairs, getting lost twice and then finding my way, and finally finding my hostel....I was beginning to relax. After bumbling around until I was able to get into my room, taking a hot shower and then going out, I did not feel like a tourist, but instead like I was home.

I walked throughout the streets, the well known ones and the 'dodgy' ones and felt as if I'd lived there for years, without a map, without a compass, without a guide. I found myself in supermarkets, coffee shops, burger joints, pubs, bars and nightclubs... shoulder to shoulder with the Brits. I drank potent apple cider for the first time, and also drank absinthe. I was asked by men to sit with them and entertain them with my "cute American accent". I did not receive any rude treatment, and when I did try on a Brit accent to buy a paper and some cigarettes for a roommate, the owner of the shop asked me what part of London I was from. "Brixton", I said, as I handed the exact amount to him, darting out of the shop before more questions ensued. I also made sure to do the "typically tourist" things, like walking through Hyde Park, stopping at the Marble Arch and the Wellington Arch (which is pictured with moi to the left) and at least see the inside of the Sherlock Holmes Pub. (They serve phenomenal fish and chips there, FYI)

I found out about the history of Big Ben, rode the London Eye and walked along the Thames River. I ate fish and chips, skipped the bangers and mash and indulged in a pint of ale. I drove past Wimbledon, tried Ethopian food and learned some Brit slang. I began to count my money in terms of quid, half-quid, quarter-quid and so on. I did not mind the intermittent rain, the cool breeze that whipped through my hair, and the awkwardness in dialing 13 numbers instead of 10, and how being a "vegetarian" was not as commonplace as it is in the States. I went without coffee. I woke up in the early mornings and walked, took the tube to random places, and saw the splendor of Harrod's. I was on a bus that drove on the London Bridge, stood in a spot where people were executed, and I learned the difference between crisps, chips and fries.

I walked through Piccadilly Circus, saw Madame Tussauds and stood at the site of the 02 Theatre where a Michael Jackson sign was being erected. I was hit on by men from Australia, New Zealand, Germany, France, Netherlands, Poland and Italy. I was able to find my way through a crowd of jubilant men and women, celebrating the arrival of an upcoming weekend by dancing the night away. I took a black taxi through a ghetto and saw their version of public housing. I saw the docks where the Titanic was built. I ate one of the best meal I've ever had in my life at a Gordon Ramsay restaurant and, if I did nothing else, I danced.

I was without a care in the world, happy and the world was my oyster. Simply, because I was in love. And I had made friends there too, who embraced my bumbling American way and made sure I was given a true tour of the city. Not something you get on a double-decker bus, or from a booth in front of the Ridley's Believe It or Not Museum. The way in which I was welcomed and embraced by the city and its people, wholeheartedly and without reservation, was priceless. It couldn't be bottled or mass distributed. As I reflect, I know that there is no price for what I experienced when I was in London. During those days, I fell in love with a city blessed with a history longer than the States. I look at my pictures from those days and I realize something, that my love affair with London is ongoing.

Thoughts?

Ashley Robin

Next Post: Roman Sentiments

Why I Boycott the COON Awards (otherwise known as the BET Awards)

Hey,

So I've been a little outlandish in my attempt to get people to boycott the COON Awards this year. (If you don't know what I mean, I'm talking about the BET Awards). I call them the COON Awards because that's what they are. I could get into how offensive I find them, how I feel that all the executives at BET should just be shot...(The Toya and Tiny Reality Show is just one of MANY examples) but all in all, the network does nothing to uphold the ideals it was founded under.

Long story short, Bob Johnson and a bunch of other people made BET an outlet for African-Americans who had positive uplifting programming for the black community that could not get airplay anywhere else. They also created the network to help fill the gap in the number of blacks not just in front of the camera, but also behind it. The plan was to create a venue for blacks to not only get work, but avoid the stereotypical roles that were open to them at the time. BET wanted to give blacks opportunities to work, not just as actors, but also as directors, writers, producers, etc.

So now, we fast forward past decades of "progress" where many said BET was no longer needed because racial issues were no longer something that was in our faces. People (and I mean not black people) felt that the mass media outlet did not need to have such open segregation. And as R&B music rose in popularity, the artists themselves became more diverse. Commercially successful groups like New Kids on the Block and Color Me Badd, as well as individual artists like Jon B., Robin Thicke and Justin Timberlake caused a sort of melting pot of a "typically black" avenue of music. That, along with a great deal of syndicated programming allowed BET to set itself up to be bought by bigger television companies. So, when Bob Johnson decided to sell the network, why was anyone surprised when Viacom (home of MTV- a similar type of network as BET but more or less designed to please the "white, mainstream" audience) stood up and purchased it. With the sale, Johnson allowed his network to become the COON Channel and was able to not take any responsibility for it.

When I say COON, I do not say it to be disrespectful of blacks. I do not say it to get under anyone's skin, but I say it because that is what it is. COONing, as I mean it, is simply chucking and jiving for an audience, no matter what the race. Putting on a face other than your true one and doing whatever some conglomerate tells you to do in order to get ratings, and make sure YOU get a paycheck. Can we say "Sellout"?

So, why am I NOT watching it? Well, as we all know, Michael Jackson died. There are no words about that, and I could go on and on about what Michael has done for me and people I love, and I'm not talking about just making a record. But, in short, his death hit me HARD. Hard, not just because it was sudden and unfair and I wanted to see him perform in London, but because it's the loss of a musical icon. It's also hard to watch people who two years ago were distancing themselves from Michael because of his personal issues all of a sudden come out of the woodwork talking about how much they loved him. HA! And guess who is at the top of that list? BET Network.

So all the major networks covered his death and the still (as of this blog post) undetermined cause. And because Michael has legions of fans, people who never watch the news are suddenly glued to their televisions, which results in higher ratings. CNN reported a 965% increase in ratings the day Michael died alone. ABC was around 600%, NBC was about 500% and CBS was around 450%, last I checked. So now, BET, with their failing ratings, sees not only an opportunity to tap into that large network of fans, but also an way to bring some major audience to a program that, quite frankly, sucks. Sounds like some phony BS and I ain't a part of it. I still hope all the BET execs are shot.

If you are watching or watched the show, in my mind you're part of the problem, not the solution. I wonder if Michael hadn't passed how much mentioned he'd have gotten. And that's my opinion and I'm sticking to it.

Later, (sure there will be plenty of thoughts)

Ashley

RIP to Michael Joe Jackson. A blog about him is upcoming.

In Honor of Father's Day

Hey,

I know I haven't written in a while, and have pretty much lost most of my following as a result...which sucks...but I'm working on it. I've got more time on my hands now, and so I can spend more time writing. The blogs about Europe are coming, I promise, but for now... I can give something more amusing.

Now, I'm on twitter as @ashleyrobin. Follow me, I promise I tweet often enough to make it interesting. But in honor of Father's Day, the holiday to honor all the real fathers out there, I tweeted a bunch of Trending Topics in regards to growing up with my father, who I love to death.

The topic I used was #irememberwhen... so just for you, I am posting all the tweets I wrote. My mom can attest to them being true and accurate. If you knew my dad, you'd know I wasn't bullshitting or exaggerating. Enjoy!

The #irememberwhen Tweets

In honor of my dad, I'm doing a trending topic based on stuff that happened with him when I was growing up called #irememberwhen. here we go

#irememberwhen my dad was yelling for me (i was in the park), walking up & down the street in a silk robe (open) with boxers & pink slippers

#irememberwhen my dad asked me what i'd been eating because my butt had gotten so big. *FACEPALM*

#irememberwhen after I was crying about being flatchested my dad told me I should be happy b/c I'd never have to worry about them sagging

#irememberwhen my dad took me to the circus & was catcalling at the acrobats. "Can I take u home & show you how to bend those legs?" *FAIL*

#irememberwhen after I told my dad I wasn't a virgin anymore, he sarcastically said, "Oh, that's such a shocker" *FACEPALM*

#irememberwhen i told my dad I had a serious boyfriend, & he didn't ask anything, he said, "Dont get pregnant. I aint supportin no bastards"

#irememberwhen I asked my dad if he had a girlfriend & he said, "I'm 78 years old, who the hell am i gonna be fukkin?"

#irememberwhen dad asked me if I could rub his back b/c he was constipated. I told him no. I asked him for $$. guess what he said.

#irememberwhen a local boy asked my dad if he could walk with me as I walked my dog. My dad pulled a loaded gun on him. we were both 12.

#irememberwhen my dad took me to coney island & we saw a prostitute on the boardwalk givin head. I asked "what's she doin" he said "her job"

#irememberwhen my dad & i went to the res. people didn't have shoes. he said they sold their soles for alcohol. so i started crying for them

#irememberwhen he told me to stop crying for them, rubber was cheap. I thought he meant SOULS. He said they were all going to hell anyway

#irememberwhen my dad retired from his job & i asked him what he was going to do w/his time. His response: "watch oprah & porn"

#irememberwhen my dad yelled @ me for listening to hiphop music & not appreciating jazz. i went into his room & he's watching THE BOX!

#irememberwhen I asked him what he was watching on tv, and he told me "shut up, you don't know shit...go get me an ice cream"

#irememberwhen I asked my dad who he would wanna fight, Batman or Superman, he said, "Your mother"

#irememberwhen i used to ask my mother if she was sure this psycho really was my dad. She said, w/her head hanging low, "yes"

#irememberwhen i told my dad i was dropping out of college & wanted his support. He said, "Sure, if u want me to support u being a failure"

#irememberwhen when i got my wisdom teeth pulled after surgery & half drugged i had to go find my dad 2 sign me out he was asleep in the car

#irememberwhen we got home from surgery, & i asked him to make me some soup, he said, "get it urself, i aint ur maid" i cried & called mom

#irememberwhen she asked to speak to him, & then he was making me soup, tea, coffee...even offered to help me change into my pajamas

#irememberwhen my dad would talk all this mess about my mom, & then when she'd come around, he'd be EXTRA quiet.

#irememberwhen I asked my dad y he didnt say all that stuff 2 my mom,& he told me to shut up. I laughed. He locked me out the house

#irememberwhen i realized laughing at my dad for being a punk around my mom wasn't funny when it started to get cold. he let me in tho

#irememberwhen someone asked my dad why he drank evaporated milk in his coffee b/c it ws for babies. he said, "i ain't no baby, bitch!"

#irememberwhen i asked my dad if he ever believd in santa claus. he said "no, i believed in the pull out method" he's got 6 kids. *FAIL*

#irememberwhen i was so proud b/c i'd made the Dean's List & wanted my dad to know. He said, "ash, i know ur smart. it's ugly to brag"

#irememberwhen my dad told me i could do whatever i wanted as long as I ended up in NY. in Queens. In St. Albans. In his basement. With him.

#irememberwhen my dad got a mysterious 'free' cell phone in the mail. I asked him who sent it, he said, "The white man." *FACEPALM*

#irememberwhen my dad said he was getting his name on the Native American Wall in DC. That's nice but my dad is Jamaican. Accent & everythin

#irememberwhen i asked my dad to get me some feminine napkins at the drugstore. he came home with a roll of pink paper towels.

#irememberwhen my mom told me she once dated Billy Dee Williams. So I renounced my crazy father & was calling myself Ashley Dee Williams

#irememberwhen I asked my dad why we never went out anywhere to eat. So he took me to iHop & asked, "Now is the princess happy?" I wasn't.

#irememberwhen my dad asked me to take my makeup off @ the movie b/c he wanted to see if he could pay the child rate... #extracheap

#irememberwhen my dad last ordered my food for me at the restaurant. he proceeded to cut my chicken up for me. wait, he still does that.

#irememberwhen i asked dad about having guys over. he said, "when ur kids have more sex than u, u feel like shit. U'll see when ur married "

#irememberwhen i told dad i was going to tell his ppl at the res he was jamaican. he said, "treachery is rewarded with death" & looked at me

#irememberwhen my dad asked me where his dad's day gift was. I told him w/my bday present (none). He said, "I guess u must not want this $$"

#irememberwhen i hung up the phone & found a card and sent it to him asap. He called me & said, "Nice card, but i aint sending u shit"

***Just some of my memories with my dad, who I love to death. ****

Kisses,

A.

Morsels: It's All for the P***y!

Hey,

So, for some strange reason, I'm always asked about sex and relationships. I don't know why, but my friends and even people I don't know well, seem to gravitate towards me for advice and counsel in their love lives. It baffles me even to this day, because I'm perpetually single and tend to be less lucky in love then they are. Anyway, I tend to be honest and realistic in my advice. In so, I have set up four couples. Three of them are married, one is engaged, and the three marriages have all resulted in children. Part of me wants to open a matchmaking service, but I will hold off on that idea for a little while. In respect to that, I've decided to blog more about the things I get asked about, things I'll call Morsels.

With that, I give today's morsel to women. Most men out here are dogs. I'd say 80-85% of men out here are simply used to getting what they want. Now, I'm sure I'll hear from men who say they aren't, and therefore, they can find solace in being in that 15-20% range that are. Even though some of them may be lying to us, and themselves. But anyway, most of the dating game is not at all about dating. It's all for the p***y. Either the pursuit of it, the obtaining of it OR the ability to keep on getting it. And, I know, to be honest, if I were a guy I'd be chasing it too, but let's be real. Nothing really great comes easily. So ladies, instead of wondering why a man doesn't call you after you have sex or wonder if something is wrong with you because all the men you have sex with disappear, why not make it harder to obtain? 

Realize that because you are a woman, and you have p***y, you have a good deal of control. Not all, but a good deal of it. Most women fail to see this, and find themselves hurt more often than happy. And bottom line, we all want to be happy, right? So, I'm not saying subject yourself to any games or deceit, but I simply say, demand more of the guy you are interested in. I could blog forever about the power struggles of dating, but that's later.

The next blog: My Advice on Getting a Mate and Keeping Them Interested (Men and Women)

Thoughts?

*Ashley Robin*

What A Wonderful World

Hey,

So I've been gone for a little while. Long story short, a lot has been going on in my little old life that made me wonder what direction fate/destiny was taking me. I didn't think I could write and still have the same sense of the world that makes me, well....me, and so I decided to take a break. 

I think that we all come to a point in our lives where we are tested. Who knows why, or for what purpose, but sometimes those tests come in the friendships we think that we make, the choices or decisions that we are faced with, and the journeys that we choose or not choose to embark upon. 

With that, I am and always will be a big believer in fate. Lately, I've been questioning her, and myself, but...as just a believer as I am in fate, I am in karma. And karma is a b-i-t-c-h. So, although I may have been tested by others, karma will right all the wrongs.

In conclusion, I apologize for my absence, and I am announcing my return! More sarcasm and nonsense to come in the days, weeks, months ahead. FYI- The trip to Europe is set, I leave May 17th, and will be taking pics, etc...

Thoughts?

*Ashley Robin*

The Drama with the Passport!

hey,

i've been out of the blogging game for a while, but for good reason. i have good news, though, and that is that i'm going to europe this summer. very exciting, and the trip is very wonderful. i'm planning it all out now, which is pretty much consuming my time outside of school and the doctor. as far as the medical, i'm doing so much better...and i consider this trip to be a reward for myself. 

so, today i went to get my passport for the first time. well, i should have not listened to my mother's friend at the passport office, and just went to the post office like normal. however, he told us that i needed to go downtown to the official passport office to get it. well, i get down there, park my car and am off. this begins the hellish adventure of obtaining my us passport.

first, i have to go get my passport photo. i go in the little shop, and a spanish speaking old lady points to the stool. so, i sit down. no warning, no nothing, but a giant flash goes off in my face. i must look confused, because she says, "you go" and points off to her side. so i get up, and a few minutes later, my picture comes out, and in it...i look like someone slapped me. so i ask for a retake. this time, i look like grimace the grouch because i'm trying to keep my eyes from widening so big from the bright light. disgusted, i take the photo and leave. (I'm getting my bank to reverse that charge). 

i go to the passport office, and it is PACKED full of random people. so i leave, and am told i can apply at a post office across the street. i go there, and the most mentally lacking person who mumbles everything starts reading all the details on my application. now, that's one thing, but then she starts revealing my details to everyone around. that's right, she starts READING my application out loud in louder than normal speaking volume. She didn't believe I lived in englewood, etc...

finally, i finish there and head out to go get my car and go home. i walk down the street and see two boys tripping a nun, and laughing. so, me being a catholic and young woman, i help her get up and collect her belongings that she dropped as she fell. then i make sure she's fine and proceed to tell the boys (once she is out of earshot) about what her outfit represents and that by tripping her, they have condemned themselves to eternal hellfire. 

so, I get my car and drive back home, killing a seagull. i ran it over with the car, and i still feel guilty. but, it was either swerve and whack an old woman or whack the seagull. since seagulls can't sue me, i figure it's time to say bye to the bird. 

after that, i realized i'd been dinged twice on my card for a charge i never made, and then...i got hit on by....THE CORN MAN.

all of chicago knows this man...he rides or walks up and down thoroughfares on the south side selling the mexican corn...which is a roasted corn on the cob (or in a cup) with mayonnaise, mexican cheese and sometimes has hot pepper on it. because i am light skinned, and wear my hair curly, i am often thought of as latino. and because i was in a latin area of the city, i guess he felt like he could holler. but he was at least 40, had about three front teeth, and was wearing a sombrero, pushing his corn cart down the street. he even asked for my number! i was beyond mortified, especially when all my friends i was meeting saw him talking to me when honestly, i just wanted the corn. 

Thoughts?

*Ashley Robin*

I Told You So!

Hey,

While I recuperate from my illness that I wrote about here, I am literally under instruction to "take it easy". Many people who know me know that I am not a person who does that. So I find myself in a bit of a Catch-22. As a result, I find myself looking at a lot of articles and watching a lot of CNN. As of today, I just have four words for all those who doubted me. They are:

I told you So.

A while back, the whole scandal erupted with my former Governor and official Hero, Rod Blagojevich and his Senate Appointee, Roland Burris. At the time, they could not reject Burris' appointment simply because Blago (as I affectionately call him), was allegedly dirty. Now, we all know Blago got thrown out of office and Burris proceeded to step all over his body to get an alley-oop into the Senate. Now, it appears that karma is a b**ch and she's pissed off at Roland Burris.

An article has come out in the Chicago Sun-Times that states that Roland Burris is more than likely going to be investigated for perjury. For those of you not sure of how perjury comes into play, Burris testified to the Illinois House Impeachment Committee in early January that he had no contact with Blagojevich or any of his staff in regards to the Senate appointment. Now, it appears that that may be a false statement. In an affidavit, which is a certified legal document, the Senate appointee admits that he spoke with Blagojevich's brother, Robert, in regards to a possible $10,000 donation to his campaign or campaign support upon his becoming the Senator from Illinois. 

I am laughing my ass off right now, because it feels so great to be right. The wrongs of corruption should be corrected and Burris should be kicked out of office. Being found guilty of perjury alone is a charge serious enough to cost a practicing attorney their legal license to practice law. In theory, a politician can be stripped of their title for such. Look at President Bill Clinton, who was impeached for perjury. We all know what happened there.

So, with Blagojevich saying that even though he was out of office, we would hear more from him about names, times and places, as well as making sure any and all affiliated with any of the crimes he was thrown out of office for, with these affidavit, and now all these balls rolling in a direction to get Burris out of the Senate, as many (myself included) have wanted from the beginning, a man that no one wanted in office initially, except those who didn't really understand the dynamics going on around it, I say finally, Karma is a b**ch.

I just wonder where "Senator for less than six months, perjurer and overall failure to the people of Illinois" will fit on his massive tombstone "monument" to himself in Oak Woods Cemetery on the South Side of Chicago, Illinois. 

Thoughts?

*Ashley Robin*

A Bit of Irony

Hey,

I have been feeling tired, exhausted and like something was draining me for weeks. I go so hard on things that I do in life, that I usually am the last one to realize if something is wrong with me physically. I've been taught from a young age that pain is nothing but a hinderance, that you suck it up, ignore it, will it away, wish it away, and it does everything you tell it.

However, last Friday, I could not ignore the pain anymore. My mother and I went to the ER after the pain was so bad that it caused me to swoon, and subsequently, I passed out. 

Eight hours later, I was found to have a really bad kidney infection. How does one get a kidney infection? Well, a few days before, I'd had stomach flu really bad. The doctors believe that the virus somehow didn't die, but traveled instead to my right kidney, which already is weak, and infected it. I also have found out that I have other issues which have contributed to the infection, but I'll keep those private for the moment.

The point is, I now find myself in a position where I cannot even attend school because it is far too uncomfortable to sit in a chair for a long period. I went to my classes today, and found myself in agony to the point of screaming. And because of the infection and antibiotics, I can't take anything for the pain stronger than Tylenol #3, and I'm downing them like breath mints to no avail. I think I took 3000 mg of Tylenol today alone. Sad stuff, I know. Until I rid myself of the infection, I can't have any surgery or medical procedures done to rid myself of the pain. The one procedure I do have on my schedule is for next week, where I will get a dye injected into my kidney to see if there is any scarring. There is also another one, where I will be injected with something to pretty much force all the gunk in me out. *Sorry if that's TMI*

I tend to take everything that happens in stride. Here I was, exercising and working towards running a marathon, and now part of me isn't sure what will happen to me next. I swear, I just feel like I'm climbing an uphill battle and I've got cement blocks in my feet.

So the irony comes in a bitter pill for me. I wanted to slow down, and now I have to. I can't will my body to heal faster, and I can't force myself to do what I can't do. I'm hoping that Monday will bring me a better chance to bear it all though. I can't wish for Thursday soon enough.

ARGHHHH!

Thoughts?

*Ashley Robin*

Back Again for the 2nd Time

Hey,

I know I have not posted in a while, but a lot (and believe me when I say a lot) has been going on in my life. So many misadventures to tell you about, I hardly know where to begin.

I hate to say it, but the past two weeks have been strange. I find myself constantly on the move, busy with things, and between schoolwork, catching up on sleep and trying to get my head back into the academic game, I'm dragging. Not really sure why, but Im just not getting the sleep I want, I don't have the energy or passion I need to function, and Im just..drained and bored.

I just found out today that my May graduation has been pushed to December. Why? Because of a god***n technicality. Nothing else. So I have two options, be pissed about it OR take advantage of my situation. I'm going to do the latter. I've decided to stay on at my school for the Fall Semester, and take some additional classes that can help me if I choose to go into a Masters/JD Program. I also am still taking my trip, and getting my bike. Nothing stops. I have learned to not stress myself with things out of my control, and unfortunately, my advisor not being the least bit accommodating, is one of them.

I have an internship in the PR Department of a local hospital. I enjoy it, but I'm always so damn tired...and it seems as if my presence is the bane of the Department Coordinator's existence. I try to do my job as best as I can, but some people just ain't morning people. I seem to be one of them. Not a morning person, but one of the night people, I mean.

Im getting an iPhone tomorrow as a late Christmas gift to myself, so I'll be able to blog more as I go about my day. I promise not to have such a lag in it.

Sad day about Blago being impeached, kicked out of office and banned from holding any Illinois office as long as he lives. I, being someone who loves the law, believes in being innocent until proven guilty. I think that he should have resigned, and while he did not want to do that, there is someone who could have gotten the message through to him that the cards were stacked against him. Honestly, I've liked Blago. Any man who can personally ask me for my vote as I ride in my car and even lean out his Black SUV and down into my droptop convertible to shake my hand at a stop light at 67th and Cottage Grove is my governor, plain and simple.

Thoughts?

*Ashley Robin*

Dream a Little Dream...

Hey,

Today is a sad day. I realized that today I put a wall up when it comes to people. Not just in my relationships, but friendships and whatnot. I'm very guarded, which is something that was hard for me to admit. So, I'm sad. I believe that I've always allowed myself to be an asshole, someone who listened and never spoke, and when I did speak, the words weren't as honest as the words I'd heard from others. Oh, I've known for a long time that I'm an asshole in certain ways, and that I, like most people, can be pretty self-serving, but in this time that I've spent stress-free, I've had the chance to learn about myself, and know more about the girl who stares back at me when I look in the mirror. 

First, she's not a girl, she's a woman. A woman who knows what she wants, and when she wants it. A woman who won't settle, who will do anything for her family and who is loyal to her friends to a fault. A woman who finds humor in the crude, wise and intellectual things, and who gets her kicks from reading about policy law. A woman who is learning to smile more, to be more open and to not hold herself to some incredibly high standard, a standard so high that she doesn't even hold others to it. It's unrealistic for them, and now, as I've learned, is unrealistic for me. There is no formula to life, and there is no appropriate time to do things, except when the time feels right and the stars are aligned. (If you believe in that sort of thing)

So, I'll learn to dream a little, to not worry about having a plan and to move forward naturally, not because of pressure from others, the outside world and the need to feel as if whatever I'm doing is 'acceptable'. 

On A More Personal Note, I forgot to mention...

Happy Belated Birthday Aaliyah Dana Haughton, who would have been celebrating her 30th birthday, January 16th, 2009. 

I miss her a lot...she truly was an angel on earth, heaven sent. 

Rest Forever in Heaven, and Rest In Peace.

Love You.

Thoughts?

*Ashley Robin*