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An Army of… Nunny???

To begin with, sorry for the hiatus.  I will be sure to be updating once a week from now on..

Secondly, Penny Lane aka Nunny is my beautiful seal point Himalayan kitty I received one snow christmas eve back in high school.  (Also, please be aware that every animal that I have ever known or owned has had about twenty different names hence why we call Penny Lane Nunny).

Thirdly, some background of me in high school.  I was a complete and utter nerd.  No no no, don’t try to tell me I was not, because trust me I was.  I was in the drama club and chorus, I was terrified of sports, and I was incredibly awkward.  (Today, I am still incredibly awkward, but with less piercings and one color of hair).  So being this complete nerd I hung out with other nerds.  It’s like being in a herd of gazelles or something, we all hung out together and tried to stay out of the way of others.  Because let’s face it that cool kids were more like mountain lions than human beings and we could be eaten alive at any moment..

So senior year I was totally punk (not really), but I had weird pink hair and would wear pink chucks with these awful looking plaid skirts and a dashboard confessional or reggie and the full effect t shirt.  So obviously I was way too punk for gym class.  My gym class consisted of never being involved in any type of sport and loitering around the gym.  Hell whatever you have to do to get by right?  So I hung out with my two friends Sharon and Adam during gym class since we all loathed things like kickball and dodgeball (And I swear some of those dicks would aim for my head and then call me casper or afro ashlie since they were so incredibly clever).  On one particular spring day a rumour started circulating that people from the army recruiting office were taken over gym classes for the day.  This meant actually having to participate by doing like jumping jacks and shit.  Fuck that, I was not having some d bag yell at me and make me climb a rope or do a push up.  So Adam, Sharon, and I decided we were way too punk for that shit and decided not to dress that day (I dunno how it works at other schools but the gym nazis would not allow you to participate if you did not have clothes thus you would lose points for that day) and I would much rather get a C in gym than be invovled in army things. 

We thought we were so effing smart… I remember we laughed as we went to sit on the bleachers while all the other kids in our class had to huddle up with the army recruiters for their 40 minutes of tortuous exercise.  Suddenly the gym falls silent and we look up to see the two army recruiters making their way towards us.  To be honest, there is nothing scarier to me (a chubby, pale, white girl with OCD) than two men dressed in army gear power walking their way over to you with scary, angry faces.  Anyway they storm their way up to us like we were Yugoslavia and they were the USSR and started pointing at us and screaming (while spitting mind you)…

 “What do YOU three think you are doing?!”

I was terrified into a catatonic state, but Sharon…good ol Sharon who wouldn’t take shit from anyone..said something along the lines of “Hey buddy we don’t have our gym clothes we can’t participate”  And Adam agreed.

Sargent McDickface then looked at Adam and started laughing, “Son I think you need yourself a haircut!”  and Cornel Redneck replied “Dur her..her…he needs some contacts too Sarg!”

I looked at Sharon as if saying really?  They are making fun of a 17 year olds hair cut and his lack of 20/20 vision, really?

They then informed us we would be participating regardless, and of course they made the three of us work about 500 times harder than the other kids in our gym class and continually screamed at us.  It was utter hell, I swear I had like six asma attacks.  At the end of the class they made us all fill out these cards that included our names, birthday, phones number, address, etc…  I though to myself, dear God there is no way I will ever be joining the army (I have nothing but respect for those who serve in the armed forces, but really would you want someone like me having a weapon in their possession?  Most likely not) so instead of ny name I put down Penny Lane’s name with my parents phone number, address, etc…

Not even a week went by before the calls for Penny Lane started to trickle in and pamphlets addressed the Penny Lane started to litter our house (get it litter?  I’m hilarious, I know.)  I of course went along with it, when they would call I would make little jokes sort of insinuating Nunny was no human being, but the recruiters never got it.  I kept telling them that Penny Lane was very interested in joining the army, but she was just quite shy. 

One afternoon a few months later there was a knock at my parents door and I opened it only to see an army recruiter standing outside.  He asked for Penny Lane, I started laughing and grabbed Nunny from the couch next to the door held her up and said “She ain’t interested!” and shut the door.

Moral of the story, Army 0 Ashlie (and Nunny) 1

p.s. excuse the awful picture my lap top is broken there for I have no photo shop, just shitty paint…I swear I would have made a much more hilarious picture if I had the resources.

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Posted by on May 26, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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Once I went to vote with my dad

Let me introduce you to my dad, Fred.  He is a sassy Vietnam Vet whose mind is fried from years of smoking the reefers and working for the postal service.  Anywho, it’s a few days before the 2008 election Fred asked me if I would join him to vote instead of going alone.  I said yes and asked him what his thoughts were on the election.  He replied “I’m voting for the Oramalama guy, he seems like a good guy.  You know those damn republicans fuck everything up”  I tried to keep my laughter to myself and I questioned, “You mean Obama right?”  “What?  That’s what I said Olama”.  I just shook my head and knew this was going to be an adventure.

The next few days were like the god damned king’s speech of 2008 trying to get him to say Obama and Barack correctly.  It was like trying to teach a one-legged prostitute how to bake cookies.  By that I mean frustrating, relentless, and dirty.

So alas the day came, it was a very cool November morning.  The leaves had already fallen and the smell of wet grass and urine was in the air (Seriously this is West Library).  We walk up to the fire hall, I’m proud as a pig in shit thinking I cured my father’s learning disability and taught him how to say Obama.  We take our respective places in the voting booths and when we came out he said, quite loudly mind you, “I did it Ash, I voted for Osama.”  The entire room quited and began staring at the two of us… I shook my head and said “Good job Dad, Osama is going to make a great president”.

I think terrorism won that day.

 
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Posted by on April 2, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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