We're in the last few hours of our trip to Richmond, Virginia to see my brother and his wife, test my allergies with their cat and apparently see how relaxed a person who hasn't had a work-free vacation in three years can relax with a days-long migraine (note to the wise: Chardonnay with an Excedrin Migraine chaser is the key). No, really, it has been quite nice.
Despite all the stress of traveling (and why, pray tell, must there be stress with traveling?), we are having fun trips to the hotel pool, science museum and pancake house. And we're all together, which feels like time that's even more precious these days.
I'll spill the stories later (and oh, kittens, there are stories). But while we're sneezing through our last day, please do stop by CityMama today for a trip of a different kind back through the 80s. While CityMama's on a much-needed break, there's an 80s fest being guest blogged and I get the honor of kicking it off today. As my sister-in-law says, "Cut on the music!" (preferably a little Thompson Twins and OMD) and tune into my post about essential club gear for the late 80s platform dancer grrrl.
Happy travels to that decade for you and for now, happy southern pancaking for us.
You know what's good fun on a Wednesday morning? Getting the Google alert with your name just as a little check-in on who is living in the interwebs, cleverly disguised as you. Or maybe not so cleverly disguised, just far more YouTubey and bi-curious and bearing the same name.
And really, the Google search goodness is not quite fair, considering the names I have. I have three first names, and if we remove my middle name from the equation (sorry, hippie parents with the most lovely intentions) then my name equals two very popular choices on the old census charts from the 80s on. Then factor in that the combination of those two names is the same as the one-two of the sad-but-somehow-seductive Jessica Simpson-Ashlee Simpson wonder team (yes, it's misspelled, but isn't that just a given on the internet?). Finally, taking into account the hordes of girls who share my first name and have my last name as their middle name and then drop the last name as some sort of amateur video/modeling/singing stage name, makes for one crazy search entanglement that I love to investigate.
Confused? Not to worry. I've compiled some of the best of the Jessica Ashleys in my Google alert inbox for you. After you check these lovely ladies out, feel free to contact them with a cheery sentiment like, "Hey, you have the same name as this mommy blogger I adore!" or similar. It's an in, I'm sure of it. Particularly with the MySpace sister with the gratuitous girl-on-girl photos and tiny dogs on pink cushions(oh yes, honey). No really, I am sure she will be fascinated and immediately invite you to be a friend on her site. It may cost $19.95 a month, but still...it's an invitation!
1. I can judge MySpace Jessica Ashley as much as I want, but is that Jude Law with her in a photo? Did my second husband mix us up? Again? That man needs some straightening out. Looking at this site just makes me wonder where all those boxes of drunken college pictures are and pray that they are stashed somewhere at my mom's house rather than scattered about in the Almost-Ex's studio apartment (I kid, there's nowhere near enough floor space for all those photos in his new place).
If we can get serious here for a moment -- a challenge, I know when that perky blond's pressing up against all her sorority friends' backs -- it's been my bloggy challenge to out-Google MySpace Jessica Ashley when searching my own name. Go ahead, roll your eyes at my narcissism (I've done it to myself, gazing longingly into the mirror, of course), but it has been work. And dammit, I loved Jude Law and frothy red drinks in clear plastic cups long before she was even walking in platform heels. I'm one up on her now, and feel free to click on the real Jessica Ashley (ahem, that's me) to keep that professional score set.
2. Jessica Ashley Creations is a site where one (as in a bridey one) can order pretty truffles in pretty boxes tied with pretty bows. Since this is so up my alley and since I am a ribbon-tier of the OCD sort, there is just no way I can make fun of this loveliness. It's just too sweet. Plus, it's hard to mock someone who is already living in Omaha anyway (God love ya, Omaha) and if I met and sampled her truffle treats, would totally save the tiny box for some kind of crafty inspiration later. Or at least to put in one of the fourteen plastic tubs of craft supplies I have stored in the basement (hopefully next to those drunky grrrl snapshots).
3. New Jersey Jessica Ashley has outrageous faux-colored extensions, frosted lipstick and seems to be very good at taking suggestive self-portraits. How in the world could I not love her? I am so taken by her brazen leopard print disco wear that I don't even care she's steadily creeping up the Google alert list. Is it too obvious to say I think this Jessica Ashley's getting more play than the rest of us (and not of her demo or portfolio)?
4. Bad bad band teacher Jessica Ashley Kahal clogged up my Google alerts for weeks when she was busted having sex with her students. I don't have any sympathy for this Jessica Ashley, but I do note the desperate and depressed look on her face that only comes with not only being a band teacher but choosing to have sex with underage boys who are (yikes) band students. I'm not so sure most underage girls want to have sex with boy band students, even underage band student girls. OK, maybe the flag twirlers do, but that's probably more out of the sense of accomplishment of working one's way through the clarinets to the tubas.
5. Finally, I'll leave you with You Tube-Topped Jessica Ashley, doing her rendition of a Mariah Carey song. I won't be singing into my computer cam anytime soon, so I am very pleased to hand that very tiny mic over to this Jessica Ashley. Now, someone please find this songstress' top sheet and tack it to the wall so we don't have to stare at the window AC unit while she's rocking the vibratos.
Now you tell me: Who is posing as you on the interwebs?
I have been staring at my screen for what feels like hours. Of course, it has only been minutes. But still, it has been long enough for the migraine to settle into that center spot between my eyes, a low and dull ache that tells me I need sleep and tea and yoga. I will be in bed early tonight. I've set my irritating cell phone alarm to ensure it. It's too hot for tea tonight but a bucket of water sounds perfect. But yoga...yoga makes everything better. Sowhatever happened to yoga?
My studio, a place I felt a sigh of relief to walk into every Saturday morning, closed. My teacher, an amazing and intuitive friend, then moved her practice to the suburbs. And I, moving forward in my divorce, found myself guarding my time preciously every other weekend when the boy is with me and needing to do a million errands or sleep in or talk to adults on the weekends he is away. Driving to the suburbs for yoga felt like a drag, finding a new class felt like something I could do...soon, rolling back over to do a final relaxation in the comfort of my own bed called to me. I listened. It wasn't the best decision.
is a single mama in the city, super-savvy editor, writer, video host and shameless shoe whore.
Monday, August 25, 2008 
We're in the last few hours of our trip to Richmond, Virginia to see my brother and his wife, test my allergies with their cat and apparently see how relaxed a person who hasn't had a work-free vacation in three years can relax with a days-long migraine (note to the wise: Chardonnay with an Excedrin Migraine chaser is the key). No, really, it has been quite nice.
