Say cheese!

I can't seem to take a good official picture, whether it's for my driver's license or like today...my first passport picture. Due to the humid day, I figured I'd let my hair go curly. First mistake. I also wore a cream-colored shirt. Second mistake. And of course let's not forget the awkward smile that always seems to show up after the words, "Ok, let's see a smile on the count of three".

I was in for quite a shock when I picked up my passport photo from Walgreen's this afternoon. My hair was completely out of control and seemed to have a mind of its own. My cream-colored shirt and the white background did a great job of making me look like one giant wild-haired ghost. And of course the awkward smile...don't forget the awkward smile.

To sum it up, my very first passport photo looks like a cross between Gary Busey and the mugshot of fat Saddam after they found him the hole. Not a good day for me.

Ohio:Spring-break captial of the world (Part I)

One week ago today, I was getting ready to leave for "spring break! woooooooooh!". Ok so it wasn't exactly spring break for me, as adults don't generally get a spring break. (Which I feel should definitely be a big discussion in Congress...you know along with rising gas prices, poverty in America, and the housing crisis.) But I did take a few days off of work to take a road-trip with Mom & Ryan through the great Midwest. It was a quick trip, only being gone from Friday-Tuesday, but being true Melsons, we made the best of it.

Mom & Ryan arrived in Norman Friday afternoon and we were in the car by 1pm. Ohio-bound! Mom & I were in the front and Ryan was in the back, crammed in with a giant cooler that Mom was convinced we needed. (Even though every time Ryan opened the cooler, it smelled faintly of DEATH.) We were not even out of Oklahoma City when Mom asked Ryan to look at the directions and see which direction we needed to head on some highway. (You know I'm not good with that stuff, apparently it runs in the family.) As we are coming to the split, we hear Ryan saying, "Uhhhh...west? East? East! Just go east!" as Mom yells, "WHERE AM I GOING?!!?!?!". I grabbed the directions from Ryan, only to see that we were supposed to head west, and yet there we were, stuck on the east-bound exit. Let the games begin... We corrected Ryan's directional mishap and I held onto the directions. Ryan continued to ask for them back, but received a firm "HECK NO" every time.

All seemed to be going well until evening began to approach. Ryan was getting increasingly moody from being crammed in the backseat with the ridiculously giant cooler. The smell wasn't helping matters either. Mom's solution? Ditch the cooler at a gas station in Sullivan, Missouri. The hitch? We had that cooler for thirteen years. Dad, in his very Steve way, had written "Melson" on the front of the cooler. We knew he'd be less than happy to hear that we'd dumped his precious cooler in Sullivan, Missouri.

Obviously this didn't stop us! We said our goodbye's to the Melson-family cooler and left it in the dust. And in case you're wondering, Dad definitely noticed the cooler-sized void in the garage when he got home from his own trip.

To be continued...

Leave it to me...

to over-react in situations and jump the gun. Part of my "Fire and Brimstone" personality, as Grant so lovingly refers to it.

This morning I went to fill up my water bottle from our Eureka water in the back office. First I smelled a strong, funky smell and then I saw the green-tinted water. I stared at my water bottle in shock and thought, "If this doesn't get me a few bucks in a law suit, nothing will". I rushed to call my boss and informed her that Eureka was trying to poison my office staff. We looked up the phone number together and I told her that I'd be sure to give Eureka a piece of my mind.

The woman answering the phone for Eureka took some time to transfer me after hearing my story. She, too, was probably in such shock that she didn't know who to send me to for green water. After being on hold, I spoke to my extremely nice Eureka representative who assured me that they would be over right away to pick up the contaminated water. I thanked him briskly and hung up. I wrote Grant an email informing him that we could have a good case on our hands and maybe end up with enough money to buy a house...maybe even a summer home, thanks to my putrid drink.

After working on what I'd tell the press when they came knocking to hear about the dirty water scandal at Eureka, I called Sandy. Sandy works with me but has been filling in at another office all week. I began to tell her my story and that Eureka was on their way to clear up the mess. Before I could finish, I heard hysterical laughter on the other end of the line. "Ash...it's Gatorade. Forrest dumped it in the new water last week since it's getting warm outside." Huh. No beach house?

I regrettably called Eureka back and explained the situation and asked my still very nice representative to please cancel the order to pick up our "tainted" water.

Who knew?

Last night I was on the phone with an old friend that Grant & I are both very close to. We all went to high school together but Brian & I became closer when we both transferred home from college and were stuck going to community college for a semester. We rode to school together and I spent a lot of time at Starbucks trying to make him study while he tried to convince me that we should skip the studying and head to Red Robin for cheeseburgers. Brian was at our very small wedding and Grant & I try to make a point of seeing him when we go home to Texas to visit.

Last night Brian mentioned a recent conversation that he'd had with another friend of ours who is getting married. They were talking about the type of women you marry and Brian said "Well I'm looking for my Ashley in life". I was floored when I heard those words. It was one of the sweetest things I've ever heard. His reasoning is that I'm apparently cool, funny, let Grant do whatever he wants, etc. Ha ha! If Brian actually lived with me, he might take off the rose-colored glasses. It wouldn't be long before I'd scold him for leaving his dirty clothes on the floor. He might hear one of my early-morning nose-blowing sessions. Or he might wake up to me standing in my underwear in a panic, crying out that I can't find my birth certificate. (Sadly-all are true.) Grass is always greener, of course. But either way, I was flattered to know that Brian is out there searching for my twin. I hope he finds her...and that she whips him into shape. :)

You might be a bad driver if...

• You constantly use words/phrases like "Oh!", "Oops!", "I did NOT see that coming!" or "That guy came out of nowhere!".
• You purposely slow down to a nice 15 mph and try to aggrivate the guy behind you who is so close that he could lick your bumper. But two blocks away, you become that same guy when the girl in front of you wont' get off of her cell and speed it up.
• More than once you have turned the wrong way down a one-way street, simply because you were lost in thought or singing along to your favorite song on the radio.
• On more than one occasion, you've had to hit the breaks hard enough that the dog who was going along for the ride in the back of the car was thrown into the back of your seat and might have suffered a slight doggy concussion.
• You have a hard time holding conversations with the person riding next to you because you have to "concentrate".
• You failed both the written and driving portion of your driver's test. No license that day.
• You have been pulled over for tailgating.
• Many times you've found yourself audibly thanking Jesus for not hitting the car in front of you, not letting the police at the speed-trap see you, for not running off the road, for not getting hit while running that red light, etc.
• You've actually partially backed over a man on a motorcyle that you "just didn't see".
• You think you're good at texting while driving.
• You called your husband just to let him know that you totally just parallel parked your car!
• You've burned out your emergency break by driving home with it up the entire time. Several times.
• You still pull into the gas station and park on the wrong side of the pump. No, your little gas door thingy has not moved. It's been on that side the entire six years that you've had the car.

Swimmers, take your mark...

This past Saturday was my first swim meet as a member of the U.S. Master's Swimming, Inc. I will admit I have been nervous about this meet for the past two weeks. Every night it was the last thing I thought about as I drifted off to sleep and one of the first things that popped into my head in the morning. I envisioned myself diving off the block and I thought about every move I'd make in the water. As I'd think about these things, my body would automatically tense up as if gearing up to swim at that moment. It was an exhausting two weeks. But finally Saturday morning arrived and as I guzzled water and shoved bananas into my face, I knew that all of my hard work and determination would pay off.

Amber, my loyal swimming buddy, and I arrived at the Rose State College pool with a literal entourage. Husbands, family members, and friends were there to cheer us on as we prepared to compete for the first time in several years. Mom & Ryan drove up from Texas for the weekend just to be there to support me. Grant took the day off of work to be my cheerleader. Veronica even dropped by on her way home to Kansas for the weekend. Encouragement like that is not always easy to find and Amber & I definitely had the biggest fan-base there. How could you not want to swim your heart out with devotion like that?

When we entered the pool area, the crowd was a sparse one. Amber & I kept throwing each other looks of, "Is this a joke? We brought this huge group of fans for this?!?". The pool was small, the swimmers even smaller in number, and the entire feel was a very relaxed one. Not something that is typical if you've ever been to a swim meet before. Our group of fans left to eat lunch as we took our designated hour to warm up. During this time we met up with our church's youth pastor and realized that his wife was swimming in the meet. She gave us the run-down on how things would go and what to expect. I swam several laps and gained confidence as more swimmers showed up and I realized we would have a decent turn-out and I'd have some people to race!

I swam four events: 50 freestyle (2 laps), 50 breaststroke, 50 backstroke, and 100 (4 laps) breaststroke. I was very pleased with how I did in every event. Unfortunately, I can't remember what my exact times were for each event so I'm waiting for Masters to post them on their website. The one event that actually surprised me was my 50 backstroke. That was kind of a wild-card event. I don't enjoy backstroke and haven't competed in it since I was in junior high. I was extremely nervous before the race and even thought about tapping out at the last minute. Thanks to Amber's encouragement to "just go for it", I swam a surpisingly good race. I had a little bit of a rough start off the block and even got a cramp in my left calf muscle but knew I had to push on. Before I knew it, I was in the lead and actually ended up beating two men! That particular race really made me happy. I also did well in my 50 breaststroke. I was up against a rather tall woman and if you can imagine, height can actually work to your advantage in swimming. I was a bit nervous about swimming against her but KNEW that since breaststroke was my best event, I had to give it my all. I swam my hardest and could see from the corner of my eye that I was staying with her, which felt great being half her height. I just kept telling myself "PULL! PULL! PULL!" as I finally hit the wall tenths of a second behind her. It was an extremely close race and I felt very accomplished, having not let her size ruin my "show".

All in all, it was a great day. I was able to show off in something that I absolutely love doing. There is no better feeling than the adrenaline rush that washes over you as you climb onto the block and hear those words, "Swimmers, take your mark...". I was reminded of how much my family and friends care about my passion and more importantly-me.

Oh the horror...

Call it vain, but I love my hair. I love the style, I love the way it fits me & my personality, and I love the compliments I get on my hair. If I heard someone else going on and on about their hair, I'd probably vomit a little bit. But then again--I've EARNED the right to a good cut. It's been a long road and this girl's hair has seen some TOUGH times. Not every single cut was bad, but I feel the need to reminisce over some of my more memorable looks.


Ahhhh...the "too short to crunch" look that we all know and love from Ashley's days as a collegiate. Nevermind the other girls in the picture. It was Halloween so their hair made sense. Mine didn't...ever.





Ok so maybe this picture isn't TECHNICALLY of me, but it allows you the full horror of the "mullet chop" of '02. That was a rough year. Cancer and a mullet. I made the mistake of letting my sister try out her "cute choppy" 'do on me. Lesson learned. I actually went out in public with my hair cut to bits by Erin. When I got home, my mom literally rolled on the floor laughing and COULDN'T SPEAK. Like I said, rough year. When I went to have my hair fixed by a professional the next day, the lady asked how old my sister was. When I told her that Erin was 18, the lady gave me a very sympathetic look. She must've thought that Erin was a special-needs child or lacked the full use of her right hand.





It might've been Halloween '04 but that hair 'o mine was unfortunately NOT part of the outfit. I was really reaching when I came up with the "streaky highlight" 'do.




I call this particular cut the "Pig-face-shouldn't-be-short" 'do. Though short, there's not a lot of style going on and the extra poundage on my face isn't helping things.

I call this look "dark disaster". Sadly, this picture was only taken a year ago but I still have the hair dye stains in the bottom of my tub to remember it by. Nothing about this 'do is especially good. In fact, Rusty's hair would probably look better on me than what I've got going on. Call me Elvira...

So maybe you can see now why I love my hair so much. It's my saving grace from pictures of the past. Pictures that will haunt me until the day that I lose my abused hair and opt for the ever-stylish old lady wig.

A Blog-worthy Trip to the Post Office

For several weeks now, some of my biggest blogging friends have been urging me to start blogging on a regular basis. They claim that my day-to-day life experiences are extremely blog-worthy. I agreed with them until last week when I sat down to try to whip out a blog. I sat and stared at a blank page and wondered how my blogger pals managed to come up with such interesting stories. Today I was reminded that you don't come up with the stories. The stories will find you...

Every trip to the Norman Post Office is an experience in itself. Any Norman resident can attest to that. Today was no exception. And before I get any further, let me say that there are few things in this world I hate more than going to the Norman Post Office. If it were not something I'm forced to do for work, I would probably PAY someone to go for me. With that in mind, let's carry on.Today I put off going to the P.O. until later in the afternoon. Something else that Norman residents can attest to is a noticeable increase in traffic on Friday afternoons. I sat at the crowded red light on Porter with my windows down enjoying the beautiful weather as I waited to inch down the road. I noticed a man standing at the corner of the intersection and a man in a motorized wheel-chair next to him. I've seen the man in the wheel-chair around the downtown Norman area. He was easily recognizable by the American flag he had attached to the bag of his chair. The two men waited for the light to turn so that they could walk across the intersection. For some reason, I kept watching the man in the wheelchair. His head was hung low and he seemed slightly out of it. Suddenly he turned his wheelchair in one wide circle and then ran the front tire off of the curb. The curb was high enough that it tilted the wheelchair forward and his frail body fell out of the chair. He smacked the street and laid there like a ragdoll. The man standing next to him had his back turned and did not notice the man in the street for several seconds. During this time, several people jumped out of the cars which were stopped at red lights. A crowd gathered around the man who was laying completely still. Slowly they picked him up and put him back in his chair. During this time, every single car at each light was stopped and all eyes were on the crowd. Finally the group of people around the man in the wheelchair began to break up and the friend began pushing the wheelchair across the street. It was the most disturbing thing I'd seen in a while and all I could do was stare with my mouth hanging open and my hands covering my cheeks. It did do my heart good to see so many people readily jump from their cars and help a stranger. It made me worry, though, that I'm a closet rubber-necker who needs to start jumping to help out more.

After driving away from that strange scene, what did I come upon but the lovely train that seems to appear just when you've got places to be. Another facet of Norman that no resident here can ignore. I decided to open the sunroof, roll down the windows, and turn up the radio and relax a little. The sunshine was a much-needed addition to the warm weather and I felt at ease.

Until I got in line at the Norman Post Office. Who gets behind me? Two Dungeons and Dragons fanatics. I'm not saying I have a problem with you wanting to become a Level 5 Dragon Slayer, but believe me...there are people who DON'T want to hear about it. I had to stand in line for 10 minutes listening to them talk about their respective levels. Then they talked about how Post Office glass is bullet-resistant, which is NOT the same as bullet-PROOF. Apparently not even water is bullet-proof because at a certain velocity...You get it? That was my trip to the Post Office. It was a simple task. Take four certified letters, get them mailed, return to my office. No easy job for me on this particular Friday. But no blog comes easily, right?