{half-marathon hike}

(Insert not-good-enough excuse for my 9-month absence here). Okay great, glad we got that out of the way.

The besties and I are back on on track with regard to actually completing these happiness challenges. For the better part of the last year, I've posted the playing cards on which they're so nicely written on the kitchen corkboard and stared at them each morning/night while I waited for my microwaveable meals to cook. Remember that time I started a blog with the intention of trying a new recipe each week? Hah.


For those of you in tune with the running world or who know what those ubiquitous "13.1" stickers on every Prius out there signify, a half-marathon is 13.1 miles in length (and I'd have about that percent chance, at best, of surviving one). I have no idea when it became chic to actually pay to run these insane lengths of distance with hundreds or even thousands of other equally-crazy people, but that's a rant for another post.  Point is, the latest Happiness Challenge resulted less in happiness and more in a hike that was (albeit accidentally) the same length as one of these nightmares.


"Hike Old Rag mountain." Sounds easy enough, as it's deemed "one of the most popular hikes in the mid-Atlantic region." Mini road trip to Shenandoah National Park on a Sunday morning? "Spectacular panoramic views"? Sure, sign me up.

Our trek to Old Rag started off great. The three of us set our alarms for 8 a.m. (thank goodness we're morning people), packed what we thought were sensible snacks in appropriate portion sizes for an 8-mile hike and hit the dusty trail. We dusted off and listened to CDs (helllllllllo 2003) of music we liked in high school/early college and commented on how proud of ourselves we were for being so outdoorsy and accepting this challenge. (Please note two-thirds of us were wearing lululemon athletic gear from head to toe, so we were about as ready for a hike as we were for a Sunday Starbucks run at home in the suburbs).

When we pulled up to the ranger station at the entrance to the park, we eagerly waved a crisp $20 bill to cover the daily visitor fee. Looking back, we should have connected the dots when we asked the park ranger for directions to Old Rag and she looked at us like I imagine my grandmother would look if I asked her for illegal drugs. "It's raining. You can't climb that today." Crap.

It took me a few minutes to calm down after Ranger Rachel (not her actual name, alliteration just sounds better here) ruined  saved our lives by telling us to instead climb Old Rag's sister mountain, White Oak Canyon. As a general follower of rules, I was convinced that climbing another "sissy" mountain would not actually count as completing the challenge. We took it to a vote and I lost. White Oak Canyon it was.

Things started off well. We were energized, in tune with nature and didn't have to pee. The good times kept on rolling until mile five or so. Hiking is hard, folks. We knew we had only three miles to go, but sandwiches were gone, bladders were full, and the Athletic One wanted to forge this trail at a grueling pace, while the rest of us were content to go "steady" with a chance of "strenuous." Thankfully, we forded a couple of rivers and lost a couple wagons tongues, but somehow prevented having to hunt for food or deal with dysentery. That was until mile seven or so.

It's 2012. Who in their right mind thinks that this is the best way to signify which direction a trail goes in the middle of the freaking woods?

I should mention that while this is a photo from the interwebs, the actual trail markers were much more faded and much less helpful. And the same person who decided that this smear of paint on a tree should suffice also determined that the colors signifying each of the trails should range from sky blue to cornflower.

You see where I'm going with this, yes? Good. That'll save me time. Despite our impressive map-reading skills and above-average intelligence, we took a wrong turn (just one I think, but who can really be sure?) and quickly recognized we'd added more than four miles to what was supposed to be an 8-mile loop. Immediately following this realization, there was an odd mix of nervous laughter, anger and sheer panic. Spinning and kickboxing twice a week does not a fit person make, and I was not up for another two hours of agony (a fact my screams made clear to my friends and the rest of the hikers within several hundred yards of us). That's the funny thing about hiking though - there is no victory van that will pick you up and provide you with celebratory kudos bars and a capri sun.

Our collective final decision was to walk three miles on the side of the road back to the car, rather than two on the trails. Yes, I can do simple math, but I was absolutely not having any more nature at this point. As we trudged along the shoulder of the windy mountain road, Athletic One shook her fists at each of the cars that drove by. We made jokes about hitchhiking, but thought better of that despite our misery (no, I do not want my bones made into wind chimes). Cue our guardian angel.

By this point we were all so delirious we weren't speaking, so when the 60-something lady that looked vaguely like Sophia Petrillo pulled over and asked if we wanted a ride in her Highlander, no discussion was necessary. There were two dogs, the offer of jelly beans and a whole lot of breathless "thank you so much"s. Granny was great, and within five minutes we were back to the car alive and well. Well, alive anyways.

We ended the evening with the salad bar at Ruby Tuesday's. Calculating that we each burned at the very least a day's worth of calories, we knew there was no amount of ranch dressing or delectable pumpernickel croutons that would catch up with us or our thighs. It was a calorie-filled salad bar massacre, and it was worth every penny of its nine-dollar price tag.

I'll conclude this post with the most important lessons I learned from this episode of me vs. nature:

1) Hiking is hard
2) Just because Tina Fey did something does not mean you can do it
3) Do not text your fiance "can't talk, in a stranger's car." It causes immediate hysteria and subsequent lectures.

{oopsie. oh, and camping.}

Hi, I'm Ashley. I used to write things here. It's been a solid 100 days since I last hung out with you all (digitally speaking, that is), so I feel the need to re-introduce myself.  Uber sorry for the hiatus. I have no real excuse.  But I'm back, so get ready...and get excited. Why? Cause I went CAMPING.

For many, heading out into the wilderness with a tent and bug spray but no technology is fun. Maybe even a somewhat regular activity.  For me? Not so much. My sister and I are referred to (lovingly, I hope) by our extened family as "the city girls." My uncle owns a petting zoo in rural New Hampshire (although I guess it's all pretty rural when compared to the nation's capitol) and couldn't believe we'd ever want to wear make-up or straighten our hair between milking goats (yes, goats. See below.) and feeding pigs (again, below). For the record, we won that battle and tamed the frizz.

{i doubt the goat likes it any more than she does}

{so small but so unpredictable.}

As the above photographic evidence would suggest, I'm not the most outdoorsy girl in the world. Thus, when we picked this card out of our "happiness challenge" jar, we all just sort of stared at each other.



{yikes}

After a collective guffaw, we pulled it together and set a date. Which subsequently got changed several times. Note: when one-third of  happiness challenge participants moved out of our home, it became a little harder to stick to our "one card per week" routine. And by "a little harder" I mean impossible. I think we have seven challenge cards posted on the fridge ready to be acted upon. Down to six now that we've embraced our inner Daniel Boones.

{the Kashi and yogurt were unrelated purchases - we're not THAT ridiculous}

I'm fairly certain we googled "camping for pansies" to get things started. We read reviews on assorted travel sites and set our sights on Prince William Forest Park. It may not have totally lived up to its tagline, "Experience a place where history and nature unite!" but it certainly fit the bill (3 minutes off the highway and seven bucks a piece for our very own "private" camp site). In reality, there were other families no more than 50 yards from us in every direction, but that fact gave us more comfort that it did disappointment. We figured someone would hear our screams if a bear and/or axe murderer threatened us during the night.

We parked our car (yes, this level of auto-proximity is how they define "camping" at PWF) at our re-assigned camp site and got down to business. There was a family of 10 (plus a boy scout?) on our original site when we got there, and after a minor altercation, but no progress made, we called in the camp ranger.  He was little help, although did inform us that the nightly presentation that evening featured "TURTLES!" We checked our watches, reminded ourselves we had precious little sunlight and no idea how to pitch a tent, cut our losses and trekked drove the Camry to a nearby vacant site. A short time later, the boy scout et al. drove past us on their way out (after missing "check out" by 4.5 hours). That was awkward. Mostly because an hour had gone by and all we'd done was unload the s'mores supplies from the vehicle.

{it took us ten minutes to get the tent out of the bag. i didn't help, just took pictures.}

{yes, they're cute, but this configuration was necessary for tent assembly too}

Earth to everyone: putting up a tent is ridiculously hard. It took the three of us a solid hour. The surprise daddy long legs visits didn't help, nor did the fact that proper tent set-up required four people. Our neighbor yelled that we looked like we "belonged in the circus." Mortifying.

After the Great Tent Adventure of 2011, we celebrated our victory with a little red wine and some card games. Then it got dark. Darn. When it's dark and you're camping, all you do is eat. Literally. We had popcorn, hot dogs, squash, baked potato, and of course s'mores (cue famous scene from The Sandlot). Then, in typical 20-something fashion, we took a series of automatic timer photos posing with each other and s'mores sticks. At this point it was 8:30, and in true 70-something fashion, we were all ready to turn in.

I put on my headlamp (I mocked my sister's boyfriend for forcing me to pack this, but it turned out to be the best decision ever), we hiked (a whole 100 yards!) to the bathroom, and got ready for bed (brushed our teeth in 30 seconds or less).  Because we're paranoid, meaning we've seen way too many horror movies, we brought into our tent a hammer (self defense, duh), a pan (to make noise when the bear/axe murderer came into our tent to get us), and several fire starters (not sure what our plan was here). After whining for ten minutes about how hard the ground was, we snuggled into our sleeping bags. Goodnight moon.

{the vote is in: they're so much better charred}

Reflecting on the trip, I'm still pretty shocked we a) pitched a tent, b) made a fire and c) survived in general. Most of the males in our lives had money on us coming home in tears with a trunk full of unopened food and a sad story about how we couldn't hack it. We did break the #1 rule of camping (sleep with your head uphill from your feet), so we woke up with wicked headaches, but otherwise unscathed.

We slept poorly (part nerves, part poor choice of body positioning) and woke up super early. We packed up and shipped out, straight to Dunkin' Donuts. Don't judge - we're domesticated women. Then we make the long trek home (read: a half-hour on I-95), patted ourselves on the backs, and busted out our cellphones to tweet about the weekend. You can take the girls out of the city, but you can't take the city out of the girls.

{oh, hay strangers...}

So sorry, loyal followers.  I've had a serious case of writer's block since my last post.  And by "writer's block," I mean changing (jobs and roommates), attending (multiple graduations), traveling (New Hampshire to North Carolina) and watching (no fewer than 127 episodes of "Criminal Minds").  Yep, I've been a busy busy bee.  Annnnnnd I'm still full-on obsessed with that show and the stuff that gives any normal human the creeps.  So you can imagine how psyched I was to get this pic last month:

{joe mantegna, you are fab}

What else have I been up to? Here are some visual aids:

There was sunshine and sundresses at the annual Foxfield Races in Charlottesville, Virginia:

{ten points if you can spot the intruder}

  Winery trips in Huntly, Virginia:

{big smile for a big glass o' vino}

{as purrrty as a painting}

 Family reunions in Bloomfield, Connecticut:

...and approximately 30 other days worth of stuff I didn't digitally document.

It's been a whirlwind month and a half, but I promise (cross my heart t's and dot my i's, hope to die blog!) I'll check back into the proverbial matrix and keep you posted on my goings on via... posting.  Hah.

{i got it from my mama}

Although I'm pretty sure none of my readers have children (save my mama), considering that today is the day devoted to mom's everywhere, I'll begin with a hearty "Happy Mother's Day!" announcement.  I just said it out loud, I promise.

The oh-so-fantastic woman who gave me life nearly a quarter of a century ago is, according to the day-by-day itinerary my parents sent over last week, right now...in... Paris.  Insert immense jealousy here.

The results of my Google search report that there are exactly 3,841 miles between my apartment building and the Eiffel Tower.  Hence, I'm not sure my mom could hear the above announcement I made.  Well, via this blog (and the card I sent that you won't get until you get back in three weeks) I send my love over the pond and then some.  I LOVE YOU MOM!

{here's a hug from four-month-old me}

I was lucky enough to inherit some pretty great things from my mom.  Among others, the ability to find something positive in everyone, the olive complexion which allows me to tan faster than all my friends (and to still have visible lines in February), my petite frame and speedy metabolism (please don't stop, please don't stop, please don't stop), my generous nature (I've been dealt a pretty darn good hand in life and she has taught me the value of recognizing/appreciating that and giving back), my organizational mindset, my talent for writing and making others feel good... the list goes on and on.

If only I'd gotten her patience, sense of direction, or knack for sewing, cooking, or crosswords. Those are all things I have to strive for I suppose.  She's a woman of many talents, and I can only hope I turn out half as great as she is.

My point is, folks, that my mom is the best mom in the world.  Yes, I know everyone says that.  And I say to you, we can agree to disagree.

{frame wall. finally}

Many of my friends and coworkers have commented that I have a chic sense of style.  Specifically, they're referring home decor (while I love to browse fashion mags and daydream about what I'd wear if I had the dollars to do so, I stick to pretty mainstream stores and have a typical twenty-something wardrobe).  Anywho, back to the matter at hand.  Sure, I may be above average in the home furnishing department, but in reality, I usually just copy what I see others do.  And if imitation truly is the sincerest form of flattery, Sherry and John from younghouselove should be on top of the world (read: pretty darn vain).  They're the chicest couple I've never met, and they transformed not one, but almost two now, older homes into modern/adorable ones on the cheap.  Reading their blog is one of the best parts of my day, and each time I fall in love with a DIY project they've done that I can actually see myself completing without injury or catastrophe, I do my best to re-create it in my own abode.  The most recent example?  A frame wall.

A few weeks back, I ordered a new duvet for my bed from West Elm.  Before those fabulous and crisp stripes entered my world, I had a really bold purple comforter from Tar-jay, so when I made the switch, the look and feel of my room really did, well, switch.  First came the bed, then came the accessories.  I got rid of the purple accents and swapped them out for more neutral ones.  Still though, something was missing.  I had a lot of white wall space, and nothing to fill it with.  The design gods must have been on my side, because it was the same day that I first read about Sherry and John's frame wall project.  Could I do it (on a much smaller scale of course)?  Yes, in the immortal words of The Little Engine That Could, "I think I can. I think I can!"

Of the fourteen frames that ended up making the cut, only eight were born white.  A quick trip the hardware store, five dollars, and a can of satin spray paint later, all was well white in the world.  I used Sherry's tip and sprayed three thin layers to avoid dripping, although because I'm still an amateur when it comes to spray painting (yep, no vandalism in my teenage past), there was a run or two.  Thankfully, said runs were on the side/insides of the frames and thus nothing to fret over.

Next up? What to fill the frames with.  I used a combo of childhood pictures, recent photos, sketched drawings I found on the interwebs, and inspiring typography quotes from Pinterest.  I printed each of the quotes/pictures on cardstock (it's tougher and easier to work with), trimmed them to fit the frames, and voilà.

The arrangement of the frames was semi tough.  I followed Sherry and John's rules and started with the biggest frames in the middle.  I surrounded those with smaller ones and worked my way out.  This part was a lot of trial and error.  I'd set things, take a picture, switch something, take another picture, etc.  Rinse, wash, repeat.  I took the pics so I could always go back (in case I changed something, didn't like it, and wanted to return to a previous placement).

Once I picked a place for each frame, it was time to transfer everything from the winnnndow to the waaaallll (okay, no, actually from the floor to the wall, but I like that song.  Well, I did in high school I think).  Here's where John's expert advice came in handy.  I matched magazine pages to the size of each frame, marked an "X" on a piece of tape where the nail would need to be on each, and taped the pages to the wall so each was an inch apart from all adjacent ones.  Sounds complicated, but it's mostly just time-consuming.  Believe me though, it's worth the hour not to put tons of extra holes in the wall tweaking things post-hang.

Once the faux frames were up, I just hammered a nail through each "X," ripped off the stand-in, and hung up the real deals, one by one.  It was a slow process, but worth every second.  The only setback?  One frame toppled to the floor and got a little bent outta shape (literally) while I was nailing it's friend up next to it.  No worries, it was nothing a little tacky glue couldn't fix.

The final result was awesome, and I'm digging it.  I think I nailed it, if I do say so myself.  Hah.

Here's the journey, in picture form:

{the idea is born}

{all white = all good}

{faux frames, almost ready for their close-up}

{getting there...}

{before}

{nailed it}

{more than obsessed}

Facebook.
Twitter.
AIM (holy throwback to middle school).

They've all held the #1 spot in my heart (meaning browser bookmark list) at some time or another. Well friends, move over, there's a new social media platform in town, and she is sexy. Ladies and gentleman, I give you PINTEREST.

I've spent more hours on this website in the last two days than I've spent sleeping. Okay, that's a little hyperbolic, but it's pretty close to a 50/50 split at this point.

What is Pinterest and why do I love it so? To quote its creators:

"Think of Pinterest as a virtual pinboard — a place where you can create collections of things you love and "follow" collections created by people with great taste.  People use Pinterest to collect and share all sorts of things... You name it, people are pinning it."

My current stats:
5 boards
57 pins
6 followers

In case you are a visual person (as I am), here are some of my "pins" for you to feast your eyes on:

{i WILL make this}

{wanted one of these for a while now}

 

{could it even get any better than this?}

{typography is fantastic}

So there you have it, folks. That's a super simplified sense of my style.

Don't take it from me. Try Pinterest for yourself. You may have to wait a few days, because word on the street is the madness (also known as thousands of future fans requesting an invitation to the site) has necessitated a waiting list.   

Gotta go pin some stuff. Until next time...

{looks great! little full, lotta sap!}

Disclaimer: this blog post has nothing at all to do with the happiness challenge.  That being said, last night was one of the coolest/happiest nights of my life, so I think I've earned the right to brag blog about it.

Last night in DC, the National Wildlife Federation celebrated its 75th Anniversary with a big fancy gala (a cougar cub, golden eagle, and wallaby all walked (read: "crawled" / "flew") the red green carpet) and I was lucky enough to be there.  Also in our midst?  One CHEVY CHASE.  Color me giddy.

{if only you weren't older than my father...}

In preparation for the evening, I watched Caddyshack, Oprah's SNL reunion episode from this week, and reviewed my favorite Clark Griswold lines (hence this post's title).  I watch "National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation" at least every week once December rolls around, and my sister and I can often be heard quoting the lines to each other and snickering at the dinner table during Christmastime.  What can I say, the man is a hoot and a half.

Some of my favorite lines from the night:

Thirty minutes after his arrival:
Me: We're gonna go take your picture with some of the animals now, if that's okay with you.
Chevy: Wait, there are animals here?
Me: Yes sir, lots of them.
Chevy: And you know you're one of them.
Me: I was gonna say the same to you, but I wasn't sure we were at that comfort level yet.
Chevy: (laughs) -- the fact that I made him laugh made my night.

After taking the glass of red wine I got for him:
Me: Here you are!
Chevy: Look at this girl! But, wait, what are you, thirteen?
Me: Very funny. I'll have you know I'm 24.
Chevy: Well you look thirteen. 
Me: Sigh. I wasn't sure if you liked merlot or cabernet, so I guessed...
Chevy: What? Oh hell, I don't care. It's wine.

During a photo opportunity with Robert Redford, his wife, and the president of NWF:
Mrs. Chase: Wait, I'll take off my coat for this.
Robert Redford: And I'll take off my jacket.
Chevy (to photographers and the whole room): If everyone could hold tight for a second, I'll just take off my pants...
 
When all was said and done (and laughed about), it was an incredible night.  It was an honor to meet the Chevmeister and I can honestly say he is as funny in life as he is onscreen.  He kept everyone in stitches for several hours - I will fondly refer to last night as WNL (Wednesday Night Live).  Different day, equally hysterical.

{Me and CC}