'Twas the Night Before the NLCS

Obsessed?  Maybe.

Dedicated?  Definitely.

To Eat or Not to Eat

I like to eat.  

I love to eat.

I take pride in my palate for eclectic and exotic eats.  Stick a plate full of my mom's Chicken Adobo in front of me (accompanied by rice, of course), and I just can't resist.  Invite me to that Michelin-star restaurant that everyone raves about, and I'll be the first one there.  Or on an evening when the hubby cooks one of his specialty dinners at home for the two of us, I might help myself to a second serving. 

A hearty appetite, if you will.  But is that a crime?  Well, if you go by the dictionary definition of the word "crime," then of course not.  But honestly, it sure does feel like that some of the time.  

The Girl in the Silver Punch Buggy

My name is Ashley. I am 27 years young. And I drive a punch buggy.

Yes. A punch buggy.

No. Not the classic Herbie-esque Beetles that our peace-loving parents drove in to Woodstock, where they grooved to the psychedelic sounds of Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix.

I drive a 2003 Volkswagen New Beetle, and of course I would have loved to own one of the vintage classics. Hello?! I was born and raised in Santa Cruz, home to the hippies, where multi-colored punch buggies donned with pretty pink flowers and happy faces lined every street of this famous beach town.

But let's face it. There are no more vintage bugs. The era of peace, love, and harmony is far behind us, and we have ventured onto a road taken over by gas-guzzling, posh-priced Beemers and Benzs that never give way-- well, at least in Los Angeles, that is.

The City of Angels. Lala Land. The Southland. Whatever you want to call it, Los Angeles is where I am now, and hopefully, just for now. Don't sense the enthusiasm there? I'm a NorCal girl. Always have been. Always will be.

It's not that I despise L.A. Sure, the weather is great and getting a tan at the beach in the middle of January is nothing out of the norm, but imagine being warped into an episode of The Hills, surrounded by pretentious nobodies attempting to become somebodies in a town where the car that you drive defines who you are. When I first arrived here, I heard these guys at my work talking about cars and money. Apparently, a Lexus is a poor-man's version of a BMW or a Mercedes. I guess we learn something new every day.

So, how did I end up here? Living in the Bay Area under my parents' roof for twenty-two years, I decided one day that it was finally time for me to spread my wings and discover myself and the world. Cheesy but true! And what better way to do that than in the city that never sleeps- New York City. I packed my bags, said goodbye, and off I went. Okay, so it wasn't that easy to just
pack up and leave the only world I had ever known. But I did it. And so glad I did.

I could probably write an entire book on my experience living in New York, but I'll give you the very condensed version:

Girl moves to the big city. Girl meets Boy. Boy and Girl fall in love. Boy asks Girl to marry him. Girl says yes. Boy wants to move to Los Angeles to pursue his dream of becoming an actor. As much as Girl would love nothing more than to move back to her hometown, she agrees, and Boy and Girl ride off into the sunset.

If only life were that simple.

After spending a little more than two years in New York City, completing my undergrad studies at Hunter College while finding my other half, I packed my bags again and moved to L.A. with David.

And here I am. A punch buggy amidst a bunch of BMWs and Benzs in sunny SoCal.

Stay tuned...