AshleyFlys.com - tales of travel, torrid affairs, and a hatred for DELTA » Travel

Sonas Denim Campaign

Ashley — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 02:44:40 +0000

… a whirlwind few months between Cynical Life post production and L2 Living pre-production (a cast which includes Social Network’s Mariah Bonner, Torchwood’s Shawn Parsons, and a flurry of other talented folks).

In between the inane shooting schedules (Kevin Huie, I owe you a large fruitbasket)… I’ve become the face of a kickass new denim company called Sonas (seen at the Emmys, and soon to be featured at the Grammys and Sundance 2012). Eco-friendly, awesome bring-back-the-60s flare patchwork jeans.

Check out some of the first shoot images, by Paolo Mascatelli.

www.sonasdenim.com | www.paolomascatelli.com

A Dissertation About People Who Loudly Eat Apples On Airplanes

Ashley — Wed, 24 Mar 2010 18:45:55 +0000

Charlotte, North Carolina, 1:56pm. Finally sinking my front lip into a much deserved MASSIVE “brown beer” ale after a hell-flight on U.S. Airways 1437 from Laguardia. I was seated in the forever-loathed Middle Seat. Next to a smelly bum and — far considerably worse — a Chewer.

I hate Chewers. Chewers are that strange class of de-evolved people that find it socially acceptable to CHEW SHIT in your earlobes at close proximity. For instance, the $*@!-ing coach section of an evil leg-mangling domestic carrier while I am attempting to regain much-needed hours of anxiety-ridden SLEEP.

I knew this would all become a problem the minute I attempted to vault my six hundred pound purple carry-on into the wedge of space that somehow classifies as an “overhead”. As if my personal space was not pre-invaded enough by seeing a B row on my fuck-you-customer-of-Travelocity ‘over-purchased’ airline ticket, as I’m destroying the muscles in my forearms some — person — decides to touch me. And I really don’t like to be touched.

Tap-tap-tap!

What, the fuck. I mentally simmer, giving the obese mini-suitcase a final heave and slamming the cover closed. Just as I’m about to take my seat –

Tap-tap-TAP!

I whirl around, attempting not to belt “I HAVE HAD THREE HOURS OF SLEEP AND WILL MURDER YOU IF YOU TOUCH ME AGAIN,” and eye-glaringly confront my assailant. A small, 90 pound redhead heavily channeling the 60s gazes back at me. She smells like a tree.

“They make these things smaller and smaller every day now, don’t they?”

She giggles, gesturing around the airplane. Excuse me, little tiny freakish person dressed in seventeen shades of GREEN — are you our environmentally conscious stewardess offering up shot glasses of wheatgrass? NO. No you AREN’T, because we aren’t on VIRGIN AMERICA, we’re on U.S. AIR where everything SUCKS.

Not as bad as Delta, though, I mentally remind myself. Nothing save riding on the coals of hell is worse than Delta.

“Right,” I reply with stiffened lips, attempting to smile as I realize this… little, baby vomit green… thing… has my coveted Aisle Seat. I suddenly catch my breath with envy.

The Aisle Seat is where anything is possible. In the Aisle Seat, you can write mean things about the festering people around you and successfully avoid their voyeuristic eyeballs. In the Aisle Seat, you get served by the human beings who push the Drink Cart first, but have the most time to rummage about in your pocketbook to extract a crisp five in exchange for a bottle of Something. Finally, in the Aisle Seat you can escape to the bathroom at your own will.

I hated this little ball of annoying in that moment. And as the minutes ticked on as she (obviously not a versed frequent flyer like myself, who can shove-and-sit in less than 15 seconds) proceeded to arrange her little “space” like she’d be in it for A YEAR… fluffing her pillow while the growing line of impatient commuters mentally (or in my case, actually) tapped their feet… carefully arranging her food…

Oh. No. I mumbled, horrified as I saw the items she began removing from her Hippie Love travel sack. And I knew then… she was that dreaded class of inhuman folk… she was a Chewer.

Minute 10. Middle Seat. Electronic items now permitted, I hastily fumble to plug my earbuds into my (it was already on, $*@!-ers!) iPhone. Ensue scrambling for mind-drowning rock playlist.

Minute 11.5: Chewer pulls out a GIGANTIC APPLE. Turns it, contemplating.

Minute 12: Chewer begins polishing GIGANTIC APPLE. Consumption is nearing.

Minute 13.5: The first horrifying sounds of Apple Death ring through the cabin. Chewer has begun chewing on GIGANTIC APPLE.

Minute 14: Decide going deaf is worth not hearing disgusting Chewing sounds, use forefingers to shove earbuds as deep as feasibly possible into eardrums.

Minute 15.5: Endure Ray Lamontague’s “Trouble” louder than anyone ever should.

Minute 16: Chewer finally extracts remnants of GIGANTIC APPLE from her incisors, and proceeds to PLUNGE the mangled carcass into her seat pocket.

I am so horrified at this point I’m not sure if I’m even going to make it through the rest of the flight. I practically croak as I TAP-TAP-TAP the offending human being who has created a holocaust in row 19, and without warning scramble over her to go regain my sanity in the lavatory.

The remaining forty-three minutes passed by in pure hell. My fear that she would eat something else, paired with the fact that my right earbud now wasn’t working — made my heart race Panic Attack fast until touchdown.

When we were finally given the clear to unlatch our death-trap seatbelts (WHY airplanes don’t provide PARACHUTES instead of the shitty ‘floating device’ cushions is beyond me), I sat absolutely rigid until the line of human salmon moved downstream with their obese carry-ons and/or offspring.

When my turn finally came, I took one last look at Chewer. She glanced back at me, sheer Chewing evil in her eyes, and began tugging at an Extra Large pack of Double Bubble. I think I audibly squealed in horror as I ripped my suitcase from the overhead and sprinted out of the airplane like a Jewish bat out of Hitler hell.

I am now holed up in the only pub in the North Carolina airport that serves alcohol, with a large beer at my quaking fingertips and four hours to go.

The odds are not in my favor.

Back to the liquor menu.

Ashley

Possibility of Non-Homelessness Arises – That, or Become a Slave on Craiglist (Literally)

Ashley — Thu, 11 Mar 2010 01:03:17 +0000

Being theoretically homeless absolutely sucks. In the past month of being in (albeit) lovely vacation rentals, staying with family in CT, and the bouncing around Manhattan with meeting-after-meeting… I think I’m either going to force myself into consensual Guinnuss-inspired alcoholism, or just take something sight-unseen in Los Angeles in about 48 hours.

Physically, I also look like I’ve been fermenting in a vat of skim milk for a good month. My someone-slept-with-a-Cherokee-at-some-point, hereditary “olive/tan” thing has vacated my skin. I moved to LA to escape the winter. What am I doing BACK in it?!

However… I may have just found something perfect. A gorgeous (or so it sounds via Craigslist description) penthouse in Marina Del Ray. Overlooking the harbor. Has a gym (I can finally have an activity to temper the OCD… running on a treadmill!). Really affordable price.

Damn needing to move the weekend you have to pay a #*!@-load of money to a bunch of dudes in India. However, my next (and biggest) webdesign project is just about done… which, if I promote the thing right, should let me finally get rid of the perpetually blowing up Saab in a month or so.

It’s either that, or taking this classy, obviously business-minded Ivy-grad up on her offer.

… joke, by the way.

God, I love Craiglist.

__________

$1250 BBW GODDESS looking for Live IN slave for Room Immediately (Marina del rey)

I am a BBW DOMINA and need a live in slave for my 2 bedroom apartment on the West Side. The place is very nice, has pool, jucuzzi, fitness center and has alot to offer. I want a TRUE SUBMISSIVE who will serve me and put me first in every way. I want someone who will cover at least their portion of the rent which is 1250 and you will have your own room and bahthroom or if you prefer you can live in the Little Den Area Like a little Doggie. LOL

I have very strong energy and I need someone who will offer me positive energy and is one hundred percent Aligned with me so i am going to be picky and have interviews for this. The apartment is very nice and has laundry machine and dryer and has a nice view from balcony.

If seriously interested let me know why you want this type of situation. I would expect you to do my cook, clean, serve me, do my nails and basically do everything to make me happy including taking as many of the expenses as you are able.

I have very strong energy and the slave that gets to live with me will truly apprecaite the experience. I am spiritual by the way so if you are spiritual slave please contact me as that is what I am looking for. I AM A TRUE SPIRITUAL GODDESSS and want the most perfect slave to join me here.

BY the way I do dominate other men on phone and in person so if you were living with me you would have to be accepting of that and very out of the way when I needed you to be which means you can be in the house but not interfere with my session work. This position is not for everyone but if you feel inclined send me a message if you are serious about this and I will get back to you. YOU MUST TRULY LOVE AND WORSHIP GODDESS ENERGY FOR THIS TO WORK AND BE TOTALLY DEVOTED TO ME MIND BODY SOUL AND SPIRIT. ID YOU FEEL YOU ARE THE ONE GET BACK TO ME NOW…….