Thursday, March 22, 2007

Ashlyn--Redhead appreciation day

Sorry, wrong number

I’m pretty comfortable being Ashlyn now—I like the way I look, and with the way I’m showered with attention, I think I’m becoming an attention junkie.

But even though I enjoy some aspects of being a busty redhead—I still want my old life back. I know I had decided to move forward living as Ashlyn--but seeing myself on TV made me wonder if I hadn't tried hard enough to get my life back.

So I called “Jake” again. I felt a need to try one more time to convince him to do the right thing and give me my old life back. I had forgotten that he is a complete asshole. On the phone he sarcastically pretended to not know who I was and what I was talking about. He threatened to get a restraining order and said if I ever showed up at his home or office he would see to it I was arrested for trespassing.


In an odd way, I feel better. It was just a phone call, but at least I tried to do something.

Breakfast of Champions

I jumped up Saturday morning and slipped on green underwear, my green t-shirt with “Irish Princess” written across the front, and jeans. When I stepped out of my bedroom my roommate Billie was already up, sitting on the couch, eating cold cereal and watching cartoons.

“Top of the morning to ya!” She yells at me, butchering a fake Irish accent. “Happy St. Patrick’s day!”

I don’t mention Billie in this blog nearly enough. She’s the funniest person I know. When I mentioned I was dating Matt—a firefighter—she gets a big grin on her face and asks me “Does he let you play with his hose?” She then went into a giggling fit for the five minutes. Today she was wearing a t-shirt that said ‘Want to see my shamrocks?’ and green striped pants.

“I got us a special St. Patrick’s Day breakfast—Lucky Charms.” She tells me, a big grin on her face.

When you live with four roommates, the cereal collection is large and diverse. We have everything from granola to Fruity Pebbles. I’m a ‘Special K’ girl myself, because I tend to worry about gaining weight—but it was a holiday and Billie is infectious. I grabbed a bowl of Lucky Charms and joined her on the couch. BTW, it might be nostalgia, but Saturday morning cartoons have really gone downhill. ‘Teen Titans’ was okay, but nowhere as good as the ‘Superfriends’ with the wonder twins.

I had a busy weekend planned. I was working two shifts at the lounge, working some promotional gigs for the radio station and meeting Jessica. Matt wants to do a little holiday celebrating as well, but I told him I was awfully busy. He pouted, and after basically throwing him out when we were watching basketball, I felt I owed him; so I told him I would try—underline try—to spend some time with him at some point over the weekend.

Things started well. I knocked out a brunch shift at the lounge. Business had been slow because we had another round of ice and snow the night before and I think people were slow to dig out. At the end of my shift I made my way to the ladies room and change into my outfit for my radio promotion gig.

How can I describe the outfit? How about “Catholic schoolgirl meets St. Patrick's Day”. Tiny green plaid skirt, low cut top that also showed off my middle, and thigh high stockings.

“Very stripperesque.” I say looking myself over in the mirror.

Our restaurant has two managers, and one of the two, a likable woman named Maddie, picked that moment to walk into the ladies room. She gives me a surprised look.

“Ashlyn? What’s with the outfit?” She asks.

I slide on the long overcoat I had brought to wear over the outfit until I got to the location of the radio promotion.

“I occasionally take promotion work.” I say to her. “I’m doing some St. Patrick’s day stuff.”


Something in her tone, or how she was looking at me, gave me the impression she didn’t approve of what I was wearing. It made me uncomfortable. I buttoned up my coat and started to head out.

“I could never wear something like that.” She says to me—she had a snotty tone.
Those were her words, but I could tell what she was really saying was “I would never demean myself to wear something like that, you little slut.” It slightly upset me—in the past Maddie and I had gotten along very well.

Of course she probably weighs around 180 pounds, so she couldn’t wear the outfit anyway, I tell myself.

Great. Now I’m getting bitchy.

Girls just wanna have fun

I call what I do for the radio station “promotional work” that makes it sound like I am doing something justifiable to earn a paycheck. Really what I am doing is being a hot babe in a skimpy outfit forced to make pleasant conversation with anyone who wants to talk to me. I’m a captive audience. I also will pose for a picture—and if you are really nice and polite, I’ll let you put your arm around me in the picture so you can show your friends, proving that you are a babe magnet.

I hang out for a living. Crazy isn’t it?

What’s even crazier is how effective it is. Guys come out of everywhere to chat me (and the other girls) up. When all the girls are busy getting their picture taken, they end up participating in whatever the promotion the radio station has cooking.

You would think that ‘hanging out’ would be an easy job—and it mostly is—but after several hours standing in heels your feet and legs are killing you. Also try smiling for several hours; it’s tougher than it sounds.

At the end of the gig, we girls get paid—in cash—and the first thing we girls want to do is take off our heels and find somewhere to sit and drink. Usually we change out of whatever outfit we are wearing, but it was a holiday and lots of people were dressed up, so we didn’t bother.

I didn’t intend to stay long. I had to work the St. Patrick’s Day parade the next morning. I was supposed to work the lunch shift at the lounge that day as well, but Maddie had called as said they were overbooked with wait staff and not to come in. After her reaction to the outfit I was wearing, this really bothered me—I had never been told to NOT come into work before.

Every time I hang out with the other girls who do promo work, I tell myself I’m not going to do that next time. Next time I’m going to do the gig and go home. Only I never do. There’s something fun/ wild/ sexy about hanging out with the other girls and I get caught up in it.
We ended up at an Irish pub with about 10,000 other people. Funny, we didn’t have any trouble getting in or getting a table.

Art was right—most nights I don’t have any trouble getting free drinks. That night, however, the drinks were coming so fast and so frequently I had to start turning them away.
At some point the street outside the pub got blocked off and fiddle began to play. People formed a line in a circle and began to dance in traditional Irish styles.

“Would you care to dance?” The man spoke with a slight Irish accent. I hadn’t seen him walk up; I was distracted by watching the dancers. He was tallish with light brown hair and blue eyes.

“Ah no. It looks like fun, but I have no idea how to do any of that.” I gestured to what was going on outside.

“Then that is a great injustice. The most beautiful Irish lass I have ever met and she doesn’t know how to Céilí dance.”

“Céilí? That’s what it is called?” I ask.

He shook his head in mock exasperation. “Did your folks not teach you anything? Céilí refers to many dances, but the one they are doing right now is called ‘Shoe the donkey’.” He holds his hand out to me.

“It’s really time you learned. I would love to teach you. My name’s Hoyt.”

My legs were still tired, and I was slightly drunk—but what the hell, my heritage was calling out to me.

I took his hand. “Nice to meet you Hoyt. My name is Ashlyn.”

He leads us outside and we join the circle—it was so hot in the bar I forgot how cold it was outside, and I wasn’t wearing all that much. Fortunately, for the most part, the dancing kept me warm. Hoyt was a good teacher and I was a fast learner. I had an amazingly good time.
Eventually I succumbed to the cold and my legs were exhausted, I had to tell Hoyt I had to call it a night.

He got us a taxi. “A gentleman sees a lady to her door.” He says to me.

I’m thinking he was still hoping he was going to get lucky—I knew he wasn’t. I could barely stand I was so tired.

In the cab I gave him my phone number. He gives me his number “In case you want some more dancing lessons.”

The cab arrives and he walks me to my door. There is an awkward pause when I expected he would reach in for a kiss but didn’t.

“Good night Ashlyn. I hope to see you again.” He turns and begins to walk off, returning to the cab.

“Hey!” I say to him. “What, no good night kiss?”

He gives me a smile. “The lass wants a kiss?”

“Yeah, the lass wants a kiss.”

He walks back to me. He wraps one arm around me, placing his palm in the small of my back, pulls me close, and kisses me. It was a great kiss.

I'll try to post more tomorrow. I've got to write about Jessica--But right now I've got to get ready for work.


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