Before You Register, You Should Know

Josh and I are getting married in two weeks, and I think it’s only appropriate to share this story with you before we tie the knot.

This is a three-part story. First, we travel to Macy's.

We walk in, bright eyed and bushy tailed, ready to get that gun and start scanning! A very sweet foreign lady who doesn’t speak much English escorts us to a desk in the middle of the china.

30 MINUTES LATER, she is typing my last name for the third time, to get us signed up for our registry. I politely spell my name all three times, ‘that’s s-C-h…,’ as she hunts for each letter on the keyboard.

Josh's leg has started to twitch. I smile and put my hand on his knee. And then the lady can't find the period key on the keyboard. And I lose it. And I stand up, lean over the desk, and type the period myself. Done.

Being the sweet fiancée that I am, I let Josh hold the scanner gun, and we head to the kitchen section. We are quickly smacked in the face by the fact that we have nothing in common when it comes to decorating. Nothing.

At first, we are passive in how we tell each other. When one of us says 'Oh, I like that' and the other is silent, we move on. We decide to quickly scan anything that we both like. After 15 minutes, we are not so passive. ‘Fight in aisle 3, everyone.’

We decide to move on to Target and finish Macy's another day. But before we can leave, our sweet little foreign assistant absolutely insists that she needs to print out a copy of our registry for us to take.

Bless her heart; the woman has no computer skills. As she fumbles around to print it out, and multiple copies of pages 1 and 2 of our 5-page registry are shooting out of the printer, Josh quietly scoots around to a self help kiosk and prints off our registry on the first try. We thank her and back away, slowly, until she's out of sight.

Things we learned at Macy's:

1. We both like the color gray

2. Josh loathes teal

3. Registering is a lot more stressful than we thought.

Part Two: Target

Out of the four registry kiosks at Target, one says it needs service, one is completely dead, one touch screen won't work, and one is fine. We go for the 'fine' one, and begin. After we've put in all our info, there is no submit button and it closes, without saving. Fail. Now we have to interact with an employee.

Luckily, the girl wants nothing to do with us; her mere presence seems to fix the machine, and soon enough, we are skipping along with another scanner.

Fairly uneventful, you say?

Part Three: Bed, Bath, and Beyond

We walk in on a Saturday, with an hour before we have to be somewhere. Ha! We’ve tricked them this time. We’ll just tell them we’re in a hurry, and they’ll give us the gun, and we’ll scan, and we’ll leave.

Looking back, I’m convinced they sit around dreaming up ways to terrify newly engaged couples. Maybe it’s some sort of initiation. Like joining a sorority. They pounce when they see you walking towards the china room (why do new couples even need china?!), where the registry desk is so strategically placed.

They smile when we walk in. I swear I heard them evilly laugh. They take our information. Why can no one seem to type my name when I spell it out? And what is so hard about setting our password as our wedding date? So very many questions run through my head.

My personal favorite part (at least while we were still sitting at the desk) is when they try to convince Josh that he should register for luggage.

Josh.

Mr. ‘I’m an elite traveler with every airline.’

Mr. ‘I get to hang out in the fancy lounges at the airport…would you like to come as my guest?’

I just shake my head and sit back for that one. She asked us if we’d like to browse through the luggage catalog. We politely decline. She insists every new couple needs luggage. I chuckle; Josh says ‘no thank you.’

Her boss says ‘No really, you should at least look, we’re running specials.’

Josh bursts out, ‘I travel 200 days a year. We’re SET with luggage, thankyouverymuch!’

(Sidenote: Josh’s luggage broke after we registered. I wonder if they hired someone to break it? I’m looking into it.)

They have now unlocked the scanner from its safety deposit box, and we can see it. They start to hand it over… But first she’d like to give us a tour of the store.

I’m fully convinced she’s going to lead us around the store to scan items for us. She swears she just wants to give us a tour, and after fighting that fight for about 5 minutes, Josh agrees to a tour if he can carry the scanner.

Only he didn’t experience the ‘tour’; he left me out to dry. He scanned things like a breathilizer and poker chips, while I was forced to listen. And when I turned around and said ‘Hey!’ to him, the lady scolded me! ‘Just let him go. It’s his registry to you know.’ And she touched my arm!

Finally, FINALLY, she leaves. But every once in awhile she pops up just around the corner. I am very jumpy at this point. I’m scared. We start ducking behind corners, and peeking around before moving aisles. It’s all very unsettling.

When we’re done, we hide behind a corner, watching the registration desk. We wait until they lure another unsuspecting couple in, and quickly throw the gun on the desk. And RUN!

We finished registering online. Their website is very user-friendly.

And we canceled the Macy’s registry. Who needs fancy stuff anyway?

Asian Massage

Here’s a little secret: Josh and I like to get massages from the Asian’s at the mall. You know…the annoying ones with the chairs in the middle of the walkway, who beg you to stop while you walk by.

We usually go when Josh gets home from being on the road and he needs a little relaxing. So off we went Monday night to our Opry Mills date night. We don’t do dinner and a movie. We do dinner and Asian massages. And yes, I’m aware of how bad that sounds.

I never get more than a 22 minute massage, while Josh usually goes a little longer.

I sit down in the chair, and they whip out their sign with the length of time and price. I point to what I want, and they inevitably attempt to convince me that won’t be long enough. It’s the little dance we do. I secretly wonder what they would do if I picked the longest one on there. Is there a back up sign they’d whip out with more choices?

The first time I went, I made the mistake of asking if I should take off my sweatshirt. I got a quick ‘No, no no!!’ The guy even took a step back and shook his head and arms. What the heck did he think I was gonna do?! Strip in the middle of Opry Mills? Now I take it off without asking.

I always spend the first 5 minutes convincing them I will only be getting 22 minutes, and they pretend they don’t understand and keep saying ‘forty five, yes?’ I finally get to lay my head down, and let out a relaxing breath.

He starts on my back because I don’t let them touch my head. I let them rub my head once, and I’m pretty sure part of my brain got squished.

Once your head is on the chair, the talking among them begins. And the laughing. I can only imagine what they’re saying to each other.

‘This girl crazy.’

‘I see butt crack.’

They make a point of yanking the back of your shirt down to cover any exposed skin, and tuck it into your belt. They yank your shirt down with such authority that I feel like I did something inappropriate. ‘Shame on you for exposing your skin with your short shirt.’ I almost feel like apologizing.

This particular time, after about 5 minutes, of what I would assume is the ‘warm up’, the guy taps my shoulder and I lean my head up.

‘You need tirty-five min. Muscles.’

Me: ‘Muscles, what? What are my muscles?”

He starts adamantly pointing at my upper arms and saying ‘Muscles, muscles.’

Me: ‘Yes, those are my muscles. What about them? No, I do not want 35 minutes.’

‘But your muscle sfpsdiohin’.

Me: 'Huh?' (Glancing over at Josh who is quietly enjoying his massage and pretending he can't hear.)

‘Your muscle sfhdlksh.’

Me: ‘No, I still want only 22 minutes.’

‘I give you forty-five for tirty dolla.’

(Normally 35 minutes is $30).

Me: (Seeing an opportunity.) ‘Well how much would 35 minutes be?”

‘Tirty dollas.”

Me: ‘Nope.” Head down, discussion over.

I’m pretty sure that’s when he decided to hurt me. I let out a little yelp. He didn’t seem to care. It was a long 15 minutes. He ended with rubbing my temples and I had the sneaking suspicion he was trying to get me to pass out.

Oh, and when he released me and I sat there waiting for Josh to finish, he tried to convince me I needed a foot massage. When I declined, he laughed like ‘yeah, I didn’t think you’d fall for that one, but I had to try.’

Then, he asked me how much my engagement ring cost. And told me he was beautiful. Like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just punish me for only getting 22 minutes. Like we were friends or something.

I couldn’t walk the next day. I limped around the office, felt dizzy, and stairs were NOT an option. I left work early feeling sick.

I’d like to say I will never go back, but I will. Next time, I’m getting 45 minutes though, so we can be friends. And so I won’t be paralyzed.

See You At the Fair!

Several weeks ago, a friend of mine approached me about heading to his hometown in East Tennessee to be a judge at the county fair show. While I was trying to decide if I wanted to make the trip, Bobby Jo called me with a hint of desperation in her voice, and I couldn’t say no. This adventure screamed hilarity, and I couldn’t resist. And let me say…it did not disappoint.

My roommate and I set off for Jamestown, TN, and arrived at the Fentress County Fair with much anticipation. As we walked to our special table, set 2 feet back from the white lattice lining the stage, I quickly realized flip flops were NOT a good idea. As I picked sawdust out of my toes, one considerate cowboy pointed out: ‘ya shoulda worn boots.’ Thank you, kind sir.

Before the festivities kicked off, I gave the MC a short blurb about myself to share with the crowd. I told her I was a marketing manager at a record label. In 30 minute intervals, she proudly told the crowd I was a marketing major for the remainder of the night. Credibility gone. Why do I need credibility at this small town fair? Outsiders are like celebrities in this town. I didn’t want to disappoint.

The show started off simply enough. One contestant in category one. Winner. However, category two got a little more tricky. TWO contestants. Or so we thought… Apparently little Ellie got lost and missed her chance to shine onstage. Actually, she was probably looking for her shoes. She apparently didn’t find them since she went onstage barefoot. Can’t say we didn’t try. We paused the show for 10 minutes to wait for her. But don’t worry, we let her perform during a set change later on.

Since our table was only 2 feet in front of the stage, we had a great view. So great a view, in fact, that I’m pretty sure the contestants could see my scorecard. I actually got paranoid and covered it with my hand. Some were so bold as to stare deep into my eyes when they sang. I kept my sunglasses on after dark. Unfortunately, my sunglasses did not block out the view of Elvis’ boxer briefs. Points lost for costume choice. White is not a good idea, Elvis.

While the judges were tabulating scores after each category, the MC entertained us with lists of what was to come at the fair. My personal favorite comment of the night was: ‘The Walking Horse competition is coming up on Thursday. This is always a good time if you have a horse and like to watch it.’

And in case you missed it, the winners of last years ‘Fairest of the Fair’ contest presented the ribbons and prizes in all categories. She only announced it 9 times, and I wanted to make sure you knew.

Oh the rest of the show was pretty standard. You had your dropped mics, your wrong music cues, your bug flying up a dress, jean dresses worn over jeans. Trinity Savage sang ‘Red High Heels’, and I actually flinched when she kicked her foot. I was pretty sure that red high heel was going to smack me in the face. I let her win because I feared for what she might do to me AFTER the show with that stiletto.

All in all, a normal night at the fair.

Would I do it again, you might ask? Well, it made the list of Top Five Most Fun Things I’ve Ever Done. Oh, and I actually got paid.

Office Etiquette

I’ve just about hit the two year anniversary of being a full time employee, fresh out of college, and I’ve observed many things about office protocol during these past couple years.

Let me start off by saying that sitting at the receptionist desk (even when you’re not the receptionist), is a GREAT way to be initiated into a new office culture. From there, you can observe body language, ‘overhear’ conversations (hey, if they didn’t want me to hear, wouldn’t they close their door?!?), and just gain a basic understanding of the normal goings on in the building. This is very important and crucial for launching a successful career.

However, my presence there also put many people in awkward situations. People in the offices close to my desk HAD to pass by to get to the restroom. But should they say hi every time they pass by? Should they ignore me? Should they tap my desk in acknowledgement of my presence? And what happens if they have to use the restroom twice in one hour? How embarrassing!! Should they make up an excuse for why they’re walking by again? People should not have to suffer in silence, pondering these questions in their offices. They should be able to walk freely about without someone observing there every move.

For this reason, I was upgraded to a cubicle about six months ago. But suddenly the tables have turned. Let me explain…

Now my cubicle is right across the hall from the main kitchen on our floor. The kitchen also serves as the copy/printer/fax room, so it sees a lot of traffic on any given day. I’ve realized there is an assumption among employees that if you sit near this room, you must be the keeper of all things contained in the room.

No, sir, I do not know if there are any more forks, or if they are being ordered soon. No, ma’am, I do not know if we have any more printer paper. I do not know how to make double sided copies, or send a fax. I do not know if we have more Coke, or who left smelly food in the fridge. And I also don’t know why the toaster oven was removed, or who nearly burned down the kitchen using it.

And just in case you were about to ask, I don’t know anything about the CD cabinets behind the kitchen. I knew you were about to ask.

Actually…the truth is…I DO know all the answers to those questions. And since I’m a sucker, I will answer all of them, and assist you in any way I can. With a smile on my face.

I’m getting a curtain to put on my cubicle door.

Tweet, Tweet

I joined the ranks and started Twittering this week, and I have to say, I'm not a fan yet. Actually, I started almost a year ago, and after two tweets of 'Figuring this Twitter thing out' and 'STILL figuring this Twitter thing out,' I gave up and moved on.

I'm giving it another go now though. I haven't figured it out yet, but I decided my followers might remove me if I keep telling them that. So I've moved on to bigger and better tweets like 'I like Ramen noodles' and 'watching heads bob'.

This morning I heard a little blurb about Twitter on NPR from this guy who thinks people who Twitter are hypocrites because they are broadcasting their lives to the world, but are against Uncle Sam tapping our phones. I think the guy is a little cooky, but I did think his point about privacy was valid/funny.

One thing I DO enjoy about Twitter is the play by play account that people feel their readers need to know. 'I am driving to work.' 'I am at work.' 'I am heading to my lunch meeting.' 'I am leaving my lunch meeting.' Might as well say 'I am Twittering...I am still Twittering...yup...writing a tweet right now...and I'll be back in five minutes to update you on the exciting events that are sure to transpire since you last heard from me.'

Tell me this...should I be worried when they (who shall remain nameless) don't tweet for say 30 minutes? Should I call to make sure they're alright?

Like I said, I'm still trying to figure it out.

The Nashville Bug

I love Nashville. For every jaded music industry person you'll meet here, you'll also find 3 starry-eyed musicians moving to Nashville to pursue their dreams.

I wonder how many struggling musicians have moved to Nashville over the years in hopes of having a career in music. What's the percent that have succeeded? How many went home empty-handed? And what is success anyway?

It's sad that so many don't make it, but does it really matter? Isn't the journey itself more important than the destination? What a great privilege to look back on your life when you're 75 and be able to say 'at least I gave it a shot, and had an adventure.'

Today I spoke with a girl who recently moved to Nashville with her musician husband, and she reflected on how amazing it is that no one blinks an eye here when she says she's married to a musician. She also said there's inspiration everywhere in Nashville; and I have to agree.

I have a friend who also works in the industry, and he expressed his frustration
with all the musicians trying to make it in this Nashville. Yes, I too get sick of people trying to pawn their demo's off on me when I say I work at a record label. But there's still something intriguing about someone pursuing their dreams. I applaud those people who won't take no for an answer (within reason, of course...we all have our limits.)

So all you musicians out there who are trying to 'make it big': keep plugging away. Just don't call me at the office...

Ashley is...

While I was driving to work yesterday, a huge buck ran across the road in front of the car in front of me. When my first thought was 'Ashley just saw a huge buck cut off the car in front of her,' it occurred to me that I may be obsessed with Facebook. Either that, or the pressure of coming up with a good status update has ruined my life.

Because of Facebook, all of my thoughts are now in the third person. In that past few days, they have ranged from 'Ashley is wondering why the line at Target is so long', to 'Ashley is pondering life's questions', and 'Ashley has completely lost it'. I think the latter hits the nail on the head...

Lucky for my loyal Facebook friends, I censor 95% of my status update thoughts. But I'm still in a constant state of trying to think up a quippy update that might generate a comment. You know, it's always the most random updates that get comments, too. Never the ones I think are interesting. My curling iron breaks, and I get 8 comments. But when I run into Josh Turner, no one cares. Hmm. Apparently my curly hair is more interesting than Josh.

I came across a website that's going to help me improve my updates. It's an art, you see. The website is...well...I can't tell you. Then you'll know the source of my wit.

And just in case you're dying to know: Ashley is currently wondering what the opposite of hindsight is.