Dear World: Crock Pots Are F*cking Magical

I’m Ash, and I’m a writer, traveler, nonconformist & nomad, and every week I’m sharing funny field notes from around the world. Currently, I’m in America writing about what it’s been like to return home to my small town, twenty years after living abroad.

Crock pots should win awards. Why don’t city people use crock pots more often? These things are fucking magical.

Everyone in the country has one, I have discovered. Do you know why??? Because no one here goes to bars, they go to one another’s houses. And, what do you do when you go to someone’s house?

You bring a homemade meal, d*ckhead.

(At least, that’s what I tell myself.)

Soon, I am going to be able to tell who’s already arrived at a party just by looking at the lineup of crock pots. Like seeing your friends’ cars in a driveway. Yup, Janie’s here, so is Igor. There’s Little Big Toe, and over there’s Uncle Bob.

I’ll admit, I had crockpotxiety in the beginning. Is it pretty enough? Clean enough? Cool enough? It’s like the anxiety you feel over Christmas present wrapping, except MUCH HIGHER STAKES. God forbid there might be a hunk of crusted on cheese in a groove from some chili I attempted 6 months ago that escaped my domestic prowess.

Alas, bringing a crockpot is what you do in the country—at least if you hope not to be tarred and feathered with dehydrated ants—so I have bravely risen to the occasion and memorized all sorts of breathing exercises to get me through The Very Scary Moment of Entry™: when you walk into a stranger’s house with a sticky cauldron of melted cheese, sealed beneath a trembling glass lid like a bomb you assembled yourself, and then awkwardly fumble around, trying to remove your shoes and see over the top of the crock pot in some vague attempt to figure out where there’s space on a table somewhere—somewhere?—while simultaneously greeting everyone in the room and trying not to trip over a scooter as your arms give out and your internal monologue says don’t drop it don’t drop it don’t drop it this is how you die this is how you die, before finally spotting a small, unstable corner of a table already holding three dips and what appears to be a decorative gourd. You lunge. You place the crockpot down with the urgency of someone disposing of radioactive material. And then: vrrssstttt! vrssstttttt! You scurry away before anyone can ask you any questions. (They always ask questions.)

Welcome to a normal Friday night inside my brain, where I attempt to survive social gatherings.

I don’t know why I worry about these things. Though, considering my mom was too anxious to even walk into a high school gymnasium because she “didn’t know where she would sit,” I suppose I’m really passing life with flying colors here. 🌈

I might even have to get one of these adorable new crockpots from Drew Barrymore’s Beautiful line, just to really bring home the (slow cooker potato) bacon (soup).

Remember the lady from the diner in the rhinestones and hot pink lipstick?!?!

I SAW HER THIS WEEKEND.

Getting into her car.

Silver.

Covered in the most unexpected thing ever:

Huge red lips and Betty Boop stickers!

And, my god, I just had to smile. This woman just radiates CONFIDENCE. And my god, do I respect her for it.

(Even though the idea of putting a sticker on a car makes me extremely upset, hello OCD.)

Everyone’s got a sign advertising eggs for sale outside their house. But did you know that apparently chickens don’t lay eggs in the winter?

Who the hell knew this?

I found deer antlers in my field! I found deer antlers in my field! 🦌

Apparently yet another thing I did not know: deer shed their antlers every year—AND THEN RE-GROW THEM AGAIN IN THE SPRING. 🤯 🤯 🤯

What?!?!?!?!?!?!!?!??!!?!?

I always assumed they were like an elephant tusk 🐘, which just grows, like, forever 💁‍♀️ until you die. Or what about cows? Those adorable Scottish highlander cows are not losing their horns. Nor are goats or rams or any of those other heroes.

So basically I’ve just learned the definition of “antler.”

If it’s an antler if it falls off every year. (And, aren’t you glad you’re reading this blog? 🤣)

And you know what causes that?! HORMONES, LOLLLLLLL.

• Summer: testosterone spikes, antlers grow at up to 1 inch per DAY
• Fall: Bucks fight over girlfriends in the parking lot (this is literally their only purpose)
• Winter: Once mating season is over, their antlers are like, damn, that was exhausting, I’m outie—and they FALL OFF AND SAY BYEEEEEEEEE

Which is like losing your arm every year and being all, “see you next spring.”

So basically, we’ve got some things good, us humans*???

Except for everything*.

Have been thinking about how most Trump supporters are rural, and most rural dwellers depend on cars, and how most cars depend on oil.

In one year and 10 months, I have put 30,000 miles on my Jeep truck.

That’s an average of 45 miles a day.

And I work from home.

Should be interesting.

New kitchen island arrives tomorrow!

And, thank god, because do you know how hard it is being in a culture where everybody goes to everybody’s house…….but your house has….a galley kitchen???

Can I tell you how many awkward moments I’ve had with people who have just stopped by, only to have to stand there like two parking meters just staring at one another???

So, I have co-opted a sunny room off of the kitchen, to become my new….L-SHAPED KITCHEN EXTENSION. Where I shall put thy new kitchen island. And I shall forever have a place to lean.

That’s all we really want in life, isn’t it? A piece of quartz upon which we may lean.

I got this one from Article, in smoked oak:

We’ll see if it’s the answer to ALL OF MY HOPES AND DREAMS, or if it just looks like a big honkin’ shoebox in front of a big picture window.

Am thinking I will make dry bar on either side of picture window, with bench seating between. Photos to come! If I don’t accidentally turn this into the weirdest house on the block.

On another note, just discovered Just Roger + Chris sofas, thanks to my lovely friend Kristin.)

Can this man Chris please be my father? I don’t care that we’re probably the same age.

And, why am I suddenly liking yellow?

I feel like that’s an identity-defining kind of thing. You either like yellow, or you don’t.

I’ve always been more of a “teal velvet” kind of girl. You can see that about people, right? The “what kind of sofa would they be” game? (What kind of sofa would you be?!?!)

Right now, that yellow is HOLLERING my name. The fact that I could pretend I live in an old stone rectory in the Cotswolds is probably helping. That English roll arm though! Please, let’s all get rich writing books this year so we can all have English country houses.

MORE ON THE BOOKS SOON, BUT BOOKS ARE COMINGGGGGGGG.

I’m going to be publishing a series, and I cannot wait to tell you more. 🤫

On that note, I should probably go take a shower, because who can write serious things with grease in their armpits?

Plus, if the kitchen island shows up, I’m gonna want to look my best. Make a first impression on ‘er. Kitchen islands have feelings too, you know.

By the way! 🎉

Teaching my FAVORITE technique for making your writing feel more fresh, original, alive, and interesting—it’s called “Chicken in a Pot! 🐔.

• Fun, free 30-minute workshop
• Bring a pen & a beer
• Students love this one
• Your writing will instantly be more exciting to read
• Promise you don’t have to swear 😅
• I’ll also give you details afterward if you want to enroll in my creative writing school and be a serious writerly badass with dreams that WILL NOT BE CRUSHED, so help every crock pot on the market that needs better copywriting 🌈

Okay, lovebug.

Hope you have a great week.

Talk soon!

XOXO,
Ash