Dear World: I Have Farmhouse Tit Sweat. And Lemme Tell You About This Mold.

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.

There’s mold in the fucking basement. I’m not sure how bad it is, I hired a contractor to go and die down there.

Have decided name needs to be written with exclamation at all times: Ash!

Back to the mold: it’s because some ram rod unplugged my dehumidifier. Actually, it was the electrician. When he was installing the new panel box. And actually, now there is no receptacle to plug it back in. Because he must’ve taken the old one out and forgot to install a new one? And then forgot there was a dehumidifier plugged into it? And then forgot he was getting paid one million dollars to do exactly that??? It’s a good thing I have a degree in electrical engineering.

I don’t really have a degree in electrical engineering.

Obsessed with stripes lately. I don’t wanna think about how much this would hurt my arms, but oh my god. Must have stripes.

Love the phrase: ‘old internet energy.’

Really excited for my newest project, launching this coming week. (!!!) You are going to be so deceased. It’s so over the top, irreverent, borderline ridiculous, in the best way. You wanna talk about creating a fun brand? LET’S GO.

Fun brands give you permission to be your wacky, wild self. I love that about fun brands.

Learned how to hang siding this week. Not, like, annoying vinyl 2000s new-construction Ryan Homes siding, but cute little adorable scalloped siding. For highlighting this one little quasi-gable-like-eave area. There were scallops there before, but they were rotted and ugly because #water. WATER IS THE DEVIL. I’ve got a 6-pack of Satan that drips down my roof. And no, there’s no gutter. Because of course there’s not. Not like I ever want to get on this scaffolding again to clean out the imaginary future gutter. SCAFFOLDING IS ALSO THE DEVIL. I hate walking near it. I hate walking over it. I hate that it’s always watching me.

Current mood: dickhead Halloween energy. Definitely going to get diabetes tonight.

Still on the mold issue. It’s white. It’s all over the stone slab floor. It looks like a cotton ball turned itself into an SVG pattern. Not to be confused with the spots of black mold I found in the cottage. That’s exciting, right? I left a piece of plywood there and now the thing has herpes.

Yay, homeownership!

I’m just kidding, I weirdly love homeownership. This still makes no sense to me. Just the other day I was juggling pineapples and swallowing tiny little animal penises, and now I am roofing??? What a bizarre resume! But maybe sometimes having a bizarre resume means you are trying. It’s the one-note resumes that you gotta look out for. How enriching can life be, when you’ve only ever done one thing? I prefer what I am now calling ‘micro-dose mastery’: master that shit, and move on. Then, master something else. Why not??? What are we so scared of, not being able to put ourselves in a box? To be able to definitively call ourselves something? To know where we stand?

I’ve got an idea: go stand on that cliff.

LIKE I SAID: DICKHEAD HALLOWEEN ENERGY. With a touch of pumpkin spice.

“You see how the leaves turn upside down? That’s how you know it’s gonna storm.” Someone said that to me yesterday. I rather liked it, even if it’s a bunch of baloney.

Should we Google this? We’re gonna have to Google this. I sort of want it to be true.

SPEAKING OF LEAVES, homeowners insurance dropped me again because there are pine needles on the roof. My other solemn sworn enemy. These guys hate pine needles. Got a real thing against pine needles. So now, I’m looking for a new house to burn down.

But no, really. Now I need to get my sorry ass onto the roof and sweep pine needles off the garage. What’s the proper foot attire for such an endeavor? I really need to film this.

Grocery store. I’m in someone’s way. I realize it. Woman says “you’re no bother, I’m in no hurry!” Other woman agrees and says “doesn’t bother me!”

I look at rotisserie chickens. Guy walks up and says “is it dead?”

Then I’m getting lemons and realize that I need a little bag. The man standing next to me anticipated that, grabbed one, and held it out to me. Then we make small talk. 

I smile easier here. I feel it. I soften. No one around me looks fancy, but maybe that’s the point.

Maybe what I really like about buying this farmhouse in the country is that it isn’t fancy. It doesn’t need you to pretend. It doesn’t need you to like French wine.

Just the other day I was in a ritzy area having dinner and a man from New York approached the bar and asked whether they had French wine by the glass. The bartender said they did not, but then proceeded to list off a number of lovely wines by the glass, including one from South Africa. “Oh, well this is going to be a problem,” he huffed, going back to his wife to deliver the SHOCKING BLOW.

While sometimes I do miss French wine, I don’t miss that.

Do even snooty people like other snooty people?

Maybe it’s time they tried to master something new, too. Like humility. And class. Funny how sometimes the people trying so hard to be respected, end up anything but.

Do what you want with your life, babe.

Forget what the panel thinks.

Please yourself.

Turn yourself into a bouncy ball of rolling joy.

And never forget that the person whose opinion really matters about your life? Is yours.

Farmhouse tit sweat and all.

xoxo,

Ash!