Let's get it started... Let's get it started in here.

Ahhhhh, so I've caved. As if email, texting, blackberries, and facebook weren't enough in my world of technology and communication... here I am. Let me start off by saying, I don't actually expect people to read this. Come to think of it, you may want to just stop now and check out the funny websites I have listed to the left. All 2 of them - cut me some slack people, I'm a rookie. And I'm also no one special, trust me on this. I do, however, have really wacky-ass and downright ridiculous shit happen to me on *AT LEAST* a daily basis. Heads up: I cuss. A lot. If you don't like it, there is a tiny "x" in the top right corner you can click on. That should do the trick. Anyway, with my interest in writing being put to use and a little push from some friendly folks, I've decided to share my oh-so-non-important tall tales with the minimal following I [may] acquire. If you have continued to read past this point I can promise you that as unbelievable and as frightening as some of these stories may sound, they are true. I cannot tell you how many times I have looked around, either at my friends or all alone, and thought "Did that REALLY just happen? Am I being Punk'd? Where is Ashton?" And it did happen. Trust me, I was there - in most cases. With that said, many of my experiences involve people who are just as crazy, if not more, than myself. And because I only surround myself with people who also live to entertain, they are going to be a part of this blog. A few "guest appearances" here and there, if you will.

I tell people I'm 27 years old, but I'm actually 26 (I haven't yet reasoned with myself as to why I do this). I'm single. And divorced (Did I mention I was only 26? Yeah... keep your judgments to yourself, people. You try living with "him" and tell me how long it lasts). I have no curtain climbers to speak of (yet), Praise Jesus. I have 2 dogs that I claim every other day. I do have a job, but I haven't decided if I want to call it a career just yet. I have friends for days, but only a (small) handful of people that I could lay around forever with, doing absolutely nothing and still feel like it was the only place in the world I would want to be. I have a family so tight knit, you might think we are Italian.... but once you enter our homes, hear our accents, eat our food and drink our liquor you will quickly learn that we are straight out of the Deep South, born and bred. Travel 5 states to the southwest of the Mason Dixon and that's where you'll find us, the Brown/Curry's (I was told once this sounds like an Indian dish and well, it kinda does). So there you have it; my basic background. I could tell you so many minor things about me - for example, the way to my heart? Strawberry poptarts and a good glass of red wine, preferably merlot (I'm putting this out there in hopes that someone, anyone will take advantage of this tidbit and run with it). I am a planner to the core, meaning I have to know what time I need to be there, what I need to wear, who else will be there, what we will be doing and approximately how much fun I will have. I am compassionate to a fault. I have been known to cry at the sight of a homeless man for days on end - his nikes, a UGA sweatshirt, his cleanly shaven face, dollar bills flowing from his pockets and the "Need Money - Homeless" sign burned into my memory.

So... here I begin. Please, let me reiterate - I do not expect you or anyone else to read past this first post. However, I will continue to spit out my stories knowing that at least my mother will stay updated (I can already hear the phone calls... "You did WHAT?!" or "I raised you better than that, Jessica Harlan").  Continue at your own risk and I can promise you that there will be times you will wonder one of the following things: A) Has this biatch lost her effin marbles?! B) Did she REALLY just say that on a public forum? (Answer: Hell yes, I said it. And I'll say it again.) C) Does she know people can see this? (This question will most likely be pondered by... yes, you guessed it... 'ole Momma Brown) or D) Damn, I wish I had balls like her.

Cheers!