Can you say, book deal?

Or, as my husband wondered...how long before she's posing in Playboy?

Our latest bit of pernicious pillow talk involved the recent identity-reveal of Eliot "I can't keep it in my pants" Spitzer's girl-for-hire. Ashley Alexandra Dupre, a 22-year-old aspiring musician according to her MySpace page and a scoop in the NY Times.

It seems that we are somehow expected to feel sorry for Ms. Dupre, who lamented that she had "slept little since the scandal erupted and was worried about paying the rent on her ninth-floor Manhattan apartment after her boyfriend recently left her." She said she didn't want everyone to think of her as a "monster."

Is this the point at which I'm supposed to brush away the tears?

I have a bit of unsolicited advice.

Put your panties back on, Ash. Find some roommates to help you pay the rent. Get a waitressing job like every other struggling artist out there. And why don't you, while you're at it, try to think about someone besides yourself.

But, girly, if it makes you feel any better, my husband had this to say when he saw your picture...

"Well, I'll say this for Eliot. He has good taste."

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So, I Changed My Mind

More than four years ago, the blog and I parted ways. I needed a change. A whole lot happened in my world since then. I switched jobs a couple times. My kid went from an elementary school tween to a teenage high schooler. We built a new house and moved. Both my parents and my sister have passed. The world around me changed as well. Mass shootings, racism, the #metoo movement, a misogynistic bigoted narcissist in the White House ... go ahead, add to the list. Toss your woes into this dumpster fire we call 2019. I appreciate my previous sentiment, that I was no longer wandering. But let's be honest, we're all trying to find our way through this mess. I decided to reboot the blog to give myself a creative outlet, a way to sort through the confusion and frustration and attempt to make sense of it all. I have a voice, and I'm not keen to silence it anymore. Guess what? I'm back, bitches.

In memoriam...

I remember the first time I heard the name "Les Anderson." A bunch of Wichita State University communication majors were sitting around on campus, talking about classes they planned to take. Several people warned me: watch out for Les Anderson. He was tough. He had a murderous grading scale. It was nearly impossible to get an A. They weren't kidding. But he wasn't tough just to be a tyrant. From his teaching sprang a fleet of incredible, successful journalists, writers, editors, broadcasters, public relations experts, advertisers, non-profit professionals...I could go on and on. Most importantly, he created a legion of people who wanted to make a difference in the world. The greatest gift Les gave to them all? He believed in them, cared about them for their own personal stories as well as the stories they told for class assignments or in the pages of his hometown newspaper. Les was my teacher. My boss. My mentor. My conscience. My champion. My friend. When I started c...

WanderingAmylessly 2.0

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