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Because You Don’t Want to Show Up At The Pearly Gates With a Big Ass Moral Hangover.

In: Feeling Dead and Uninspired

The phrase is simple: Goma moral.

Here, where I am in Costa Rica, it translates into “moral hangover,” and you've got one if you stayed out too late, drank too much, said something you regret, or acted in any way irresponsibly the day before…and you feel guilty as sin. Forget the physical hangover; the moral one is the one that'll get you. The one that hijacks early-morning positivity and manhandles it right into the trunk of a Caddy, causing you to wonder if you'll ever (…ever?) get it together.

And so I began to think: We all get moral hangovers from time to time. They're the feeling you get when you last-minute cancel on a friend. When you lash out in an email. And when you know damn well those enchiladas you've been eating every other day for lunch are the devil disguised in ooey, gooey drippy sharp white cheddar that slides down the back of your throat and simultaneously satisfies the fuck out of you AND makes you see red, all at once, because you know you shouldn't have BUT AT LEAST IT'S NOT CRACK.

Have you ever justified something to yourself that way before? I do it all the time.

I might drink all of these funky branded wines in one sitting…but at least I don't do crack.

I occasionally splurge on this outrageously obnoxious $153 facial moisturizerbut at least I don't do crack.

I love ignoring all my emails and staying up late to watch every single episode of 2 Broke Girls because I think Max is my long lost sibling and I'd wear Caroline's stupid pearls every single day for the rest of my life if I could look even 5% like her, BUT AT LEAST I DON'T DO CRACK.

Let me tell you: There's no kind of goma moral like spending the night throwing back five bottles of wine while dipping your pinky toe in rich people moisturizer and vowing to become more like a bunch of made-up TV characters all before dawn.

But here's a thought:
What if goma moral gets worse?

What if you spend your entire life blowing off what's really important to you?

Blowing off your heart promises.
Blowing off your bucket list.
Blowing off your business.
Blowing off yourself.

What kind of goma moral will you have then?

What kind of goma moral will you have when the boarding gate closes? When you could have, but didn't? When we can no longer decide who we become because who we've become has already decided for us?

Goma moral. While the phrase itself is simple, life, unfortunately, isn't.

Because in life, the only thing that's simple?

Is the decision to live it.

At the very best, you'll end up telling goma moral to kiss your ass.

And at the very worst?

You'll end up totally sucking, doing something you hate, and crying in bed at night while your bank account dwindles to a slow burn as you claw onto your last shreds of dignity before throwing your hands in the air and resorting to a promising career in off-track horse betting.

But, hey? At least you don't do crack.

Because if there's one thing I know for sure—

—it's that crack heads definitely can't afford a jar of that moisturizer, and this might be the first time that a regular hangover?

Is the better outcome.

Jul 8


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I’ve got little patience for excuses. I proactively call myself out whenever I catch myself making excuses in order to either procrastinate or invent reasons why I shouldn’t put myself out there. Why? Because sometimes, putting yourself out there is nail-bitingly, blood-curdingly, will-drive-you-to-drink, flat-out terrifying at times. It’s far easier to continue doing what we’ve […]

In: Feeling Dead and Uninspired


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If You Feel Like a Big, Fat Imposter Who Doesn’t Deserve Anything and Worries About EVERYTHING, Read This. It’s a GOOD Thing.

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I’m writing this from a place that could almost be mistaken for the Italian countryside, were I not surrounded by lizards and toucans and bullfrogs the size of a fucking dinosaur. Rather, I am high up in the hills of Central America overlooking the Costa Rican valley from my squishy, pancake lounger—it sort of reminds me of […]

In: Feeling Dead and Uninspired, Feeling Disillusioned With Life


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Remember that one time I got loose, drank too much eggnog* and packaged everything together in the TMF store for a wild, wild west of a discount–and then told all continental U.S. buyers that I’d even take it a step further and send a surprise to their doorstep? Right. That time. Just last month for […]

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White Men Can’t Jump, But They’ve Got Other Tricks Up Their Sleeves: The (Unearned) Privilege of Being White

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Here’s a little something to ponder: Band Aids. What comes to mind? Perhaps a small, rectangular piece of flexible plastic with adhesive that sticks to your skin and pulls at your little hairs when you finally tear it off, bringing back unpleasant memories of your last Brazilian wax. No? I should leave the Brazilian wax […]

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There are some people who don’t get the whole concept of an assembly line. You know who I’m talking about – those hanyacks at the Starbucks who come up beside you at the milk station, their panties in a bunch, tapping their foot, doing the hokey pokey at 8 o’clock in the morning because they […]

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I Need Help. (Not That Kind of Help, Jerk.)

Oct 26, 2012

In preparation for my upcoming trip to Costa Rica, Panama & Colombia, I spent $258.92 at Zara Chile yesterday. I walked out with three new pairs of daisy dukes that I will inevitably think look better on me than they actually do, as well as a ripped up white-washed jean skirt, and a top or […]

In: Feeling Dead and Uninspired


I'm a Bad Influence on Women

Hey, I’m Ash! Twenty years ago I was a small town girl growing up in a trailer park in rural Pennsylvania. Fifteen years ago, I lost my family and everything I knew right as I became the first to graduate college. Fourteen years ago, I found myself leaving everything behind for a new life in the city where I could be “normal.” Ten years ago I realized normal was the most disappointing thing that ever happened to me. Nine years ago I quit my job in advertising and pursued my dreams as a creative writer. Eight years ago, I built a 6-figure business doing what I love using nothing more than the Internet and my voice. And now, today, I’m the founder of The Middle Finger Project, an irreverent media co. that helps other women find their voice and teaches them to use it to build whatever the f*ck they want to. With a book coming out with Penguin Random House in February 2020 (YASSS, WE’RE A PRODUCT IN TARGET!) I’m proud to be a bad influence on women and guide them into doing something disobediently brave with their life and their career.

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