REAL WOMEN, don't always shave their legs.

Woman the fuck up Chelsea. Woman up.

Chipped blue nail polish isn't cute anymore, you're not 14.

You're a grown ass woman who should wear eye cream, who has found the perfect department store moisturizer, and smells like lavender, and eucalyptus (I'm just guessing this is what a real woman smells like-it seems "spa" like and grown)....

.... It's really hard to take a woman seriously when she smells like a fucking baked good; sugar cookie, almond biscotti, etc. Even though, I love it.

This whole "needing to be more of a woman" thing started the other day, of course, while I was nearly naked- (since we always make rational decisions about ourselves when we're naked?) I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror; parading about my house in my torn, faded, 3-year-old? thong, my mess of untamed hair and split ends. Then, I looked at my hands, and my feet, a vision of a spa day, long, long ago. Big toe painted? Sure- what, you mean you paint all of your toenails? It all became clear....

I want to be the kind of woman who gravitates towards the Real Simple magazine at the grocery store. Who buys linens. I want to be the woman who showers everyday....and busts out the curling iron just because. Who doesn't think it's acceptable to wear sweatpants all day long...

The woman who knows how to pair meals with the perfect wine. Who gets out of bed before 9am and has a morning ritual that involves rose water and meditation. Who buys soy milk and nice purses.

I want to be the fucking Kardashians meets Giada De Laurentiis, meets Kate Hudson- so it looks like even though I'm put together, I'll still drive with all the windows down in the car and drink microbrews, not simultaneously.

I want to buy aprons with patterns of beachy landscapes, and kittens. No I'm not fucking joking. I want to have a proper teapot and make side dishes, instead of a measly pot of pasta with canned sauce (my Italian Grandmother is rolling over in her grave right now, "canned sauce!? THE BLASPHEMY!") I want to know how to make a special marinade and have the perfect substitution for when I'm out of vegetable oil.

I don't know if it's what happens when you're disgustingly in love- or when you're just a hormonal hot mess and all you can think about are fucking bundt cakes, but I want to be a person who would even OWNS a bundt cake pan??

The truth is, I think I want to be that kind of woman....but I'm NOT that woman.

Right now, I'm the woman who; wears a messy bun five out of seven days, doesn't always wash her face before she goes to bed, who forgets her Granny's birthday, and writes important information on gum wrappers. I'm the the woman who should change her sheets more often, doesn't know how to cook a decent piece of meat, and wears Dr. Pepper chapstick.

I'm the woman who can't keep her mouth shut, even when it's inappropriate to speak up. The woman who would rather cook together than alone, or just dine out for that matter. The woman who says vagina too often in public and gets distracted staring at people's asses in yoga class. I'm the woman who isn't afraid to do some ball busting, who has never watered or owned a plant and who thinks it's perfectly acceptable to rap to Biggie Smalls out loud, at the gym.

....could be worse I suppose....

What kind of woman are you????? Sorry men.

The blog one year ago today: Preservatif?

"Do you love me as much as you love your legs?"

"Do you love me as much as you love your legs???"

My Love, "Well-that's an unfair question....like, would I cut my legs off for you?"

CTS, "No, you love walking right? So do you love me as much as you enjoy having legs to walk......?"

"Chels, that's an absolutely ridiculous question. I love having legs, but that doesn't mean I don't love you."

And see people, this is one of the many questions that I pummel my boyfriend with on a rather consistent basis. Initially, when we started dating I wanted to be that really secure, totally "chill", girlfriend who was just all good all the time. I didn't want to call too often, or ask too many questions. I didn't want to ask him if he thought my knee caps were getting fat or if he thought I was socially awkward.

I didn't want to ask about his ex-girlfriends, or his first blow job. I didn't want to pry- I wanted to know what I knew, which he would just tell me without asking- because I wanted to be just that secure.

I didn't want him to know sometimes I hate my body. That I pinch, stare and over analyze until I vow to eat cabbage for the rest of my life. I didn't want to reveal that sometimes I'm insecure that my skin it too oily, or that my posture looks like the Hunchback, or that I wonder when someone is staring at my face if they're counting my black heads- or notice my crooked nose.

I didn't want him to know raw meat freaks me the fuck out and so does riding in his passenger seat.

I didn't want him to know that I worry a lot, or that I'm afraid to sleep in my big house alone for fear of a pack of wild burglars with tazers. I didn't want him to know that I'm not as tough as I come off. That sometimes I'm overly proud because I'm overly compensating.

Trying to act overly secure never lasts.

Because at the end of the day, when our guards are down, when my makeup is off, when the zit cream is on and there's just the slightest view of a muffin top over my skimpy boy shorts- you can't hide your insecurities. They're all there. All exposed. Your heart lays delicately in their hands and so does everything else that comes with it, stretch marks and weird fears of rabbits included.

In love, all of the walls need to crumble. You're naked. You're sweaty. You're sick. You're scared. You're communicating. You cry. Sometimes you even vomit birthday cake into their brand new trash can and cry at the same time.

Like I've always said, once someone has seen your "O Face" or popped one of your zits for you, all bets are off.

So yes, sometimes- I'll ask you if you love me as much as you love your legs. Some days I'll talk a little too much about the size of my inner thighs, and some days I'll ask you to remind me that you love me, even though I do you do. And in return, you can ask me if you have dandruff for the rest of your life and I won't mind, deal?

WHAT ARE YOU INSECURE ABOUT???

If you do it again- I'll SPAZ OUT ON YOUR ASS.

Like Wonder Woman, I'm always ready to kick ass.

"Well, I hope she has health insurance because she's going to need it once I FUCK HER FACE UP."

I say things like this. I'm a scary person.

I've also been known to say things like, "I'll set your house on fire" or unprompted, "I could kill a person." Among, "I chased someone once with a broomstick and had I caught them, it would have gone straight through their eye...."

Just in case anyone around me was doubting my pure insanity and ability to be rage filled. In the same breathe... I also like puppies, I coo, I'll skip alone for no reason, I walk through the Barbie isle at Target and get excited-which spurs excited clapping, I call people Honey Pie and Love Face. On the contrary, I've also been known to love so hard it turns into biting, because I can't express the intensity of it- this has only happened once and I was five, but still.

So I'm not ALL scary, just necessarily scary- in this case, when My Love and I go back to his place and we walk into to find his EX GIRLFRIEND BAKING MOTHER FUCKING CINNAMON ROLLS and hanging with his roommate (whom she's still friends with, to be clear) standing in his kitchen and prancing around as if she's welcome-the "scary" inside me lights up.

Their break up was NOT a cordial one- and until he started dating me she avoided every possible scenario that would involve her seeing him.....so what happened to her fucking tune change???? If she knew that I'm a ninja and that my head spins, tongue forks and I spit acid- she'd maybe be less blatant, I'm sure of it.

Thus far every time I see her, I've been nice. Too nice? I gave myself a medal for not going bat-shit-monkey-rip-your-face-off-crazy and instead I acted like a "big girl" made small talk about weather, beer and throat lozenges....

THE SECOND TIME IT HAPPENED HOWEVER, I WASN'T TOO HAPPY- so, My Love being the Knight that he is calls her and says, "Hi. I'm NOT comfortable with you coming to my loft. OK? Ok. Bye." She agrees, says she won't do it again.....

......UNTIL- After a few PBR'S the roommate slips up the information, that she was THERE AGAIN!!!!!! She violated his wishes and she definitely broke the girl code, i.e.: Don't fuck around on other's chicks property, unless you want me to pull a Tonya Harding, or spread rumors that you're a hermaphrodite with herpes, God I love alliteration.

I'm in a tough spot- do I call and say "Don't do it again or I'll chase you down in a dark alley and brand my name on your ass, in case you need a reminder....." or do I risk letting it happen again, and the next time having to talk less small talk and more, Scared Straight.

TELL ME READERS: Would you EVER hang around your ex-boyfriend's apartment, cook, leave your instruments, and violate his wishes-when he has a new girlfriend (who's smokin' and crazy) and when you had a terrible break up and WERE NOT FRIENDS?????

AND THE WINNER IS.......

OK, so it turns out, when I went to the store (for those of you who asked about the dresses, it was Urban Outiftters!) to try on my options.....THEY DIDN'T HAVE A SINGLE ONE?!!

I was outraged. I threw things. Kicked and screamed. Caused a scene in public, threatened lives, you know the usual "diva" esque behavior.....eh, just kidding-though it was tempting. I just cried on the inside a little bit and then moved on after nursing my wound with Food court pizza. 

The show was a wild success and now we'll also be opening for Nathen Maxwell's solo show, the bassist of the band Flogging Molly in Aspen. Really exciting stuff- I could get used to having my name on a marquis and eating late night falafel from 24hr delis across the nation. The rock lifestyle compliments my eyes, or something along those lines- we fit like Original Lays and Wonder Bread. Like Dates wrapped in Proscuitto. Original, and delicious. 

Here's a couple photos from the evening....real blogging to resume later. Thank you for all your suggestions!!!

                                       

In the meantime, we're going to start recording new song and we're doing a lot of business for the band and are throwing around MERCHANDISE ideas i.e; condoms, lollipops, etc. being that you're all madly creative and opinionated......

Any cool merch ideas??? 

And what city would you like to see us play in (blog meetup and rockin out, two of my favorite things)?!?

These are the days when it's ok to drink BOX WINE

"Baby, this is the time of our life when we'll look back and be like, 'remember when we had wild crazy sex and no cares in the world....." 

My Love says as we're both walking barefoot outside in downtown Denver, carelessly asking the to universe to give us a crack needle to accidentally step on. 

"Yeah, when we didn't have to worry about little sticky children coming into our room in the middle of the night being like, 'Daddy why are you hurting Mommy?? When we don't have to worry about making too much noise, or screaming too wildly- now, it just kind of makes or neighbors jealous. Which isn't horrible, it's awesome."

Sigh. "These are the good days."

These are the days when it's still acceptable to call Top Ramen a "meal" every now and again and to call Momma when I don't know how long to bake chicken? When old friends aren't so old that they couldn't become "new" friends again, with a little mending. These are the times when we toe the line of irresponsibility, occasionally falling off course, but it's still okay. When it's OK to smoke strawberry flavored hookah until 10pm and have sex for breakfast.

These are the days when my skin is still taut and supple, my knees don't crack and my back doesn't hurt. My body is quick and strong, able, firm and resilient. These are the days when there's nothing a cup of coffee or a glass of Cabernet can't cure. 

When I'm still rambunctious and hopeful. When my emotions don't simmer but they boil and my energy is sparkling. When I've been wounded just enough and jaded just enough to make me smart, but not bitter. These are the days when time feels like its on "our watch." When we're brave enough to throw ourselves into the lions den, and even with the lack of skill to actually fight a lion, we run at him with our bare hands anyway, because we're fearless in just the right times. (Figuratively speaking of course....unless you want to get your face ripped off.)

These are the days when we're creating our "smile lines" that one day, we'll look at bittersweet and remember when our faces we smooth, porcelain, unsullied. These are the days when it isn't depressing to eat an entire pint of Ben and Jerry's alone in the dark. 

When I'm still lusting, while being in love. When I'm still naive, while having lived enough to be savvy. When I'm still open, while standing for what I believe.

These are the days when we still have the freedom. We have options and possibilities, wide open doors and the moxie to walk through every single one of them, no matter what the fuck is on the other side; angry bosses, wild boars, strippers, the love of your life, or your dream come true.

.....and most importantly, for many of us, these are the days when we can still have screaming-hair pulling-wild sex...without waking up the kids. 

Your turn:  These are the days when..........

I need your HELP, since I can't think for myself.

As most of you know, I'm in a band (music to come later). Yes....but it's not just, "let's get stoned in someones basement and bang on some shit while singing out of tune and staring at posters of Rock Gods duct taped to the ceiling." We're not fucking around, as in, "by 2012 we'll have gone on tour and have enough money to take a vacation to some obscure glacier, just because we can- cause why else would you want to visit a glacier?" That kind of thing. 

On Sunday we're opening at The Fox Theater for Au Revoir Simone, who's in the middle of a world tour. For a band, that is playing their heart out and googling $1 dollar PBR night and eating tater tots too fucking often,  this is potentially a really big deal for us. 

As the ONLY chick in the band....it's important that I look smokin'. Being the rose amongst the thorns, we have a few responsibilities. A. Make sure no one leaves a capo B. Sing something pretty, to offset any potential "man rock" sounds. and C. Look hot. That's just the way the cookie crumbles....if it were an all girl band, you're allowed to have a few wonkies, but if you're the token chick, you've got to give off potential Maxim cover vibe. So, considering the fact that I would prefer to wear boxers, wife beaters and messy buns....I've got to pull it together before Sunday. 

I'M TORN BETWEEN DRESSES, and need your help. 

When you envision Super Sexy Band Girl Taking Over World in 2012 So She Can Vacation on Glaciers and Buy Expensive Olives and Perform at Coachella.....which dress would you choose??

Option 1.                          Option 2.                      Option 3.  

                              

    

                     Option 4.                         Option 5.                       Option 6. (if i'm not bloated.)

                                        

ALRIGHT......VOTING STARTS, NOW!!!

Trusting is like not knowing how to swim and letting someone DUNK YOU ANYWAY.

When you love completely and when you TRUST completely, it can feel like running into oncoming traffic and hoping you don't get hit, and if you do that the damage leaves only little scar. Trusting can feel like walking the high beam and doing a cartwheel, then completely racking yourself because your foot slips.

...then, knowing how bad that hurts, putting one foot in front of the other and tumbling ahead anyway. When you meet somebody, it's the same thing. You learn to know them through their words. You take their words as gospel and believe.

You tell stories and paint them vivid pictures of what you want them to envision your past as. Your "story" of who you are and why you're that way, where you've come from, why you have such a short temper and the real reason behind why you don't drink shots of tequila anymore.... etc. Your Truth is all based on the narrative you give a person....when you're the listener, that's all you know. You believe what they tell you and then store their storybook on your minds shelf. 

You learn to know where their insecurities come from, who they first loved, when they were first hurt and how they like their eggs in the morning. You learn their breathe patterns when they sleep, that they always leave the cabinet doors open and that they'll almost always forget their jacket. You learn that they love the smell of Russian Olive Trees, that they'll never finish the bread on their plate and that hearing even a NOTE of a Carrie Underwood song makes their skin crawl. You learn their freckles, their "spots" and their smell.

What you know of a person for CERTAIN is what you see, what you feel and what you experience. What you don't know is that which demands trust for the things you don't see; their past, their stories, them without you.

Whether it's the beginning of a relationship, or twenty years into one you have to practice that act of pure belief in their words. All you have to judge from are the words they give you and in turn, you have to surrender in that space where there's no seat belts, no handrails, no warning signs or safe zones. There's no handbook, no guide or example- there isn't a paper you can sign or a handshake firm enough to ensure your heart's safety.

Then, how after that "first thing" the first fib, first omission, first lie, first fabrication do you get back to that space when you aren't terrified of the bottom dropping out?? It's like handing your sleeping baby over to a person walking a tight rope and saying, "just don't drop them." This time, I'm the person, my heart's the baby and he's the wire walker. 

...and even when it's terrifying, we trust anyway. Or we try. We try until it feels safe again to let go, to not over analyze and to run full speed ahead...knowing full well that you could hit a speed bump.

WHAT DO YOU TRUST?? People? Love? Or do you trust at all???

Also, random side note- my mom's dance student Kayla Radomski made the Top 20 on So You Think You Can Dance- so please vote for her!!!