Thursday, September 27, 2007
I've been hopping from cafe to cafe for the past few days, WiFi caffeine junkie, cause you cant just go and chill for 6 hours without at least buying an iced coffee. OR seven.
Wow. A very tall woman with dyed blonde hair is currently choking me with her Liz Taylor White Diamonds perfume, I should suggest bathing with soap instead. This is outrageous.
Ok, she's gone. Back to what I was saying.
This last weekend my family was in town- so it was a bit difficult staying updated, we had our usual quarrels but they always fizzle out and I spend the rest of the week recupirating from the sadness that looms over me when they're gone. I know, we're cute. I love my family in a big, stupid, puppy dog kind of way, even if the version of me they see is more like, a fiesty, snappy puppy.
Um- it's difficult to remember things when you dont do this consistantly- shame on me.
Here are some things I learned this week:
-Planned Parenthood in L.A. waaaay different than Denver- A. I waited 2 hours B. Everyone with tacky tattoos on tacky areas of the body inhabit the PP, for example; TACKY forearm tattoos: tweety bird, a purple rose placed in the crease of the arm? Why is that a good choice? and you cannot forget the name tattoo in swirly script, as seen on the back of trucks with a picture of the Virgin Mary.Next the - TACKY boob tattoo, I am not lying. I know saying I saw a boob tattoo would be a good affect, but it's the absolute truth. It was a person. On a boob. Falling out of a tank top. Not hot. and last but not least, you can never visit the PP without seeing a symbol of something "highclass" placed cheaply on a wrist or an ankle- i.e. the BMW symbol.....
anyways, most importantly I learned- the PP will give you a full years worth of BC if you're Po' Folk. "We also threw in some extra condoms!" .... judging from my recent track record, that seems entirely unecessary, and maybe a bit mean, but I accept the gesture. Maybe it's foreshadowing for better days to come, like my fortune cookie said at dinner "Joyfulness will prolong your days" UNDER THE SHEETS.
-Have you noticed, when it comes to driving it really doesn't matter who it is- grandma, grandpa, teenager, imporant-business-blah -blah-person, potential employer, etc. If any of these people cut you off, ride your ass, swirve in your lane, drive too slow, or miss the light- you do not hesitate to let your irritation boil, honk, give a dirty look or wave a finger. I think its important to remember these things in L.A. where it's all about status. When driving on Sunset Blvd. it's all equal playing field- even if you're driving the Range Rover and I'm not.
- Fall in L.A. isn't fall, it's just Summer extended with light showers and then people expect you to be all "yippe-ye-haw" over Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas but you've been wearing flip flops for the past 7 months. It's much harder to get hyped over Santa when wearing a summer dress.
-Greys Anatomy is back tonight. I will be completely out of commission for an hour every Thursday, so please do not try to contact me during this period. Thank you.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Saturday, September 15, 2007
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Campanula flowers, I woke up to my alarm clock and literally the first thing that I said to myself was, "Go buy youself some flowers!"...oh, and " Pick up some honeynut cheerios while you're at it"
I don't know if it was the cheerios, or the flowers that motivated me, but regardless, I rolled out of bed, ran over to trader joes- in stolen men's sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt and bought some flowers. I'm sure they thought I was mourning, I still had yesterdays mascara on and looked a bit dishevled, but I knew, I was celebrating.
Celebrating what you say? Well let's see. I've had a few revelations as of late, none of which are cohesive, but here it goes:
First, let me get this one out of the way...I got sucked in to some trashy, tacky-tastic, television the other day- I.E.- TMZ....TMZ, the website famous for exploiting celebrities, stalking, mauling, bad-mouthing, finding miniscule- and often not so miniscule, cellulite on human beings and giving it pointless concentration and colorful banners. ETC. Well, those people have a television show now, as if Inside Edition, Extra, and the like weren't overload enough.
So, when you don't have cable- like myself- and the TV is on for background noise, you're often prey to fall into a TMZ trap...which is much worse than falling into a Montel/Sylvia Brown trap. But this particular evening I came out on the otherside with profound gratitude....
BECAUSE- Though I live in Hollywood, I heavily avoid the nightlife, trendy clubs, snobbish scenesters, and over priced drinks and cover charges- TMZ reminded me why. Besides the points I just listed.
There's a new generation called: Drunken Hussy's with a designer dresses and DUI records.
The sad fact about all this is, half these drunken hussy's are celebrities, the other half are pretty damn close to celebrities- they're sleeping with them, have matching bank accounts, or are spawns from the lucky sperm club.
Who are these people?! COME ON LADIES. And, can someone remind me why so many excuses are made for these people....
I'm particulary disappointed with the amount of disrespect these girls have for themselves- call me a floozy basher, or whatever- but i'm really looking out for women who are completely fantastic, because these types of girls make it particularly hard for respectable women to have a platform to be adored. Men and media enable this circus of people like the girls on - Sunset Tan, and for that i'm disappointed in you both.
The real point is- I'm GRATEFUL, that I am not those people, nor do I have any desire to emmulate any of their qualities for any type of acceptance, career included. The smart ones see all of that, for what it actually is.
Celebration number 2- Deciding to start your life off not accepting the things you dont like- it's not a good start to settle- going out and getting what you want, rather than overlooking what's making you unhappy and sitting in the "waiting room of life" waiting for change. I'm not doing those things. :)
Celebration number 3- There is this HUGE white wall that I wake up to every morning and think - "God, I hate that big white wall." then, I proceed with my day, and have the same thought the next morning, and so on. WELL, I finally did something with the wall.
It's what I like to call the poor mans art- a collage. I covered every single square inch of my wall with editorial, scenic pictures and random, interesting faces. It looks now a bit like my room did in 9th grade, or like someone who had way too much time on their hands, got a hold of a collection of VOGUE, and crack, and went at it. Either way- its looks exceptional.
The big white wall was, in a sense, a metaphor for my life. Blank wall that says to me every morning "BLAHHH..." but it's MY wall, and I can do whatever I damn well please with it....I was a bit intimidated by the vastness of it, so I kept it blank- until today. It's mine and if I want it to look like a magazine factory exploded in a frenzy all over my room, then so be it. I can change it tomorrow. Just like life. Its your wall, your canvas. Fuck it up, paint it, write crazy things all over it, keep it blank and love it.... then start a new one.
I like my wall.
Damn, now I can't remember what else- hm. Well, I'm grateful for a lot of things and though specifics aren't exactly peachy, I have to embrace the things that are often overlooked.
Like- the most important ones- My health, family, friends, love, food, roof over my head, running car, safety, HOPE.
My perfect couch, olives, my grandma's afgan, crayons, scarves, fire, movement, handwritten letters, saying what I really mean, TRUTH, sweating, breathing, jumping jacks, white wine, red wine, nail polish to chip when i'm bored, my handwriting, carpet to lay on, freedom, pancakes, "I love you", silence, hearing, speaking, light, my coffee table, COFFEE, all the places I want to visit- or that I will visit, waking up...
Thats barely touching the surface. All in all---"Make each day your masterpiece"- John Wooden
Cover your walls. Buy yourself flowers. Say thank you. And find a better hobby than being a jezebel. ;)
Monday, September 10, 2007
Sunday, September 9, 2007
I can safely say that my dignity has been has been sacrificed in lieu of being an extra. Not just any extra, Oh no....that would be much too sophisticated....
Instead, I was an extra for none other than the.......::Drum roll please::....
Now, I dont think that I even need to explain why this is such a shameful confession.
The evidence is pretty clear;
A. Faux psychic's claiming to help "tell your future" and steal your money for a steep 3.99 a minute, and believe me, when you're desperate, their claims can be quite alluring- even if your pyschic is a chubby ostentatious English man, with a pinstriped hot pink suit, diamond eyelashes, lip gloss, and more diamonds on his pinky ring that in the Queens crown. That alone should tell you something.... ( ahem, con artist.) And no, I didn't make this man up. He's real.
B. I spent 7 hours, as an audience member... making over exaggerated, OO'S and AH's faces, and bursting in fits of cheering after " a good reading". Mind you we filmed all of this out of context. Therefor, I contributed to the swindlers game, and in turn acted as a phony myself.
C. I did this for a measly 45 dollars. No snacks included.
These types of jobs are always interesting. You huddle a group of forlorn starving artists in a bizarre/dirty location (Downtown L.A.) and command them to do natural human things in a very unnatural way. These things can range from; talking to strangers like you're close friends, walking "nonchalatly", standing, laughing, cheering, staring, running amidst a riot, etc. All seems like conventional human behavior. And really, we're generally good sports...until they test us....7 hours standing on your feet, fake cheering, get's a bit tedious when they haven't fed you or let you pee.
You really discover your basic needs when you do these gigs.
"I dont ask for much, just a little water, a little food, i'd like a bathroom break every 10 hours. Those things would be nice." And you discuss these things with your new best friend for the day, whose name you dont know, but you've been holding hands with for 10 hours for background in a date scene. "By the way, i'm Jake!" He says already holding your hand.
The things we do for money. Or fame? No, we all know you're "big break" isn't coming from audience work for The Pyschic Friends Network, you do however get a worthy blog and a full tank.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
And aside from the cheeseball sentiments it's a better way to pass time than picking at your cuticles.
So, below are a list of books that i've recently read that have heightened my level of grooviness, to an exceptional altitude.
Eat, Pray, Love- Elizabeth Gilbert. There are simply no words for this book until you read it. A feeling of contentment in everything I envision came along with reading this book, because right there in your hands is a story of an incredible woman who is actually living her dreams, growing through her doubts, making ideas reality, transforming....I'm saying too much because there are no words. Read it. I lived with this book at my side, and read the last page reluctantly, I never wanted it to end.
Chuck Klosterman makes me laugh out loud for real. Belly laughing, snorting, loss of breath, cramps in side...these should all be disclaimers on his books. Warning: Don't read this on a plane, you'll wake up that sleeping guy next to you.
He's clever and outrageous. Chuck if you're listening, take me out, make me laugh.
I almost didnt buy this book, I played eni-meenie-mini-mo, since this is how I make most of my important decisions, between this book and The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand. Everyone seems to think I should have read that book by now, so I feel somewhat obligated...but, i'm glad this one came first.
To sum it up, Carson McCullers, W.H. Auden, Gyspy Rose Lee, Benjamin Britten, Salivdor Dali...and many more artists live in a house together as somewhat of an experiment, at the height of the careers, they all decide they need a rich environment to create. Or to be destructive in a group of people who would turn a head, or go down with you.
It was really interesting...I wouldn't mind being part of that kind of experiment... the productive side of course.
I actually havent finished this one yet. Thus far it's pretty swell. It's always nice to read stories about someone who wanted something, and actually got it...for example Jancee Dunn landing a job at Rolling Stone after years of dreaming of being a writer, and then in the most unlikely place with her loser boyfriend at a house party, she meets someone who works at Rolling Stone and gets hired off a semi-impressive resume. Kismet.
There is hope.
So...I say keep reading, stay off the streets and eat your vegetables.
Tyra Banks is on a one woman crusade to just let us be. Be fat. Be skinny. Be Curvy. Be "wobbly". Whatever you want to be, Tyra says...."Hey it's allllll good."
And actually she's saying it like this, "SO WHAT?!"....yeah bitch, i got junk in my trunk...SO WHAT!
In most cases, the sight of Tyra kinda makes me a little tense, she's a little serious. A little bit like a school teacher trying to lecture you on why being five minutes late to language arts is really affecting you. When it just really does not matter, and those three times I was late have never shown up knocking on my doorstep to haunt me.
Anyways- it's sort of like that. I mean I guess everytime she crushes a model's dreams at each elimination round of her show, thats sort of serious, sort of. But now, I have to say she's making up for all of hype around the importance she's put on non-important things. Frankly, letting us ladies look however we darn well please is important.
So Tyra, Amen, continue trying to overthrow the media with your rants on why your cellulite is "ok", keep yelling for a half and hour in a bathing suit while reprimanding the paparazzi, please do another mammogram to show us that "yes, your boobs are real." We get it, we like that you're a real woman, so carry on grasshopper. And all of us real women will feel a wee less guilty at the sight of our not-so-perfect Hollywood form. We'll just say...SO WHAT!
It really is catchy huh?
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
This is me talking to my inner self, after my work out at 24 hr. fitness. I’m not sure if there’s a correlation between the fact that I had just finished working out with the fact that my solution of happiness and sabotage lay in the form of a cupcake. But after a reluctant 40 minute work out, that I did simply because I needed the free dose of endorphins all I could think of was that I was sweaty, still unfulfilled, still had no direction, and the chick on the stair stepper in front of me was still a skinny bitch who belonged somewhere out of my resentful path.
A cupcake would make me happy. Now, I realize this isn’t true and that is why I stopped myself.
I sat on a bench outside the gym and said. “Chelsea, you are not leaving this bench until you decide what will make you happy.”
Fine, a cookie. Dipped in peanut butter.
I have an angel, a devil, and a smart ass on my shoulders and I’m pretty sure I have an entire army of Smart Ass ready to overthrow hell and heaven.
Twenty minutes passed, and I really just looked like a confused sweating girl sitting on a bench, but I tried to fake that maybe I was waiting for someone….Someone like my iron pumping boyfriend who needed a few extra minutes to work on his new peck muscle.
Never act like you don’t belong where you are. This is a constant motto of mine, so I made my lingering time on the bench mine. Especially since I had NO idea how long I was planning on sitting there to figure out what would make me happy. Thus far it’s taken a good 5 years, and damnit I was/am ready to stop lulling. I will chain myself to this ever loving bench and decide. I’ll have my “Aha!” moment, right here, on this bench and every time from now on for the rest of my life I will think of this moment fondly, when I sat on “the bench” and all of the blurred vision was lifted. I’ll tell this story to my kids, and in interviews that follow my wild success, and Oprah will have me write a special in “O!” on my “Aha!” moment….this is gonna be good.
Waiting. And waiting…”What would make you happy…”
I am open and receptive. Open and receptive…
I asked myself this so many times that I actually forgot that I was repeating it over and over again, and fell into a daze over the different type of sneakers people chose to wear to the gym.
Maybe part of the problem is that I hardly have the attention span to contemplate happiness, so my need for instant gratification goes directly towards sugar. Before any clarity can come into view, I’ve baked a damn a cake.
The thing about the question, “What will make you happy…” is I don’t know that there can ever be an answer, unless there’s action. Until you do something, one of the options on the long list of hopes for yourself, or go through a series of tests on your many pro’s and con’s lists, there’s no real way of knowing. Everyone says you know in your gut. I believe that, but I guess there’s a certain amount of steps that need to be taken to get to that place where your gut feels at home. Feels it’s in the right place, or path. And I’m not talking gastronomically, like “home” being a bakery.
“What will make you happy…”
Cupcakes aside, the real answer at the moment, was; sitting. Sitting on this bench will make me happy.
I can handle that answer. Maybe this isn’t my “AHA!” moment, maybe Oprah will have to wait, but maybe it’s a piece of it…back to terms of food, it’s a piece of the pie that leads to my AHA!
No cupcakes were consumed this evening, maybe tomorrow…;)
Until then, I will follow my gut when it calls, and try not to get too caught up in a the looming fear of not knowing what will make me happy, or the annoyance I feel everytime I see a Sports Ilustrated model at the gym. I’ll enjoy a cupcake for them. J
Monday, September 3, 2007
For the following reasons:
A. Everybody (except for me) in L.A. looks at dogs with the same weight and value as they would when they look at a baby. I.E. Stopping in the middle of a busy sidewalk or café, to ogle and make “Awwws” and plan possible doggie dates with other doggie Mommies and Daddies. People don’t stop and give you that same admiration if you have a brain.
B. You can bring your dog everywhere. Literally, there are purses for that kind of thing…and because most people here don’t have babies, they need something to tend to that makes them feel mildly sane, or wanted. Therein lays their needy yappy dogs.
Intelligence, you cannot bring everywhere, or actually, just don’t bring it with you. Leave it at home. It’s like when you get a really important toy when you’re a kid and you’re bound to lose it if you take it out of the house. Lock it up, keep it safe…It’ll be waiting for you when you return. It’ll really set people into a panic if you just whip it out, it may threaten their egos.
C. It’s much easier to find the right clothing for a dog than a brain. There’re just so many doggie designers out there nowadays. Seriously.
D. If your dog goes missing, there will be a band of people posting flyers. He will be found. If your brain goes missing…You will be accepted.
So, basically just give it up, dumb it down, and pick up a maltisse in your way. It’s all for survival people. I’m looking out for you best interest. HA. ;)
Sunday, September 2, 2007
I’ve done an immense amount of aimless driving since moving to L.A. I. Subconsciously, I think I’ll drive and drive and end up finding what I’m “looking for.”
And also to test my intuition, knock on wood, I’ve managed to never drive forever just to have a car crash. But I’ve also never managed to drive just to find “what I’m looking for” either.
If something tells me to turn left, I turn left, even if I’ve never turned left before and have no idea where left goes. I’ll turn left, and think “Something told me to turn left; this is where the miracle begins” I create movie drama wherever I go.
Nothing remotely resembling a romantic comedy has happened to me today.
Except for I was “pulled” to go to a café I’ve never been to before….this is the time in a romantic comedy where my future husband would be sitting at the table across from me eating a spinach and tomato omelet, and a latte….and we’d both just coincidentally happen to have the same affinity for coloring the white dots on our composition notebooks, or we’d be reading the same book, or both have Barack Obama buttons, or….something. It would spark this hilariously cute and quirky conversation, and obviously: Instant Love.
The rest of my perfectly crafted and effortless awesomeness would continue from then on.
This miracle has yet to happen, but I keep thinking someday…
Today the only guy that’s accompanying me is JaRule, and the rest of his posse, and his other lady Ashanti. Hardly romantic comedy style.
One thing that movies tend to leave out, other than “You’ve got mail” and that was when e-mail was still somewhat of a novelty, other than that, movies tend to omit our reliability on communicating through text messaging.
One reason I’m sure is because the movie would be devastatingly boring if you were just watching a relationship flourish (or fall) through the art of texting. But now this is how we do it. Even when you’re in the beginning of a tryst with someone, we’re such pussy’s, we text. I do anyways.
Dating is awkward as it is and any opportunity to skip over the steps of uncomfortable phone pauses, or nervously talking over each other, because you still have yet to know each other’s speaking rhythm, so you speak before the other one has a moment to respond, or think…Any chance to avoid that I’ll take it. So, we text.
What I’m getting at is it’s really hard to have any sort of romantic comedy moments, when our reality is heavily based around not speaking. And less and less real interaction, half the funny things you would have said in person in the past, is being said over introductory e-mails. Not to mention everything else that’s said over beginning e-mails, you do avoid some of the awkwardness because you know what you’re getting into before you even say yes to a date.
Awkwardness has a charm that’s lost when everything is perfect. Still, I sit here and I refuse to say hello to a complete stranger…actually there’s no one to say anything to, my intuition led me to a un-air conditioned café playing JaRule…and Britney Spears.
The DJ of this place must be reading my energy because I happened to have been listening to Britney Spears last night for a good 2 hours.
A friend and I rolled up and for whatever reason; every time we’re stoned we contemplate the rise and fall of Ms. Spears. It really is an epic fall.
People tend to forget what led to a seemingly unnecessary focus on Britney…. But she was radically famous in her day.
Now she’s famous for radically fucking up, but what led her to being famous for that, was the fact the she was the absolute pop icon of the late 90’s early 00’s and she killed it every time she stepped on that stage.
Perfectly crafted, perfectly raunchy in the sexiest way imaginable, and
Fearless. Obviously she had to be, because when you listen to her early records, girl was belting, and laawd knows she couldn’t sing. Hot damn though, she loved it. And however horrible it really was, we were enamored with her. Seriously, her body in “Slave 4 U”… she had all us, haters and lover alike, in the palm of her hand. She dripped with sex and confidence. Whether it was trickery she used to make us think she was the bomb shit, or what I don’t know. Even if she wasn’t “the shit”, she was.
This is what I think of every time I’m stoned. What happened to poor Brit? I listen from beginning to end and think….What a sad, sad, fall.
We didn’t bust out the Britney tour videos this time, which we’ve done before, and mind you, mimicked evvvery-single-step.
Maybe that’s why I haven’t had my magical movie moment, I listen to Britney Spears. Listened. In movies you’re supposed to listen to Bob Dylan, or Bob Marley, or anyone named Bob when you’re stoned. Not Britney. I listen to the Bob’s when I’m not high, which I think puts me in a category to have at least ONE movie moment….no?
This is my first post, I just typed a long flowing letter of welcome to myself into the BLOG WORLD. and of course...I lost connection, and lost what I typed.
Why is this this not surprising? This seems to happen to people, when they have something they really want to say....maybe it was so my first blog would be less pretentious...like I was trying to impress my new blog readers.
It made me say "fuck it." Which I say a lot. But basically what i'm trying to say is i'm quite excited to start this blog business...
I write everyday and tend to keep most of it to myself, I dont really know why...maybe because I think no one will read it, or because it's a bit too honest?
Either way. No censorship here. I shall be talking... Chelsea Talks Smack. Mostly about myself :)
Feels good to be here...let it begin :)