Pardon my immaturity.

Pain has the unbelievable ability to make grown adults regress to the behavior of a 5 year old.

Whether its a reaction to a stubbed toe, or the instinctive response to want to instantly vomit when you see your ex with another woman.

Imagine what it would be like if we reacted, emotionally, in the same way we did as children. Crying when we mean it, SOBBING when we mean it, throwing a tantrum in public over a bad haircut, belly laughing without reservations, FEELING without reservations?
Well, LOVE- tends to bring those feelings that have been repressed and controlled, back to the surface.

So, when someone you loved- in all of your sloppy, shameless glory, plasters Myspace photos of his new girlfriend (whom he broke up with to be with you AGAIN, since you had dated for years, to then beg you to move in with him, to then dump you by never returning your phone call- in order to return to a woman he "didn't care about, at all" he still "thought about you.")
it makes me feel like doing a few things:
Throw shit.
Scream at shit.
Write hate mail about shit.
Set shit to flames.
Join a convent and love the big invisible Man, to avoid physical men's douche-ness.
And no, I am not above taking low blows. She's uninteresting and has a stupid name. Though, this isn't about her.

And HE- is a bad person.
I am so amazed at how someone can act as though they loved you, so convincingly, using carefully picked words to adorn you, creating a look in their eyes that is so disarming, and then in a moment, an action, or a lack thereof, all of the time and feelings, are thrown in the dirt and spit on. It's almost sociopathic.

I am a true believer relationships should never end negatively- unless he cheated on you or vice versa, you deserve a smack down WWE style if this is the case.

When someone decides to handle your heart and history so carelessly, it makes you wonder why you wasted so much time. It makes you wary of peoples understanding of words and their value. It twists your trust, and leaves a deep mark of cynicism with an undertone of doubt.

I'm in the angry phase. Angry that I'm even angry. Angry that I want to say, "Fuck you" to his face, instead of taking the high road, the less wounded road that moves on and moves forward. Because even though he's on another road, he's still smack dab in the center of mine, and he's a fucking heavy roadblock.

The only thing that would make the detour easy and unburdensome, would be if I had someone to come along with me; someone that would walk next to me, not behind me and someone who wouldn't mind, if sometimes, I was a litte bit ahead. He would jog to catch up so my journey wouldn't be lonely- he wouldn't tell me to slow down, or ask to rest his feet. My finish line would be as important to him as his is to me. We would be equal in all of our differences and aspiration. We wouldn't be threatened or disapproving, we wouldn't hesitate or take away from each other to feed our own selfish desires.

When that person can walk along with me, I'll be able to go onward, with a bit more ease.

Then, when we got where we were going, he would high five me and say, "Fuck yea baby, let's do it again."

I have a confession.....

All I want today is a doughnut. A big, sticky, sugary, flaky- doughnut.

And I'm fucking incensed over it.

All I want to do today is be elbow deep in butter cream frosting and rub it all over my face like war paint, while making Indian battle cries over my victory of gluttony.

And I'm so irate over it, that I cursed my salad for tasting like a fucking salad, instead of a cupcake.

No, I'm not about to start my period. I'm just being reminded that my eating has to be so conscious in order to not fall back into a period of my life that was so unhealthy and dark. A period where I let my mind, stress, and brutal standards for myself- take over.

I used to have an eating disorder.

I never would acknowledge that that's what it was, that was too difficult to even think in my head. I never CALLED it that instead I used words like- hardcore dieting, choosing healthy options, and on the bad days I was having a "Free day"- though most people's free days didn't include 4 stops to 4 different fast food chains, followed by 2 boxes of cereal, followed by candy bars, followed by liquor, followed by pastries, followed by immobility. And often followed by vomiting.

I went through a period of living solely off of Atkins Bars and Starbucks "replacement meals", and took up "forgetting to eat", then would indulge my ex when he brought me Starbursts and I devoured the whole thing since all I'd eaten all day was a diet coke and a scoop of peanut butter. I only let him take me to dinner twice in the two years we were together. Twice.

I was in the midst of a culture that would prefer my body to look like a prepubescent 12 year old girl, rather than that of a woman's body- unless the curves were properly placed, i.e. Boobs, ASS, and tiny waist. This body is as rare as finding a wolf sauntering down the highway, though I figured if I couldn't have THAT, I would look thin.

My thin size 3/4 was the biggest size at every audition. Every, audition. Or else I'd be cast as a character, or "friend of" the leading lady.

The double zeros warped my mind so much that this desire to be thin that started off as vanity, ended up a mind battle that had nothing to do with ME but with my thinking. The constant calorie checking on my cell phone calculator, people calling you "crazy" and not understanding whatsoever the inner battle, the intense two a days at the gym, the popcorn and hot coffee as a meal started to burn my stomach, the thinking obsessively about what I COULD eat next....and then a day, or a week, or two would hit- and I'd feel so deprived I'd turn into a ravenous animal with absolutely no control of my desire to eat everything I saw. It was an out of body experience, a loss of control to intense I couldn't even IMAGINE behaving in this way now. I was feeling lack, self destruction, the need for perfection, and the need for control.


I have been healthy and completely safe from my previous behavior for a little over a year.

I have been kind to myself, patient and accepting of my body. Of food. I've allowed myself ice cream even if it meant I ate it 4 times a week. I've started cooking and baking and learning to appreciate the art of food.

And finally; I've accepted the curves of my stomach, the roundness of my face, the strength and contour of my legs, the length and grace in my arms and that little extra I carry in my ass.

But there are days, when I'm still reminded of the mindfulness that I have had to acquire to maintain balance and a healthy lifestyle.

I almost always want a bagel and cream cheese for breakfast, I almost always want to say yes to dessert, I almost always want to live off of thick macaroni and cheese and garlic bread and there are days when I almost look in the mirror and get angry for being less than an unrealistic standard of beauty. I realize, on those days, I have to change the standard and BE beauty, see it in myself- be my own Dove campain.


On those days, I have to remind myself of how far I've come and strong I've become. How I've come through a situation and a lifestyle that didn't even seem abnormal to me in Hollywood. I have to remind myself that food is to be celebrated and enjoyed, that macaroni and cheese can be amazing if it isn't "the enemy" and that red velvet cake shouldn't be forbidden breakfast, but an indulgence that is a pleasure.

I have to remind myself that a lot of people don't understand, but a lot of people do....and I have overcome this gracefully and will continue to accept and live in the body and mind I've been given.


And if you've been there- you can too.

The Big Apple Series

1. New York City makes me come face-to-face with my extreme debilitating case of "indecision" if I do NOT- DECIDE, I end up walking 90 blocks contemplating: Chai tea? or a smoothie?? I've done this before. Needless to say, my feet and hips cursed me the next day.

2. My favorite thing to do is stand on the edge of the curb in front of a tall building and REACH AS HIGH AS I POSSIBLY CAN. It reminds me how small I am against the structure of the city, but also reminds me of how powerful I feel.

3. I'm a "cafe crawler" and NYC is the BEST place for crawling.

4. I would love to do this- and become a hot dog eating CHAMP.

5. I have to harness my nerves before entering a subway, using mind tricks and silence. Subways scare the ever loving shit out of me. I realize this may be an issue- hence walking 90 BLOCKS.

6. The section of the city that's named after me- happens to be one of my favorites.

7. Cheap fruit on every street corner, to me, is the equivalent of free porn for eternity to sex addicts.

8. I never feel guilty eating pizza at 3am in NYC.

9. Central Park is the "Secret Garden" I always wished I had as a kid.

10. THE HISTORY- makes me salivate.

11. Walking down the street in heels imagining Carrie Bradshaw makes my Steve Madden heels feel like Manolo's.

12. Pedicures are far more deserving when you live in NYC. Feet don't get nearly enough lovin'.

13. Terra Blues & The Bitter End are a musicians dream.

14. I'd like to go to Trapeze school on a date. I find it BEST to break the ice by looking like an idiot from the beginning. THEN, depending on how he/she deals with "embarrassment", "discomfort", and possible life threatening situation- you can determine if there should be a date #2.

15. Rockefeller Center inspires me to kick my face like a Rockette.

16. The opportunity to literally "bump" into someone that you may fall in love with happens every time you walk down the street. Feel free to comment on this cheese ball sentiment, I won't be mad.

17. I love walking fast, no I NEED to walk fast and so do New Yorkers.

18. I could order take-out every. night. Any chance I can take to stay in my jamis while eating
naan or falafel instead of pizza, I cherish.

19. THE FOOD. OH MY HOLY ORGASMIC HELL, THE FOOD.

20.McSorleys- gotta love a pub where you could be drinking next to the ghost of Abe Lincoln and where your drink options are, "Light 'er dark?"

21. I happen to be a fan of "the parade" and NYC have made parades an art form.

22. I am not, however a huge fan of "The Donald" more a fan of "The Rosie"

23. The likeliness of me getting a DUI is decreased drastically. Hallelujah. And don't take this as an endorsement for drunk driving, calm down.

24. I could be a professional dog walker. A pro- with a nice ass and a strong grip. It's always an option.

25. I don't feel snobby saying, "Bloomies" and the idea of pearls are more reasonable in NYC, not as wasp-y. Though, I still never plan on wearing them.

26. Broadway is a reminder that there IS still true talent, despite the over saturated market of bad talent that has taken of the airwaves. Broadway performers are the best, of the best.

27. The word "socialite" doesn't carry the same negative connotation as it does in L.A. but rather, an old money- "My ancestors founded Harvard and I'm busy saving Nepal and funding the research to cure Alzheimer's" connotation.

28. Hummus Place, an entire restaurant dedicated to a tiny chickpea. This is brilliance at it's finest.

29. Manhattan reminds you of the meaning of community. A word that is slowly disappearing.

30. If I were to burst into a rendition of "Don't rain on my parade"- Barbara Streisand style, in the middle of a sidewalk- no one would mind. I may try this and let you know. I have now mentioned parades twice (#21) what's that all about?

31. Subway entertainers? Who doesn't love a free show that involves acrobatics.

32. Galleries, comedy clubs, cabaret's (Insert Liza impression here), plays, live music, - If I ever, ever, mention boredom on here ever again- remind me to reference the plethora of events I could be attending.

33. My dating pool is totally gonna grow. After I drop the word totally and lose my bronzer. Bronzer is a west coast accessory.

Anything you'd like to add about my new home?

"For women with something to get off their chests"

Send out the dancing girls! Confetti, costumed ponies, fireworks, and champagne....GO!!! That's my idea of a celebration....celebration?? Indeed. I am peaceing out. to NYC!!!! I got the internship!!!! All of your good vibes wrapped me in a nice vibe-y bubble of positive energy, I was like a fucking sun beam of goodness.

I have a week to secure; housing, a job, some money, AND my sanity. If I can successfully pull that off I give you FULL permission to call me Fucking Superwoman. Yes, Fucking is a necessary emphasis. Let's just say I'm going to be meditating and visualizing a lot this week- I'm gonna give The Secret a run for their money. The whole UNIVERSE will need to conspire to help my train wreck energy turn into smooth-calm-collected. I am the embodiment of a human tornado. You should see my hair today.

The magazine? BUST. A magazine that represents fierceness, intelligence, wit, and style. There will never be an article that undermines women's intellectual capacity. They'll never instruct you on how to dress like some scummy man's favorite high school fantasy and cover your tits in chocolate frosting while wearing clear 8inch heels- unless that's your sort of thing, we've all got our something.



It is progressive, liberal, kitschy, creative and honest. No censorship. And, listen to some of the dames that have graced the cover; Susan Surandon (in all of her political glory), Amy Poehler, Tina Fey, Gwen Stefani, Chloe Sevigny, Peaches, Sandra Oh, Rosario Dawson, Charlotte Gainsbourg, The Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Juliette Lewis- cause she's a rock god stud, Beth Ditto of The Gossip, Rose Mcgowan, Amy Sedaris- she's my hero, among others.... I'm thinking I'd like to see Kate Nash? Sarah Silverman? Sienna Miller- because her performance in Factory Girl didn't get nearly enough play considering it's brilliance.

Who's your "bad-ass woman hero" that should be a "cover girl"??

ALSO- all you NYC bloggers that I love and adore (and everyone else I am sorry I have been a horrible blog friend, I promise to get it together and not neglect you- very soon.)
if you have any suggestions on work, housing, etc...let me know ;) IF NOT, I'd love to hear from you anyway- I'd like to secure an active social life, if at all possible.
And I'm single, SO. Feel free to hook me up-I'm not opposed to blind dates if cocktails are in involved.

life is fun.

I'm writing via Sidekick today, from the airport....I am boarding a red eye flight to NYC for an interview for an internship at an awwwwwwesome magazine.

Amazing.

Super last minute. I got an email earlier in the week regarding the interview and then luckily....got a flight. I'll be gone for a couple days....

Wish me luck, a possible move to NYC??? :)
"Life is fine, fine as wine!"

Open letters are a fantastic idea.

Dear various forms of media:

You should be disappointed in yourselves. I address this to various forms, simply because you are all wildly disheartening and helping one another invent entirely new lows. You should be ashamed and I hope, as you deposit that pay check and sip Cristal that it feels better than the harm you cause.
You are enabling and encouraging inhumanity, lack of morality, and ruthless behavior on so many levels.

Needless to say (and I will plead guilty), though you have been: bookmarked, recorded, perused while waiting impatiently in airport terminals and dentist offices, you have been at the click of a button and have assisted in numerous conversations dripping with your malice filled gossipy words, like candy to a five year old- that leaves you sick to your stomach after digestion; I. am. done. with. you.

Your mother should be heartbroken. Your mother, who wanted you to inspire, wanted you to intrigue, to charm and captivate your audience and serve as a platform for greatness to be shown; you have taken her hope and made it cheap. Easy. Dishonest. and nauseating.

Paparazzi- I hope you are proud that you have jeopardized your moral fiber for the sake of empty recognition. We don't know you. We don't care to. You have created a successful career as professional stalkers- laws should be made against you, so you can reconsider your "art" and turn it into something good. You can buy cameras with a better zoom....please give the celebrities space to blink. Plus, I wouldn't dare call yourselves photographers- Ansel Adams is offended in his grave.

Associated Press- An obituary for Britney Spears? Though we have turned her into a social experiment, and made her a brand, like Pepsi- she still has a beating heart. We have become unattached and watch her drown in a fishbowl we refuse to let her escape, because we've all become too bored with our own lives to watch such a "fascinating" character disappear from our daily dose. Meanwhile we continue tapping on the glass to see if she'll be responsive. She needs help. We can judge her and call her crazy flippantly, but writing an obituary for someone who is breathing is as tactless as running photos of a dead body in a morgue.

News broadcasts, gossip magazines, The View (who didn't mention a single positive thing about Heath Ledger this morning, but debated the "brooding" actor stereotype, to turn his life into a "story"), TMZ, talks shows, MTV, VH1, E!, every. single. network. and media outlet....you have an incredible power- Persuasive, effective and VAST power. You have lost sight of the ability to use it in a way that is effective on a positive level.

We already have enough struggle in our own lives and in the world. You have created false realities, unreasonable standards, cruel behavior, perpetuated negative body image, planted seeds of fear and hatred, and made us believe it is "ok" to objectify and expose human beings without even a thought of the harm you are implementing.

I am saddened by you. You have let us down. And I do hope, that sometime soon you can regain your dignity.

Truly,
Chelsea

Rest In Peace Heath...

"This is it."

"This cannot be it, this is a set up. I mean, I know it's downtown L.A. but seriously, this warehouse??? Look at those creepy dudes over there, I'm not getting out, they'll kidnap me."

Crates of oranges had spilled out of what looked like a run down truck and covered the street with a slick of orange light in the sun, and shady characters stared at my friend and I letting us know we were completely out of place.

"Shut up and get out of the car, this is it."

Earlier that afternoon my friend and I sat on the floor of our apartment watching talk shows and shoving spoonfuls of Lucky Charms into our mouths when my phone rang, it was my agent;

"Hey....Ok, I know it's last minute but- I have something for you ....You guys are broke, well, you won't really make that much money, but it's a free meal and maaaybe....$25 bucks?"
He knew he'd get me at "free meal" but I needed some more details.
"What is it?"

"A music video for Ben Harper.....and Heath Ledger is directing it. It's super low budget, and last minute, but they need a couple dancers. Heath is really trying to get into directing and this is his first video....he's doing it as a favor for Ben. That's why there isn't a lot of money involved."

"HEATH FUCKING LEDGER?! WHAT?! SHUT YOUR MOUTH! YES I'LL DO IT. WE'LL DO IT."

Now, here I am, downtown l.a. about to get mugged. I hesitantly knock on the outside of a dirty garage door..... There weren't any REAL doors to be found.
I hear people and the garage starts to lift.....

"Hi! I'm Heath! You must be the dancers!" As if I had no idea who even was, even though I'd been obsessing over him since 10 Things I Hate About You.

He stretched out his hand with a firm handshake and smiled.
"Um, you can just go sit on that couch over there, maybe show me what clothes you brought and we'll get started in a minute...Thank you guys SO much for coming, really."

Typical Hollywood protocol involves a crew, wardrobe, catering, production assistant, gaffers, cameramen, assistants to the assistants, etc. I surveyed the room...and it seemed everyone else had, taken the day off?? Half the time you didn't SEE the director let alone speak to him.
6 dancers, 2 cameramen, 1 assistant, Heath, and Ben.

Here he comes....I love him, I love him, I love him. -ok, be professional.

"K uh. So, this is my first time directing. I came up with the concept- I just really loved the song and Ben is a friend so I wanted to do it. I want it to be really organic. Wear lose fitting clothes, maybe earth tones......and you're just going to improv." He was so passionate, so excited and....
Improv?! Holy hell. I'm going to make a jackass out of myself in front of a creative genius.

"I used to modern dance, in Australia and I want it to be....well, like this sort of."
This Academy Award nominated actor starts dancing, swinging his arms, exploring levels, high and low, closing his eyes....
"See? Do you guys have any questions?.....Ok, so how about we start with you??"

He's pointing at me, dear Lord, he's pointing at me- acknowledging my existence.
"SURE!!" I just screamed, tone it down Chels, tone it down.

I jump on the stage, the smoke machine starts blowing, my palms are sweating and Heath jumps up next to me, he crosses his legs and grabs onto both ankles like a little boy....
"So.....do you have any suggestions for me??"

Did he really just ask if I had suggestions for him?! Me? some chick dancing for a mere 25 dollars, some stranger, and he wants my advice? This was the humblest thing I'd ever seen in Hollywood.
"Uhm....no?"

"Ok...." He's staring at my face....studying it. "Can you take your hair down? There and flip your head over, tousle it a bit...."
I shake my hair out and he reaches towards me, putting both hands in my hair, scratching my scalp and giving it that messy look.
"Beautiful."
The music starts....my hearts beating and I start to move. 2 minutes pass like nothing, I was "in it", I was going to perform and get lost in the music just as he had in all of his performances.... the song ends and silence fills the room.

I peer up and Heath is standing at the end of the stage....he grabs my hand with both of his, looks my straight in the eye and says, "That was brilliant. Really inspiring....I got chills. Thank you."

I am in love.
He continues with the next dancers, demonstrating movement occasionally- eventually splitting his pants, but he continued anyway. He experimented with lights and smoke, showing his excitement when something worked perfectly. Then we broke for lunch....
I station myself on the dusty warehouse floor and he sits on the ground next to myself and the other dancers, immediately striking up conversation as if we were longtime friends.

"I LOVE GRANOLA." I blurt out as I devour handfuls at a time.
"That should be a a shirt...you know, like one of those quirky shirts with sayings, that's funny."
His voice was charming, a slight Australian accent making words like quirky sound; quirky.

The 7 hours passed quickly and he graciously thanked each and everyone one of us, making eye contact and profusely thanking us for the inspiration. He pulled his wallet out and handed us each a hundred bucks.
"I know it's not much...."

I didn't care. The experience was priceless.

Heath (and Ben) was one of the humblest people I have ever met. Unaffected. Warm. Genuine. He listened when people spoke, watched intently, and had the most positive, serene energy. I am blessed to have worked with him in his short life, and it is a tragedy he didn't get to continue on making incredible films and inspiring us all.

The result of his first and last music video was beautiful, organic and modest. I am honored to have been a part of it....in loving memory;

Shut up, I'm in Colorado....

"1,200 pounds of buckin' horse, jerkin' yer chain for a whole 8 seconds!! YEEEHAAAAW...
That's all kiiinds uh hard ridin'!!" This is a quote too good for me to invent, those words came out of a real mans mouth without even the slightest idea that it reeked of sexual innuendo.

Sounds like I found myself in the midst of a crazy porno. Wrong, my friends, though I'm all about an adventure- I found myself at the rodeo- The National Western Stockshow, folks. Well, I didn't "find" myself, I found a new part of myself that finds cowboys devilishly sexual. I also decided snow cones are a stupid, stupid, invention and I cannot make myself enjoy one- not at the circus, not at a carnival and not at a rodeo and apparently this is unacceptable- everyone does not like snowcones. gross.

It was a perfectly planned excursion; I even wore the boots. The only thing missing was a Bedazzled pair of cameltoe- inducing Wranglers and maybe a button down with the words, "Loud and Proud!" stitched on the back (I could've asked the lady in front of me if I could just borrow hers, to lasso in a nice stead.)
Though, I'm all about doing anything with a theme- I couldn't bear that sort of discomfort of a cameltoe, not even for the attention of a cowboy.

However, I did fake an accent all night. Pretty believeable until I screamed, "YO!" to the kettle corn vendor. Yo, is totally not a cowboy saying. Wrong venue. Wrong salutation. Wrong.

My favorite part- Muttin' bustin'. :: what in the hell is muttin' bustin?::
Let me paint you a picture:

Parents volunteer their children, between the ages of 5-7 to compete in riding on top of a sheep running at the fastest possible sheep speed, until the baby falls off.
It doesn't get much better than watching a 5 year old, named TUCK, hold on for dear life until ultimately he falls head first into a pile of cow manure while onlookers cheer/laugh at such a brave victory. If you don't find that cute, then I don't know what is.

Next in line- the rodeo participants. I discovered a strange and unusual new attraction-similar to my newfound attraction that said, "You think Anderson Cooper is a sexy stud." while watching CNN; Cowboys.

There's something old-fashioned and romantic about having a fella' tip his hat to you and call you miss. And yeah, CHAPS-I can dig it. Cowboys, seem chivalrous and respectable. They hold their ladies hands delicately, which says a lot considering these men tackle steer. A nice country boy could water down my crazy and keep it at a simmer.

With the Dodge sponsor signs hanging from every corner with the saying "Grab life by the horns" it seemed to me they meant to say something else....if you catch my drift....
"Why sir, don't mind if I do."

The event itself was entertaining-obviously, but not nearly as entertaining as the creative folks that set up booths to sell these:


Now that's what I call gettin' lit (I had to.) Something tells me this wasn't meant to be kitschy?

Ya, so, I'm gonna get a little preachy.

With the overwhelming response I got on the last post regarding rejection, it led me to think of this- So many people kept saying, "I don't have the guts" or, "I wish I would have done that" or "It's always been a dream, and not many people are willing to put themselves out there to do something like that"....as if not doing "it" wasn't a choice that they made.

We are given the ability to choose whether or not we acknowledge what we love- but in acknowledging it you open the door to uncomfortable emotions; fear, rejection, nonconformity, confusion, self reflection, disappointment- and often from people you love, who don't understand and among others things, it is a daily exercise of faith- personally and spiritually.

The only thing I ever KNEW was to follow my heart, whether it were practical or not- the mantra to "do what I loved" stuck in my head like a Hallmark card or a cliche written on wind chimes. It never occurred to me to think- "Well, I love music and writing, so, I think I'll try to be an attorney."
It was never even a thought process, simply because it seemed illogical. Illogical to consider being something that I wasn't and ignoring the things that I was in order to not shake the social standard.

We're put on this earth with a blueprint of our personalities, our likes and dislikes. Into adulthood, we develop or recognize passions etc...and then somewhere down the line when you're supposed to choose your career, you're supposed to then call your passion a "hobby"
Completely throwing out your sense of knowing what it is that would be fulfilling to you.

Not having familiar structure stirs fear within people. Everything that doesn't have a point A, B, and C, or 1+1=2 is too risky and then is filed under "dream" in a place in your life that gets very little attention, unless it's a Sunday afternoon or a boozy evening reminiscing about your past regrets. We call things "dreams" in order to make "reality" less disappointing. At some point we surrender to a man made reality that we feel we have no control of, "It's just the way it is." When, in fact, we are the ones who created the rules.

If we didn't have dreamers- we wouldn't have artists.
We wouldn't have musicians.
We wouldn't have actors.
We wouldn't have inventors. We'd all be sitting in the effin' dark.
We wouldn't have writers.
We wouldn't have composers.
We wouldn't have hope.

And what it really boils down to is this- FEAR. If we weren't afraid of upsetting people, weren't afraid of letting ourselves down, weren't afraid of failure, weren't afraid of the unknown, all the people that say "I wish I would've...." probably, would have. Failure, is something we decide, failure, in my mind- is an illusion.

So my question is this-
WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF YOU KNEW YOU WOULDN'T "FAIL"?

My REJECTION book.

"The best thing to do is acknowledge your battle scars, wear them proudly, as a sort of armor- this is a deep wound, BUT, it's going to heal and I will remember this wound, when I go back into the fray, it will serve me well."

I've started scrapbooking.

Nope- I'm lying. I have made, A scrapbook. And by no means is it the conventional scrapbook with construction paper, and pictures of me on the beach surrounded by palmtree stickers and sparkly embossed margarita pitchers.

This scrapbook is approproately titled- REJECTION.

I know that sounds like a cute lie, or something a wildly neurotic Parker Posey character would do, but I'm dead serious.

One evening, when I was feeling particularly frenzied, the idea hit me- almost as hard as every single - "NO" I've received within the last eight years.

I was remebering all of the things I've prepared for, all of the auditions, interviews, letters sent, waiting rooms that have felt the palpitation of my heart... I could feel the nerves I felt, and the fabric of the outfit I picked so maticulously, because it had to be "perfect." I had to be prepared.

The dollar amounts of lessons, glossy photographs, and "the right shoes" started rolling in my head hitting a disgusting high of triple digits.

"So what have you been doiiiing, "out there?".... I get this ALL THE TIME. From everyone that I see, when I return from whatever city I've attempted dominating.

So, instead of explaining to people why I'm still in the process....I decided to make my process tangible. Tangible for people to flip through, for their oo's and ah's, for proof, but MOSTLY, for me. I may not be where I want to be, BUT I am DAMN proud of what I've done in order to help me "get there" and where's the fun if you cannot enjoy the progression of your own evolution?

Truthfully- I'm proud, because with EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. OF MY REJECTIONS- I've been "this close"

My scrapbook looks like this;

I have been rejected by 14 different Broadway plays- some, I've auditioned for more than once.

Rent said, "Wait, Mimi isn't white." after they called me to audition for Mimi- and I am white.

I have been rejected by 6 different back-up singing jobs- Ashlee Simpson's people said, "You sing it better than she does." but opted to choose a blonde girl. At the time we, "looked too much alike." Macy Gray- didn't want a white girl and my audition for Will.I.Am from Blackeyed Peas- is an entirely seperate blog that makes me cringe just thinking about it. Lets just say, I tripped. Hard. Like, on my face.

I have been rejected by 15+ reality shows/tv shows-

*I've had four seperate VJ auditions

* four phases of Real World auditions (after the VJ thing, they recognized I'm enough of a "crazy" to be on The Real World)

*2 auditions for Making The Band- both of which I was called to attend from references. -both of which I'm GLAD I didn't make.

*2 auditions for American Idol- and just so you KNOW, there are 3 auditions BEFORE you see the judges- both times, Simon said, "You are good. very good. Just....what's unique about you...."

That's not damaging to the spirit. They told me to, "Work on my story."

* Remember the "Pussycat Doll" show- well, yeah, I auditioned for that- cause who doesn't want to be in that "Buttons" video, all trampy and dancing in flames.

I knew the director and a doll, she knew I was coming, so I said,"Hey, fuck it." I got so far in the audition process, they made me quit my job, pack enough clothing for 3 months, then after no sleep, no food and being treated like a prisoner, I was cut at 3am and asked to find a ride from a vacant parking lot near the airport.

3 months later, the executives called and begged me to do "Season 2"....I thankfully declined.

There never was a "season 2."

*Remember the show "The One" on ABC.....no? Oh yeah, cause it was cancelled after a week. There were 10 people chosen, I was number 12.

I'll leave it to your imagination to fill in the rest of the rejections.

I have rejection letters from over 200+ agencies, jobs, and so on.

Lets just say, the book is a thick one.

My best friend told me to burn it and start fresh.

I could never.

This book is me, these things have made me so much stronger- so much more secure and proud of my talent and who I am. I want to strap the book to my back, I want to stand on it and use it as my platform of strength, I want to frame it in a shadow box, I want to write a letter of gratitude to everyone who's denied me. I am not embarrassed, I am honored. Proud that I have not given up, nor do I intend to. Proud that I've kept trying, proud for coming close, proud for being WILLING to share and use the gifts that I've been put on this planet to utilize.

I do not believe in rejection, only growth.

"You do your best work after your biggest disasters" Jerome Robbins.

And, I, believe that is true.

I can't be a badass all the time.

Hey, yoooo , holy, balmy, oozing, masochistic, and entirely unproductive emotions.

I swear, I must like to do this to myself- "this" meaning: watch movies that remind me how utterly alone I am and then play songs on repeat that remind me how utterly alone I am.

The word- utterly, is a pretty pathetic word in itself. When I describe myself as UTTERLY anything, I paint a nice misty grey picture of me bawling so hard I cannot distinguish between my snot and my tears. Which is, utterly, disgusting. Just say it- UGGHHHHHtterly, it echoes the sound of- WAAAA, ya know, like a fucking baby.

I watched Once tonight. Beautiful movie, amazing soundtrack. Then, since I was in "that space", I decided to whip out my Ipod, and really go there.

There; the place where utterly lives. The place where you store all of your sweet memories of, "what was". The place where you visualize sweet nothings that people have said. The place where you try to convince yourself that those "nothings" were "somethings."

The place that so VIVIDLY remembers exactly what if felt like to intertwine your fingers with someones, to have hair wiped from your eyes, so they can see you better, to not having to explain yourself- cause they already understood, to have someone touch your waist, to remember the feeling of socked feet pretezling into one another under the weight of blankets and body heat.

There is a place we keep. We hold. We wrap safely in memories cushioned with fondness, and wrap it tightly enough as to forget the places where it went wrong. There doesn't hold anything but good. Good that was, and that isn't. There; remembers what they last ordered at Starbucks, and the way they walked. There, genuine child-like excitement happened every time you answered the phone and every time he said I miss you. There was full of butterflies. There, was happy.

And who better to take you There and remind you how much you miss feeling that way and remind you, how you are, utterly, singular than;

Whitney Houston- That's right ladies and gents. WHIT. My girl. The one true, pure voice of our age. I say that with complete sincerity. Come on, before she pulled the whole "crack is wack" stunt....she sang "I HAVE NOTHING." If you're having a memory lapse, I suggest renting The Bodyguard and brushing up on your history, and stop embarrassing me with your lack of musical aptitude .

"I have nothing" is BY FAR. One of the greatest songs ever written. I can only imagine when the recording was finished that everyone involved said, "WORD, we can retire now." Clearly, Whitney did.

It is emotional, flawless, immaculate-how about when she says, "Don't you DAAAARE walk away from Me- E-EEE" You know brother man turned right back around. ."....I if don't have yooooouuuu....you OO OO." Boo, Devil! She had me at hello. Or something.

On with the torture.

How about this sparkling gem of a downer-

Mariah Carey -"If it's over" My personal favorite and somewhat lesser known. Since, Mariah was always crying about something, it got lost among the collection of heart snatching hits. And to follow up, try-"Can't Let Go" Just in case you haven't considered running in front of a bus or becoming a nun by now.

Yes, I understand- I had a late 80's throwback night of wailing songstresses. I'm not crying in a cup of black coffee over Deathcab for Cutie or Bright Eyes, the more acceptable emo/indie thing to do. I'm not nearly as cool as I fooled you into thinking I am and my pajamas have cats wearing pearls on them. What now?

And last, but certainly not least- seeing as she is the only one who continues to have a sane career:

Melissa Etheridge-"The Letting Go" Apparently women are capable of afflicting anguish upon the heart as well. Not that I would know...

So, in order to get out of There, and get back to here; wherever the fuck that is. I decided to download The Scissor Sisters "I don't feel like dancin'" and "shake it off". But, just in case I feel like spiraling down the well of eternal bitter "Old Maid" and Valentine's Day boycotting organizer-

Did I miss any tunes that take you There?

Call me controversial...

Did someone say, "Stir the pot?"

Oh, me? Sure thing, I'd fucking love to. Hand me the spoon.

I got a little bit of flak for my last post in regards to religious stereotypes. Excuse me while I address that;
I don't ever write something with the intention of being offensive and hurtful. I'm not a mean person, I don't bash the less fortunate, or call people ugly cause it makes me feel better, I don't lie, or cheat. I don't wish ill upon enemies, if I even have any and I don't get off on being malicious.
I write based on MY opinion, after all, this; Is MY blog. And yes, Denmark sounds lovely- but the sound of my speech flowing freely sounds astronomical.
And if you don't like it, don't read it.

If we were always worried about offending someone, bloggers wouldn't exist. I can think of a significant amount of people who would prefer to not hear about our; "sexcapades", drunken blabber, Boss bashing, ranting, rag ranting, kid gushing, puppy gushing, boyfriend gushing, and so. on.
HOWEVER, we continue to write about it because there are ENOUGH people that actually do care to know when your Maltese gets his first photo taken, or which presidential candidate you feel best fits the job. You know what, there's also a reason more than one ice cream flavor exists....

Cause fuck, not everyone enjoys vanilla.

Lets see....what else wouldn't exist if we weren't willing to speak up and be a bit scandalicious;
Music is a good place to start. Remember this guy? The one who so devilishly thrust his pelvis is our mothers/grandmothers faces?


Wouldn't erase his history if given the chance.

How about this woman...You know, threatening to "Take over the world" after her first television performance. She's made videos that have been banned and grinded in leotards all over the world. Now, if you're going to tell me you'd prefer, "Like a Virgin" or "Open your heart" didn't exist. I'll call you a liar.


Oh, and "the south" and is pretty pissed at these "chicks"


The Beatles- People were up in arms, burning and BOYCOTTING when they compared themselves to be "More popular than God" Something tells me rosary gripping folks were a little bit more than "angry" at that statement. Even if it were true among their listeners.

Now TV-
Think this show went over BIG in Utah? Probably not.

How about this guy-

And these guys.

Wait, you know what. Lets just forget pop culture; pop culture wouldn't be a culture if we were worried about being offensive. You think TMZ would be so popular? I think not. AND I know so many righteous people lick up every bit of dirt that they so proudly post on their website and now TV SHOW.

Who else:
Pretty bold move.....don't rock that boat too much...

....Manet, wasn't too concerned about shaky boats, for sake of good art.


And while some may be riding atop their high horses- who doesn't love The Girls Next Door? I won't even ask what MAN doesn't enjoy Playboy.

Now tell Hugh in 1953 to "refrain" from putting a voluptuous Marilyn Monroe on his first cover of Playboy ( a cover that is now an enterprise) in order to not "upset the people" and tell me what he would say?

WAL*MART is depressing.

Let's talk about Wal-Mart, shall we? "Wal-Mart people watching" is almost as good as "airport people watching", and "stock show people watching". Who doesn't love to watch a lady with a banana clip in her hair and rhinestoned cowboy boots, made of denim, chow down on a turkey leg?

Today while I waited 45 God forsaken minutes in the pharmacy (I finally caved and went to the doc, to help me get rid of my FLAMING SWOLLEN throat), I made two observations: Everyone in my Wal-Mart is either 70 years old, or has 70 children.

There are numerous reasons why I don't support the company and have only shopped there ONCE, but today- I desperately needed my prescription filled and it was the most convenient. Convenience is always the thing that pulls you in, huh? Especially since Wal-Mart takes up almost as much land as my entire town.

Wal-Mart is beneficial for only a few people I can think of; Catholics, Mormons, and Old people, its cheap so you can buy all the necessities for your compound and for the elderly, it's a one stop shop; so they don't keel over and die. Oh, and let's not forget the sq ft. you walk in an average "Wal-Mart expedition" could probably burn a significant amount of calories for those looking to burn off the hoagies. That you can buy conveniently for $1.29 on aisle 7.

The kids pile into the cart and munch on yogo's and string cheese while their mothers throw eight boxes of "100 calorie Ritz snacks" on top of their Twister formation; since one box wouldn't suffice when you're The Old Lady Who Lived in the Shoe.

If you think about it, it truly is God's gift. God's gift to people with an unnatural birth rate. Those people tend to be people who condemn birth control. And would rather use their bodies as a baby factory, popping them out as fast as Wal-Mart's turn over; in and out, in and out, keep 'em coming, there's eggs to spare.

Now, the pharmacy area.....oh, that's like Candyland to seniors. Discount supplies of Tucks, Preparation H (almost a full shelf of varieties), and a whole bevy of flavored fiber supplements. Berry Blue or Citrus Sun?
This just reminded me of how I desperately would like to avoid old age. I never want to have to stand in front of a shelf; eyesight failing, grumbling under my breathe about random things like eggs and soap operas, and needing assistance finding the proper stool softener.

Thank you God for my current youth. I promise to cherish it and I apologize for being a douche.

25 minutes into my wait, I noticed an old man....leering at me from behind a massive supply of Imodium. I thought maybe he was trying to remember what he was standing there for....or where he was. He starts eyeing me, up and down....noticing my hoodie and tattered Uggs.
I couldn't help myself but I wanted to blurt out, "I'm so sorry women are such slobs nowadays and don't look like Bette Davis!!! I promise, I look nice in a dress if I reaaaallly try."

"Those boots must be really warm."
He likes my boots! He's staring cause he likes my boots!! Or wait....is that a line? I forget- Old men used to be young men, and though the parts are rusty....they're still intact.

"Chelsea Talks Smack, your prescription is ready!"
Thank you father, who created the great Wal-Mart for the "saved by the pharmacist" and for reminding me why 20something doesn't suck that bad and to take my birth control. Amen.

How happy are you??

Did any of you see the special on 20/20 about happiness?

It was really interesting. America ranked a measely #23 on the happiness scale. I have to say, I'm a bit surprised it wasn't lower. And the country that ranked #1. Denmark.
Free healthcare, free education and hardly any system of status. People are choosing occupations based on their desire to do them, not as motivation for a paycheck. They have a choice based on interest, instead of income.
They have security that their government is taking care of them, and in turn; they're healthier and happier.

Wouldn't you say half of you stress, bad eating habits, general unahppiness is related to your place of work? Work takes up 80% of your lives and yet here in America we allow ourselves to associate "work" with negativity; because so many people are unhappy in their work place. We say, "Oh I have work tomorrow." the same way you'd say, "Oh, I'm getting a root canal tomorrow." There is something incredibly wrong with this logic.

What I hate even more is when people say, "Well that's why it's called work." You mean we've come leaps and bounds in technology, we're driving Hybrid cars, we have a woman and a black man running for president, and we can't come up with a better way to spend 80% of our LIVES? We're willing to give up that easy and say, "WELL. THATS WORK FOR YA." Fuck that. Everyone keeps saying work doesn't define you, but you should be PROUD to let your work define who you are.

When you meet someone new they say, "What do you do?" They don't ask, "How would you define yourself?" Our society defines people by their work, so we better be a bit more fiesty when it comes down to fighting for the ability to CHOOSE our occupations based on desire.

We stray from choosing based on desire, because if we don't want our WORK to define us, we may as well let our; car, house, wardrobe, fancy vacations, and bank account do the talking.

The level of status based on things is so stressed that we're aren't allowed the luxury of following a career path based upon happiness if the career path doesn't have a pot of gold at the end.

If someone told you tomorrow that you could be a doctor or a teacher? A lawyer or an artist? A coach or a carpenter? And you'd make the same amount of money doing any of them- I'm sure many would choose a bit differently.

What are Denmarks secerets (other than they can attend college for free= no stress and they know if they fall ill= no stress): Trust, "Jante-Love" meaning, "You're not better than anybody else.", Friendship- a sense of community (nearly 90% belong to some sort of singing or dancing CLUB....I don't even know where to FIND that kind of CLUB.), and less emphasis on "stuff." It's just not that important.

They way they live their lives, is where their value lies, not in the plaques on the wall, the Lexus, or the promotion. And many of us are just STRIVING to even get to that, very few ever buy the Lexus- receive the accolades- "make it" and we're stuck in a rat race of discontenment, shitty jobs and future thinking for things that may never come.

SO NATURALLY- The Professor and I had to debate this. Cause, that's how we do.

The Professor: Every person who lives in a cave is content with their cave, just as long as they don't see the river out front
Chelsea Talks Smack: I think they live perfectly good lives, why wouldn't they be living a good life? They're safe, they're taken care of, they're choosing occupations based on their interest in them not on the income.
TP: yes and no
TP: It's a question of where your values are
TP: I don't think its a bad lifestyle
TP: to each his own
TP: but thats precisely my point, they can't leave to get a better job, to make more money, and they cant CHOOSE
CTS: what is it you think they SHOULD be valueing that they may not be.
TP: freedoms
CTS: They don't have anything they want to be FREE of, cause their government takes care of them
TP: but you have to see that thats giving up essential freedoms, even if that risks a worse lifestyle, I think its a valuable thing
CTS: I would choose happiness.
TP: one of my favorite people ever was Ben Franklin
TP: brilliant man
TP: "any society that would give up a little liberty to gain a little security will deserve neither and lose both"

He makes an interesting point....What do you think...?

I tried being a Mean Girl.

Adolescence is like a prolonged version of Halloween.
A devastating period that feels like an endless masquerade ball.

You have roughly six years to try on each type of outfit, different masks, different colors and themes. And, so does everyone else; one day your friend is playing the role of "book worm" the next day she's playing the role of "floozy giving blow jobs in the bushes."

We all tried different suits, I never really pulled off the floozy suit cause I was way to awkward- 5'6 since I was 12, two sets of braces, and a brief period of wearing glasses that were almost consistently broken or crooked. Floozy's usually get the cleavage shading around 8th grade, and are blessed with naturally straight teeth and thick hair. You know, the kind of hair that makes incredible ponytails. Pantene ponytails.

So in sixth grade I tried; The Mean Girl Suit. I perfected my cackle, wore the best of Limited Too clothing and had a gaggle of followers.
One particularly dark day of my existence occured during lunch break over funnel cakes and Pizza Hut.... just like a beaming light of opportunity, I saw Scott Ferguson coming my way.
I would like to give myself a disclaimer now and say that I am CONVINCED the Devil's helpers invaded my body and my judgment when I saw him walking towards me.

Scott was short, elfin short. Midge short. A little man, with hair almost as long as his height. He was a strange boy (he did have friends, they were strange too)....
I see him approaching, getting closer and closer...and just like that- I TRIPPED HIM.

I don't know what sort of laws of physics occured, but Scott didn't stumble, he launched. Launched like a fucking rocket on speed. He got enough air for me to count; one Mississippi, two Mississippi, Three Mississippi, Four Missi....thud.

Immediately I felt like repenting. Like dropping to my knees and saying 80 Hail Mary's. I felt like asking for forgiveness from the Pope himself in the middle of The Vatican. I am certain that on my Judgement Day, this will be at the top of the list in red marker and underlined three times; Tripping Scott Ferguson and wounding his soul.

He didn't even look at me, and I was too in shock to even react: laugh, cry, point. He picked himself up and scurried off like elfin people do.

Sometime after graduation I ran into Scott at my ex-boyfriends concert (I was wearing my "Rocker Girlfriend Suit"). Scott eventually cut his hair and turned out to be an awesome artist and a friend of many of my friends. This was my moment to appologize, I couldn't even look at him because guilt had plagued my black heart for years...
"Hey Scottttt!!!!!!"

"Heyyyy!" WOW, he's being unnaturally friendly to someone who made him do a face plant a such a vulnerable time of boyhood.

"I just wanted to let you know...I am SOOOOOO sorry for tripping you in 6th grade. It's been haunting me, and I feel horrible."

"What are you talking about?"
HE DIDN'T FUCKING REMEMBER! WHAT! I was asking God to allow me into Heaven for the past 5 years and you don't fucking remember? I almost wanted to trip him again. Or maybe my cruelty doesn't count since he's mentally blocked out the pain.

After that day I vowed to never be a Mean Girl again. To this day it is the meanest thing I've intentionally done to someone.
I tried on other suits though, after shedding my horrible bitch image:

Tagger/Breakdancer groupie Suit- You know it, I had a TAG name: Siren. I wrote it on about 3 stop signs and then felt like a scary criminal. "Juvie" is so not the place for me.

Cheerleader Suit- I learned one cheer and considered transferring schools to be a cheerleader (I went to an arts highschool, sports and cheerleaders didn't even exist there.) Then I realized before trying out that: the shoes were ugly, the girls were not of my same breed, and I wearing ribbons in your hair after the age of 3 is retarded.

Theater Geek Suit- I am. I know the words to almost every Broadway play. But the whole "seniority" thing when it came down to casting was enough to make me boycott every play that didn't give me the lead role. Especially when I was better.

Then I got tired. I got tired of trying to fit into different costumes. It was pointless. Ingenuous. Tiring. And no matter what role you try to play there wasn't room to be anything else, or anything beyond the rules of the suit you wore.
So, the middle of tenth grade I said- "Fuck this." And homeschooled. I am so glad that I did....I started wearing my own suit, with my own ideas, my own values, my own likes, and eccentricity. I found what I wore best before everyone...and it didn't need a label or explanation.

I'm not the only one who was stuck in this neverending costume change, what suits did you try on??

My mom is a hot bitch.

HI. I'm a little drunk. bare with me.

8:30- I jump in the car, ponytail frizzy, mascara flaking, not wearing my sexiest outfit, or even a flattering outfit- but, I'm ready to GO OUT. The mood has hit and I'm on a mission like Tom Cruise.

8:45- Phone calls are made, as I shamelessly listen to horrific top 20's rap. I also shamelessly sing along to get my "Friday night face" on. The face that says, "Yeah I'm going out I'm wearing my whore best, and I'm ready to have some strangers attempt to get my drunk by buying me shots of tequila and telling me I have shiny hair. I'm feeling funkyy...like Earth Wind and Fire, my chemicals are in tact and this evening is MINE.

9:15- My begging is embaressing, everyone is staying in, or have better plans that don't involve me. My friends are offical failures this evening. This calling shit was as unsuccessful as Pamela Anderson's marriages. It was as unsuccessful as Tyra Banks first single. It was as unsuccessful as That mother f*ckin CarrieAnn Vs. Bruno show. As unsuccessful as clear Pepsi. Remember that?

9:25- I am now officially scanning my cellphone phonebook and rating my potential calls on an Awkwardness level of 1-10. Hm...I haven't talked to her since 8th grade..."Hey, wanna grab a beer and catch me up on your life for the past 10 years, WHATS HAPPENIN'???!!" Or, well we've had one conversation, I'm sure they'd absolutely want to hang out and nurse my pathetic state of non-existant social status.

9:45- My bootycall is busy. Are you fucking joking me? Bootycalls are the safe bet. You're not busy, you're my ass.

10:00- I know the perfect person "Hey.....wanna grab a drink........"
"Suuuure babe. Lets go."

Thank you Jesus, I don't feel like such a social reject. Someone actually wants to spend an evening scoping the scene and drinking draft Easy Street Wheat with me while commenting on the clientele and singing along to Irish pub music.

"Awesome, you're the best.....Mom."

Yeah, my Mom and I went to the pub tonight.

She got hit on more than I did. A lot more. Cause she's a sexy bitch.
I prayed in the pub and said, "Dear God, please show me you exist by having a dashing man engage in lively conversation with me and make me feel like I'm not such an asshole-invisible-reject-loser-undesireable biatch, who's going to dry up like a Sunkist raisin within 30 days...."

God doesn't answer prayers in pubs. Especially while he's arranging cupids for your married hot mom. Who knows, it's Friday, is God off on Fridays?

Oh, and I just found out I missed that whole DELURKING WEEK SHIT. Who sends out the calendars for that sort of thing, can someone put me on the mailing list. For fucks sake.

The Don't Series

1.Do not ever attempt Mariah or Whitney karaoke. They'll always be better.
2.Don't wear copious amounts of L.A. Looks hairgel unless you want to look like you work at Jiffy Lube, or Jon's Autobody.
3.Don't eat bananas or apples within 20 ft. of another human. They both make irritating noises that could lead to potential violence.
4. Don't shave your bikini line while you're in a hurry. Unless you want a botched vag.
5. Don't say "Miss Jackson if you're nasty" to people named Janet.
6. Don't say to me, "Does this match??" I don't effing know, I never match. Matching is for people with no imagination.
7. Don't drive while holding a dumbell in one hand and a toothbrush in another. Yes, I've seen this.
8. Don't ask me if I've "Accepted Jesus into my heart" If we're close enough for you to ask me such a personal question, you'd already know the answer.
9. Don't floss with strands of your hair; in public.
10. Don't trust people who say, "Can I be honest with you?" You mean, you haven't been?
11. Don't say "panties"- ever. The word makes me feel like a 5 year old prostitute.
12. Don't forget to turn off the lights. Ya know, Global Warming.
13. Don't date guys who are looking at your Mothers rack. Unless it's better than yours. They're hard wired.
14. Don't make anymore excuses for Lindsay Lohan. I'm sick of her face.
15. Don't assume a man is straight if he's wearing a V-neck shirt.
16. Don't blame it on rap music.
17. Don't blame Marilyn Manson. Stop blaming the f*cking music.
18. Don't blow your nose at the dinner table.
19. Don't let your horoscope determine the course of your day.
20. Don't wear big earrings when you work out. I almost chipped a tooth.
21. Don't ride a bike while you're drunk, unless you have a really good helmet and a cushy ass.
22. Don't tell me Amy Winehouse to go to rehab. She already said no three times. (I'm not saying I agree, but she's been pretty clear.)
23. Don't wear a white dress to a wedding, you aren't the damn bride- attention whores.
24. Don't say, "Well Dr. Phil said...."
25. Don't throw in your commentary at a movie theater, this isn't The Rocky Horror Picture Show.
26. Don't read the newspaper on the toilet, if it's going to take that long I'd suggest a trip to the Dr.
27. Don't take any parenting tips from Wife Swap.
28. Don't ask someone if you can kiss them. Just go Tarzan on them and start licking their face.
29. Don't go to Kohls. Unless you want to look bored with life.
30. Don't ask why I don't like- fish, steak, vomit, etc. Ask my fucking tastebuds they made the decision.
31. Don't tell me you like to hunt. Or I'll strap antlers on your head and make you gallop in a field.
32. Don't burn my ear drums with Russian techno dance music blaring from your souped out Honda.
33. Don't vote Republican.

One BIG baby step.

It's a big day in the land of Chelsea.

Three reasons- I got a new job. I broke the ice with Mr. McGymHot. AND, LA Ink is back on.

I have the biggest girl crush on Kat Von D. It's a strange and unusual crush for a few reasons, one being that I love men. And it's not like she's Angelina Jolie, who most women have a girl crush on- I secretly think they're all afraid of her and it's "trendy" to say they have a girl crush on her. Frankly, she's a bit skinny and corpse-y in my opinion.

I prefer my women crushes to look like they could drink, run, dance, conquer and outwit me while wearing heels and smelling like exotic oils from Abu Dhabi. Which is why my crush on Kat is so strange, she looks like she probably smells like tequila, Marlboro Reds and day old Aqua Net. Nonetheless, the crush is there- could be the man voice, could be the fact that she's fierce enough to tattoo her face, and it could have a LITTLE to do with my intense attraction to anyone artistically inclined.

Ok, back to being straight.

I got a job- this. is. a. huge. mother. f-ing. deal. If you've read my previous blogs, the job search has be taxing, uninspiring and disheartening, to say the least. It's not a dream job, it's just a JOB to have some cash while I work towards the dream and save up for my next adventure....

Previously I have been; a personal assistant- which I rocked like boulders. People that need assistants tend to be wildy successful (at least in my case), intense, busy, and have lofty demands. Smells like a challenge? In that case, I'm at the plate like an American Gladiator.

Cocktail waitress- Ok, I like to drink. I don't like to SERVE, especially while dressed like a whore. My skirt was so short I had to pick underwear with cute sayings on it; My name, the day of the week and fuck off. Actually, I never found "fuck off" pants, but my, I wish I had. Once I dropped an entire tray of beer into a drunk womans purse. I'm not good with people calling me "sweetie" while asking for less ice, business lunches= no respect, or balancing 10 drinks while running my ass at warped speed wearing go-go boots. Worst waitress/drink maid ever.

Nanny- The mother was a stay at home mom............and only one kid was in single digits. Is the nanny really necessary? And an assistant? and a housekeeper? and a "manny" on weekends? And no, get your own Advil, I'm busy loving your child.

Hair salon receptionist- EE. I lasted two days.

Hostess/assistant to event planner- Actually, this job was fine. All the men were Italian (also the reason why they hired me, keeping it "in the family") and we did mostly bar/batmitvahs and weddings...who doesn't love a wedding? And happy Jewish kids who are making more money in one evening than my entire pay check. For the year.

Dancer at bar/batmitvahs- I handed out glow sticks and made 12 year old boys wearing yarmukles dance their tush's off until they were; blushing, sweaty, embarressed and proposing. Naturally. I also usually scored free dinner and centerpiece's at the end of the evening. One night I took home so many flowers it looked like I died.

Sadly, there are many more, but i'll spare you. So i'm working at a yoga studio now- which is pretty rad. No one gets testy when they're all ZEN. Candles, hardwood floors, little yoga asses, endorphins, OMMMMMM....... Feels good. Meanwhile, i'll also be devising a plan on how to overthrow the Oprah empire and take her throne.

Now- the REAL reason i'm toasting myself this evening- I am afraid to break the ice. Say the first word. "Make a move". Or even act like a human and say hello.

NOT TONIGHT! I GREW SOME!

I barely remember what I said....anyway......

SO- Who are your girl crushes???

Sudden Tourettes

Does your brain ever malfunction and you remember something that you hadn't even thought of since it happened? Yeah, well, mine did that today. And I burst into a laughter so intense I almost peed.

I had agreed to go on a date with a guy quite reluctantly, I mean....really....we only ended up even seeing eachother 3 times, because I vowed to go into hiding and join a convent if I ever had to see him again.

His name was Dan, three letter names- usually mean, three letter brains- very little letters, floating around in a very a little brain. Three letter names also mean two letter answers; Ya, No, Uh, and Coo. Oops, that's three letters, not COOL, but COO. I'm also going to apologize in advance to any radical person named- Joe, Bob, Ann, Cat, etc. Sorry if i'm offending you, this is just my personal experience with three letter names. So, back to DAN...
After the third, and most particularly painful date, that involved walking around Dick's sporting goods(in true "three letter name" fashion) while drinking bad mocha's, The Dan kissed me.

Usually exceptionally attractive men, like Dan, tend to be good kissers. Because if they don't have the brain they usually have the sexual intelligence/finesse, since that's all they have to work with with. God's not that mean he had to give the poor boy something. Well, he didn't give him that (or any athletic ability, this dullard was benched all but one game in highschool).
Dan kissed like a frog on acid. Fast, sharp, spastic, out of control slimy- rock hard tongue kissing. Then with the fumbling prowess of a 13 year old boy, The Dan reached for the boobs....and just like that, I adopted a brief case of Tourettes....

"I don't like boobs!" or more like one word, "Idontlikeboobs!!"
Did I just say, I don't like boobs? I have boobs, I'm a woman. I don't get to not like them, there's not a whole lot not to like. They don't strain my back, they don't get in the way when I do heavy lifting. WTF did I say that for?
What I really meant to say was.... I don't want you to like my boobs. These boobs are not yours for liking. X-nay on the oobs-bay. Frog man.
"Oh, welll...uh, I do."
Sure ya do....they're bouncy and easy to reach, kind of like your balls which I'm sure you like as well, and which you clearly have for thinking i'd want you touching me. Back up.
That was the last time I saw him. Thank the heavenly cupids.

Funny how things fly out of your mouth when certain buttons are pushed. What crazy shit has flown out your mouths an inappropriate times?? I can't waiiiit to hear.

Almost a month ago....

I was standing on top of a high-rise, on the balcony, in my leotard. Apparently waiting in line for Baja Fresh (why?). When I saw them...The Musician's parents coming towards me. I was not prepared for their friendly embrace, partly because I was in a leotard, and what's more vulnerable than wearing a leotard and seeing your ex's parents. They told me he waited and waited for me to call...He was devastated, completely "broken up" over the "whole thing"- I hate it when people refer to relationships and significant chunks of your life as a "thing". I pleaded with them to understand that it wasn't my fault...I was the one waiting for him to call. I was the one that was hurt. NOT HIM.

Then I woke up. Dreams are fucking strange. It was 5:13 am, the sun was coming up and I couldn't fall back asleep. I tried the mantra "think of nothing, your brain is completely empty, darkness, you have no thoughts, you are sleeeping" and of course each time I said that I started to think of him.

I've done fairly well cementing him out of my brain and making myself semi-delusional in acting as if I barely remember it was only a month ago, tomorrow, that he called and said- "I don't think you should move out here." It started with, "We need to talk.....but don't worry it's not that big of a deal...I'll call you later."
NOT THAT BIG OF A DEAL?! Are you fucking insane?! I had planned to move to Seattle on Jan 1st....and telling me you didn't want me there was, "not that big of a deal?!" WHERE IS YOUR SOUL?! It was your idea. YOU said I love you first, you said it was better when I was there, you said hurry up.

I made him talk to me right then. I said I didn't want later, I wanted now and I needed to know what the hell was going on....I was basically begging him to tell me he was done, so I could start hating him. Tell me he wanted to see other people, so that I could tell him he was a fool. But he didn't.
He said...."I'm getting on the bus, I'll call you when I'm home."
And that will have been a month ago tomorrow. He just never called.

Almost four years of trying to see other people, getting together and realizing we were meant to be together and then taking a break again because it didn't make sense. We were in seperate states, we wanted different things. Four YEARS and he just didn't call me back?......

We were there, our timing was finally right, we were finally in the same chapter, in the same book, a page we'd been trying to be on together for so long. I was finally letting him love me.
The last thing he said to me in person, the day after Thanksgiving was," I love you."
I said, "What?" I knew what he said....I just wanted to hear him say it again, maybe because subconsciously I knew it'd be the last time.
"I love you." He said it louder, he smiled and looked me right in the eyes. The eyes that were looking at him and loving him, completely. "I love you too."

So now, I'm trying to keep him out of my brain. I'm busying myself with looking at new men, new bodies, new personalities, new hands, and i'm attempting to act intrigued, because I desperately want to be. And my dreams are reminding me that he's still there...my subconscious still has a whole chapter that is him. We still have the same friends, I still have his things, he still knows how much I love Swedish Fish and he probably would have brought my chicken noodle soup on my current deathbed, I still have a pillow with his face on it, and now i'm back in the state where we were once together, doing the things we did together; alone. When i'm asleep, that is the last place where I want him to be, because it's the one place where he wasn't.

Must we PLAN it?

Plans are not my forte. I suck at planning on so many levels: creating a plan, remembering a plan (speaking of which, I need a new planner, they make me feel like a real adult). Plan is a word that stresses me out. When I PLAN something, It's likely I will not do it, just because i'm that much of a rebel. :) It's the whole idea that I am making myself do something, rather than just doing it that really turns me off. I'd rather have impromptu meetings, or go to grocery store cause I'm craving bananas not because it's in my planner. When it comes to a date, planning too far in advance gives me way too much time to think of what a disaster it could be. And then I mull over how I hate having a first kiss at a door, or in a car. Then I probably talk myself out of being interested in you before I can find out.

There are very few things I've MADE myself do that I've enjoyed, lets start at the beginning; Joining the Brownies- NOT FUN, quit after one day. The social pressure wasn't enough to make me sew,trek through the wildnerness, sell or knit anything.

Visiting the doctors office- any kind of doctor. Dentist, orthodontist, gynocologist...not once have the lollypops at the end, or the stupid bear stickers they put on my hand been worth it. Stickers= "I'm sticking a fat needle in your arm, your mom lied when she said it was a 'check up' so I'm also stripping you of your trust. Here, have a sticker."

Going to prom- The idea seemed sweet, the corsage and the fact that my date and I reconnected from being boyfriend/girlfriend in 1st grade. Well, a lot happens to boys between 1st-11th grade, one thing in particular- they become assholes. This asshole attended an all asshole boys school...making my evening at the Museum dancing in a pretty dress, while getting accosted by sweaty lacrosse players- rubbing their junk up against my leg- less than perfect. To say the least. Plus, he was a bad kisser and a "boob guy"...which I have very little of.

Driving in the snow- My legs tend to go numb from fear, about 2 minutes into the driving. That's not safe. Snowing=hibernating.

Soccer, Tennis, Swimming, or any other games that involve people chasing or throwing things at me- Swimming doesn't really count, however I was traumatized when I was 12 and my Swim Coach looked like an extra from Baywatch. Unlike some girls, I began having crushes at birth, not after I hit puberty...So, a one piece-goggles-frog legs- and my lovely lifegaurd=traumatizing. I hate playing sports. Don't even ask me to join in on a game of touch football, or I will pummel you before the whistle blows.

Sitting through my cousins "performace" of the Nutcracker- BLASPHEMY. Baryshnikov would drop dead if he saw this "production" and then he'd tell the snow fairies to lay off the holiday cookies, and the Sugar Plum Fairy to take a ballet class every once in a blue moon.

Checking my bank account today- Instant panic.

Eating low-sodium soup- What a horrible idea...not good, not good.

Wearing tights-Almost everytime I wear tights, I have a panic attack. They're not sexy and frankly, I'm not a senators wife, so hosiery makes me feel a lot like what a sausage probably feels like. And incredibly old. An old sausage. An old, first-lady, sausage.

Unless the plans involve booze, tropical islands, men- who aren't trying to take me to dinner, or caffiene in some form, they just aren't really my schtick. Ya feel me?

Is there anything you've made yourself do that you know you'll never do again??

MAN UP GENTLEMEN!

I have managed to peel myself off of the couch in order to stick to my non-resolution- New Years resolution that said I'd write daily. My throat has basically been swollen shut, making swallowing entirely more difficult than it should be. I've never drank a milkshake and cried from physical pain, until today.

So remember a few posts back, Mr. McGymHot? Spontaneous combustion could occur, the kind where I rip my clothes off in an entirely inappropriate place.

Now, this kind of personality is totally different for me....I usually date guys that are skinnier than me. Which has just got to stop. I would like them to force feed me dessert, not be "too full" for seconds. Skinnier than me also means, weaker than me. I'm not a big girl, i'm fit....but I have some serious punch behind these little arms, I could get scrappy if it were ever necessary. I would prefer not to, I would like my man to have it under control. For instance, when I was with The Musician, I would worry that if someone broke into the house he'd whisper, "SH.....Let's hiiiiide." He would definitely not say, "Bring it onnnnnnnn."

The personality types I attract are usually too introspective to worry about kicking ass, because how often do you need to kick ass in a coffee shop? Hardly ever. Mosh pits don't count either. It's when you leave the coffee shop that you need to worry about asses. Something tells me Mr. McGymHot would be prepared with force if someone broke into my house, and he wouldn't have to chase them with a booger to make them flee.
I did have a large crush on a guy, we'll call him The Texan, that involved alot of "Movie nights." Movie night is standard code for - something's going down tonight, bring a Jet Lee movie, or a Bond movie, either way we aren't watching it. During our tryst he was always at the rescue. Whether it meant helping me push a car down the middle of a busy street cause I didn't have enough money for gas, or he just needed to show up with a bat cause I was scared. He was there. Bat in tow. Literally. Though things didn't work out with us, the fact that I felt safe with him was extremly attractive.

When I'm out with a man I need other men to know I'm with you. There's a fine line, not in the possessive, hawk over my shoulder kind of way, I just need them to have a presence. A presence that says, "I'm with her." You don't need to be chauvenistic, but sometimes, I just want to say MAN UP. If you want people to know we're together, it lets me know, you're proud to have me there. The guys that do this, are the same kind of men who aren't afraid to come to my defense and make me feel comfortable enough to not speed walk through parking lots after 6pm. I'm tired of being the tough one all the time. MAN. UP. MAN UP! I'm into this whole women are equal thing, wonderful idea ladies, you have my approval and i'm generally the one to write "Girl Power" on my forehead and "bring home the bacon" while cooking the bacon. I just don't want to have to go out and kill the bacon. That's your job. Mr. McGymHot would absolutely run over the pig if I wanted him to.

The Non-Dating Dating.

OO blah, code names seem pointless right now. But they're so fun. If you're talking about someone in code, they know you're talking about them...and if they didn't I would worry that they may be a bit daft. Maybe I just make up shitty code names? I've been sitting here, mulling over "do I talk about him? do I not? How about Mr Brain. or The Fro? (as in the hair, not some sort of Lord of the Rings reference.) or The Professor. The Professor is good.... but shit, he'll totally know. He totally knows as of this moment, and i'm hoping he's too busy doing brain surgery, or finding a cure for AIDS that he won't even bother to read this.

Since getting deceptively dumped by The Musician (The Ex, sounds like venom when I say it or type it. The Musician sounds way less angry than I actually am and I could use some lightness.) I've been having some what of a non-dating-dating "thing", friendship? courtship? Some sort of ship that involves NOT dating, with this old friend of mine.

He's smart, I mean...realllly smart. The kind of smart that makes up their own languages and majors in Classics and Linguistics, rather than Business. He can tell stories and have debates with me, he listens and is genuinely interested in what I have to say... I'm sure i'm quite amusing, like a little puppy, with my foreign life of Entertainment and living in a city where the most pressing issues are carbs and what sort of shit talking Perez Hilton is up to.
And that is exactly why he is refreshing to me...I said something about Jennifer Aniston and he said, "Who?" Wonderful, I could actually talk about real things with him, anything, it's limitless. We've hit all topics, religion, politics, inner-struggles, past, future, and woa. He actually has a sense of humor so it's not like being in a never ending episode of Jeopardy. So why aren't we dating you say? OK. Here we go.

Often when one is so analytical they can be less emotional, less physical, less impulsive...etc. etc. I happen to be more of all of those things. I can go from 0-60 in milliseconds. I always know exactly how I feel, about everything. Through our discussions, he revealed this piece of information to me, the kind of piece you wish they hadn't revealed, cause now it's become a main focus. He hasn't cried in years. YEARS. That's just a piece, it's not the reason we aren't dating. The word dating alone just gives me hives.

Now, I am pretty sure I cried this morning? No, no. Last night. I definitely cried over something last night. Not anything personal, I can just cry....and all of the great men in my world....are criers. My Dad also known as The Superman of Men, cries just by looking at me and knowing I exist. He's "in tune" he says, there is no well that is dry.

It isn't the physical act of crying that is important to me. It is the FEELING behind why people cry. Or the fact that they are infact, FEELING. Rather than thinking about what they're feeling. Emotions are often illogical, they're purely animal insticts- anger, laughter, joy, sadness, crying, hunger and also IMPORTANTLY sex. All animal things. That, to me, don't take away from being in a good relationship, being a good person, or being intelligent. Especially a relationship...and the act i'm talking about specifically here is SEX. Which is a topic too wide for me to cover now, but I whole heartedly believe it is as important as the emotional aspect, you cannot have one without the other. I'll blog on that later.

Truthfully, I'm not sure where I stand on our non-dating-dating, you can only do that for so long. Dating is just a prolonged interview for deciding whether or not you want to be in a relationship with someone. And if you're dating, and dating, and not looking for a relationship, you're at least looking for a consistant piece of tail. Or, it's a friendship.
So I'm not sure what ship we're on, where exactly we're sailing to, or exactly how I feel about it....I guess we'll find out.....

Lizards and Lasagna just don't go together.

Rachael Ray attempting to play coy makes me want to throw kitchen knives at the television set.

It's the same wrathful feeling I get when Sherri Shepard speaks. I could turn the television into a dartboard between 9-11, while Rachael Ray and The View are on. I usually find Rachael to be quite entertaining, mostly because watching food on TV is my food porn, and is pleasing to me no matter what form, but this morning she strayed from the standard- snack of the day, ee-vee-oo speak, and kitchen goddess, into pseudo pet lover, animal planet extraordinaire. I'm not watching the Discovery Channel, i'm watching an 'effin cooking show...so no, African millipedes are NOT interesting to me, gnocci is. Or pretty much anything I can eat, and maybe millipedes are a delicacy somewhere else, or maybe owl is REALLY delicious...I just don't need to watch you play cat and mouse games, and whine for 25 minutes over why you don't want to touch anything slimy. And really, must we name the game " What am I touching?"...and anymore phrases like, "If you take it out, I'll touch it with one finger..I promise." are probably really stressing out the FCC with regulations on what's exceptable "day time talk". Screw the FCC, considering the amount of red states we have you're probably not doing a whole lot for your viewership. Prudes.

I understand this is probably not your fault, you probably have some angry (uncreative) producer who is seeking revenge for making him gain 15 pounds since joining the show, so this whole "cutesy" lets play with animals and bring a handsome pet-lover who flirts with you and makes the housewives swoon idea is, not your fault. I'm sure you'd rather stick with what you know...like. Meatballs. And thankfully you redeemed youself with a recipe that made me want to dump my apple cinnamon cheerios in the sink and eat meatballs for breakfast for the rest of eternity.

SO, no more animals. First of all, no one will ever be Steve Erwin, everyone else is second class. Keep the felines, reptiles, arachnids, and such where they belong, which is not in the kitchen. Thank you.