IF I HEAR ONE MORE "NO" I'm going scream my FACE OFF

I've always said, "IT ONLY TAKES ONE YES."

It's not a corporation, it's not even a team per Se, it's not a league or an entire staff....IT'S ONE PERSON. One person makes the final decision always. One. damn. person. That person could end up be the crazy cat woman ordering a scone in front of you at Starbucks, or the odd Mickey Mouse voice on the other end of the phone call. One person can hold every potential opportunity, or none at all. Lately, I feel like I've been waiting for "ONE YES" from so many different people that I'm losing track of what I need them to approve in the first place.
Anyone that thinks that they can make their way to "the top" (which isn't really a landing place anyway, but that's entire different blog) all by themselves is delusional. Motivation? Sure, that's a one man job. Actually executing the job, often that's a one person thing too. Learning to be crafty, smart, clever, forward thinking- those things can't be taught, in any profession or with any degree (which is another blog, on which I rant about college/degrees/paper that says shit, etc.) and even with all of the "unteachable" things that one must have to succeed in a specific field, without a "ONE YES" all of those things are thankless.

At this point I don't even care how they say it; Sure, RIGHT-O, It'll do, Yes sirree, SI, Approved, Truuuue (in the tone of that chick from the Biggie Smalls song), thumbs up, Yea Bitch. They all mean basically the same thing. They mean, "YES, we believe in you enough to give this opportunity which will ultimately change the course of your career forever. Holla." That holla part is assuming whoever says yes to me has a wicked sense of humor or talks like a character from a Wayan's Brother film.

Life is a series of people giving you a helping hand. A response to an email, a piece of advice, an introduction....sure many things can be done on your own but even if you're the one blazing the trail you need someone who's willing to walk it. I've had so many people who were just willing to put their wing over me and say, "alright....this is how it goes..." and thus you repay them by listening, learning, soaking in every aspect of knowledge they're giving you freely and then flying on your own with that much more experience and gratitude that they were willing to take a gamble on you. So if you're sitting on the other end waiting for someone to place their bets, you better pull through and show them it was worth it.

The hardest part is getting them to bet in the first place. But then, think of the vastness of this world.....you know how many chance's there for a "yes?" three. simple. letters. I don't even think we're capable of grasping that.....and sure, cynics and Debbie Downers WA, WA, WA, your way over here and say the same goes for the amount of "No's" you get too....but really, it's just a numbers game. The more No's you get the closer you are to a "YES." ONE. YES. In fact, "NO" just fires me up and if you've read my blog about the ridiculous amount of rejection I've endured, you'd believe me. I'm a glutton for punishment.


I never have too much pride to say, "I know I don't know, but I'll do anything I need to do to figure it out." or "I know I don't have all the experience you need, but if I'm going to start somewhere I need to start now, and I promise- I'll be great at it."
Conceptually it seems that if you believe in yourself enough, that the people on the other end should trust that you don't want to let them down because ultimately, you don't want to let yourself down.

Defeat is such a silly emotion that we let consume far too much of our energy. One "defeat" is really just another opportunity to try something else.

SO, even while I'm sitting here waiting for a series of "YES'" that could ultimately put me on a career path I've been busting my very sore ass, from Jillian Michaels 30 Day Shred (she is Satan's child, I'm sure of it), to walk....I'm remembering that even if all them turn out to be NO'S....there's another yes, that's even more perfect waiting for me.


WHAT "YES" ARE YOU WAITING FOR??? OR, Who has given you an opportunity, a "yes" that changed your life???

WHO THE HELL IS THIS CHICK

If anything, this is somewhat of a disclaimer for my own peace of mind so I can feel slightly less guilty about being such a fair weathered blogger lately. I'm not as flaky as I may have come off lately and my beloved Chelsea Talks Smack is like an appendage to me, a useful one, so I promise I'm not going anywhere. It's just that right now it's the neglected appendage. Sort of like the big toe. Super imperative, just not always groomed correctly. So, what's my excuse? Right? We're all busy, we're all working (or....we're people disguised as people who work, who actually like their day job because they can read blogs all day? Nothing wrong with that) we have have other things like catching up on our DVR's and brushing our children's hair, i.e. super important things...I've just been busy juggling, a whole lotta balls.

I've had a lot of new readers lately so I thought I'd give you a little back story in case you're new. In brief: I lived in L.A. for 3 1/2 years, went to music school, worked as a personal assistant to people in the industry, auditioned for acting gigs, sang backup, had a dance agent, other random and great opportunities, etc. etc. I also became the online host for JigTV.com a community for dancers, my Mother owns and incredibly successful studio and has produced dancers who tour with Justin Timberlake, Bette Midler, Celine Dion, Neyo, etc. So dance is in my blood, hosting a dance site came naturally. THEN, I moved to New York for a year and on a fluke started interning for a magazine, while also doing radio/print promotion for Gavin Degraw's brother Joey Degraw. Then, from working at the magazine got several other freelancing gigs and personal assistant jobs to set designers, producers, etc. At this point, I'd probably done every job possible (except being a receptionist at a hair salon, which I did for two days and left bawling never to return.)

Soon after moving to NYC, I started covering events for a celebrity magazine and began to write for Guidespot.com as a NYC Guidetripper writing local city guides. In other words, the city became my playground. I was getting paid to explore, to eat, to get lost, find new gems and write about them in MY VOICE. After a year- I decided I loved New York, but wanted to spend my money more wisely and travel (all the while I've kept this blog...from my ending era of L.A. to now) SO, I left my apartment in Chelsea, yes Chelsea in Chelsea- cause I'm cute and irritating like that, moved back to Colorado, where I'm from, for a couple months to save money, picked up more freelancing gigs and packed my bags to Europe. I traveled Europe for a couple months on my own, continued writing and started writing for several travel websites; Tangodiva.com and now GoGalavanting.com where I'll be contributing Travel News and Reviews.

When I returned from Europe I had a fire blazing under my ass, and not from eating too much olive oil, so I decided that I'd stay in CO for a year and spend all my time traveling. During the holidays, I began going a bit stir crazy- so I started auditioning and networking with local musicians....I missed using my voice. I missed pursuing my PASSION for music. I missed everything about what it did for me emotionally, creatively, and spiritually. I ended up getting cast as a lead in a show downtown and thus met the people I'd been missing from my experiences in both L.A. and NYC. I also ended up meeting the love of my life (*note Goldie locks in the photos is mine), and bandmate, who would've thought?! Good sex, good music=lucky me. Two major cities and here he was. There was a reason the Wizard of Oz was always one of my favorites as a kid.

I've now been living in Denver since November. A stay that wasn't intended to be permanent, ended up keeping me here indefinitely. I perform all around the city, we play radio shows and are planning a West Coast tour for the late Summer. The best part, I'm also freelancing now more than EVER. I have some incredible adventures coming up (more to blog on that later) and I feel more content, at ease, and "on the right track" than I ever have. I also still get to write for Guidespot.com which I couldn't be more proud of.

Sure, I still miss the cities, but luckily I'm so incredibly busy and on a plane so often that my yearning doesn't last too long before I visit. SO FOR NEW READERS, or old one's, let us get acquainted, I'm Chelsea Talks Smack, Nice to meet you ;)


And your name is??

My BLOG-MANCE and accused BLOG-CHEATING

"Baby, who's AT Mr5280"

One thing about Twitter that's going to fuck me- is not knowing who is following me and who's enabling updates to their phone. I.E. My Love or My Mother, who I tweeted about being "the drunk bunny" the night before Easter and she woke up hung over and alerted by text that she was drunk, thanks to me. You really can't tweet your friends while you're with them, your bosses, your family members WHOEVER. Twitter is an activity that should be left for times of solitude.

"Oh, you're reading my Tweets? He's a blogger."

This is one of those questions that's asked to test your truthfulness, it's what I like to call "The Trap Test." You have an option to lie, just a tiny white lie that wouldn't even matter in the long run unless you decide to in fact, LIE. The Trap Test always means the person on the other end knows the answer already, they're just baiting you. This time I was being baited on a brewery free-booze tasting tour. Liquor+The Trap Test= a potential disaster.

My Love, "I know he's a blogger. I read his blog."

...my boyfriend reads his blog, even after I gave him a lashing for not being interested enough to read mine, "You read his BLOG?!...." I say blog like it's laced with venom and poop.

"Yeah. He's like, super witty. Even his titles are funny." Right he's funny. I'm fucking funny too, and since when is My Love into the world of blogging? What the hail.

"Right babe, he's funny. So if you KNEW he was a blogger...why'd you ask me? Are you threatened by his wittiness and social media bad-assness? Did you think we were having a BLOG-MANCE?"

This whole conversation spurned from the fact that I'd been gushing about how awesomely exciting it was going to be to go to the 20Something Bloggers Meet-Up in Chicago and how I wish I were going June 5-7 with Nicole Antoinette, LilySpeak, Mr5280, JamieLovely, Katelin and others to Vegas, so much so I was considering just doing my usual BUDGET FUDGE IT routine and buy a plane ticket down to Sin City wearing nothing but my drinking shoes and some tacky fire engine red bra...since Vegas is a place where people wear tacky bras. And maybe eye-glitter. I was fantasising rolling in my blog-nerd glory with other blog-nerd friends, in 3-D form!

"Well no... but, don't go down to Vegas or Chicago and come back all 'in love' with some witty, fucking, blogger dude....and who's Matt Fried?"

Assuming your lady is having a BLOG-MANCE is way deeper than seeing some whorebag who left a comment on your loves Myspace, those are deceptions of the past my dear friends. Blogging is the new wave of "the flirty email" or "the flirty cubicle banter with co-workers."

When you are an assumed BLOG-CHEAT the roots are deep. A man who's reading my blog knows intimate things, about my fears and insecurities, my excessive use of the word fuck, my insanity and affinity for cheese plates...all things that don't come in 3-D form until at least the third date.

"I'm not going to fall in love with a 'blogger dude' pinky swear....but on a serious tip, this beer tastes just like bananas." And that's where the line was drawn, I put an end to the "blog-mance" accusations.



SO TELL ME, IF YOU WERE GOING TO DATE A BLOGGER IN 3-D.... Who would it be???? Or what blogger would you like to have a drink with???

"The Time Chelsea STARTED DRINKING and playing with iMovie"

I'm an amateur Mac user, iMovie maker, an expert drinker and a Twitter fanatic in training. FYI. If you've been reading my blog for awhile you've experienced my first VLOG where I notify a couple of my closest friends, i.e. the entire world of my whereabouts when losing my virginity and other inappropriate things that will make you blush or say "I can't believe she posted that, doesn't she know everyone can see that? Say helllo to unemployment.", cause hey, I'm all about shock value. Or just doing my best to be a tool bag for all to see. 

So, here's to Friday nights alone with a Macbook, I guess it's better than venturing into the world of amateur porn. Oh man, Google analytics will be interesting after this post....

Cheers friends, cheers. 

"But it's so delicious, I don't want to spit......."

....oh get your mind out of the gutter. That's the feeling of absolute remorse and agony that I've had the past couple days each time I swirl a sip of award winning Semillion, Cabernet Franc, Reisling, (just to name a few) that are purged in a giant vat of "spit wine", reluctantly leaving my mouth. If you were to drink all the incredible purged wines in one glass would it be the Super Hulk of good wine? The Suicide of vino? A super power. Any willing to give it a sip and find out....? I'm afraid my bravery fails me on that one.

I'm in the midst of a press trip to Walla Walla, Tri-Cities and Yakima to build up the tourism and recognition of Washington wine country. I'm having the crash course in wine tasting, as someone who frequently chugs gallons of Carlo Rossi now sipping some of the finest wines in the world, echoing the sentiments of writers from Wine Enthusiast, Wine Spectator and "pineapple! I do taste the pineapple!", I've become a human sponge. My palate is on overload and yeah, that's right, I said it- Carlo has an acre or so of my heart, but I'm learning that I need to make space for more "vino love", for the good stuff.

Four days, over twentysomething vineyards, which is barely the surface- there's some 160+ vineyards, little me, a notebook, and a thirst.

I could hibernate here. I could take up glass blowing (which the owner of Barnard Griffin has done), have long dinners, get to know the chefs and pick locally grown fruits and veggies. I would start collecting something and actually take "long walks", I'd know my neighbors and I'd learn how to make beautiful crostinis for snacking between sipping. Obviously,it's easy to see why the people who live here are such champions of their state, so much so, I'm romanticizing what it's like just to walk on a day to day basis on these grounds.

Winery owners that are making QUAN are still out in the vineyards, obsessing over barrels, tending to the fruit, caring for it with kid gloves-genuinely in love with their lives.

You always hear people say, "Someday I'll retire (move to Tuscany, quit my job, FILL IN THE BLANK) and I'll own a vineyard." It's this romanticized idea of what it means to live "the good life", la dolce vita. Then, you meet the people who are doing it, within seconds you see why they're the "lucky ones" actually doing it. They're hardworking, they're humble and they just started it because, they had a passion for it. What a concept huh? Following your passion.

Not one of the people I've talked to has said they were afraid it was too big of a gamble to invest their heart in, even when most people think passion+heart is the biggest gamble. After all, there's much more to lose when you're hearts a part of your work.

Yet, it's proof in the glass that the quality of what you're creating, the quality of the way you're living, is so much better because of the motivation behind the action. The motivation simply being, at the end of the day, you want to sit down, go through the ceremony of opening a bottle and have a really fantastic glass of wine. That's it. Ha, no wonder we aspire to that lifestyle.

More updates to come.....


What's your definition of "LIVING THE GOOD LIFE???"

I cracked my EFFING head OPEN.

My Love and I fell backwards down the stairs while we were making out. We were swaying and doing our best version of a scene from a romance novel, dancing without music, that whole schtick-when we closed our eyes and BAM, thud, thud- that's the sound of my HEAD cracking on the corner of the wall, then slamming into the terracotta floor. We had so much momentum and a complete lack of control, I reached up and blood was POURING from my skull, sexy.

....apparently when My Love reached to pick me up, out of my screaming PAIN and HORROR, I smacked his hands and said, "DO SOMETHIIIIINNNNG!!!!!!!!!" Sure enough, in moments of pain the only person I trust is still my Father. "Call my Daddyyyyyyyyy!!"

There's truly nothing more terrifying than blood coming from your head. Not to mention, then my-crazy-voice went off and I was convinced I'd be the next Natasha Richardson. Instead of driving me to the emergency room, since I have no insurance (Obama? Can we move that cheap-insurance-idea into action por favor?) we rushed to my parents house and I was then monitored every two hours for the rest of the evening for brain damage, "Who are you? What happened to you? How old are you? Who do you love?" My Love slipped that one in there a few times.

We successfully pulled through our first physical trauma and I officially terrified My Love to the point of complete distraught...I'm certain he will never want to encounter me when I go through childbirth, I will be the woman who screams so loud it'll be penned a new form of birth control for all onlookers (which if things go as planned, is not for a really long time)

Anytime your body goes through something intense and out of the ordinary you're reminded just how fragile, brittle, insignificant, we really are. I batter my body up, I pour liquor in droves down it, push it's physical limits any time I get the chance, and occasionally fill my arteries with salt and cream cheese frosting. I've treated my body like it's never going anywhere. Like it's steel. Like it's immortal. Then a slip rocks your entire world back into reality- you.are.delicate.breakable. there's no shatterproof disclaimer on your birth certificate.

Our body, like things, is just as temporary.

The fact that, that could have been much more tragic than it turned out to be sent me into three days of grasping at everything- with the ultra awareness that- eventually it all goes away.

Eventually our bodies can't handle as much bruising. Eventually friendships fade, jobs become less exciting, your house isn't the new anymore, the sparks need a little fanning. Eventually all good things turn into something else, sometimes something better, sometimes something worse.

All this awareness has set off my fear, fear of my health, fear of love, of loss: After loving so intensely and then getting your heart broken there's this looming fear that someday someone will just stop loving you. Without any change on your side. Blame it on the head trauma but I've feared so irrationally that someday I'll lose him. I have to remind myself that the only way you get to forever is one day at a time.

So without clinging to hard, I've tried to just tune in. Be aware. Without waving any banner of cliched, "live in the moment" what not's, I want to be able to sink my teeth into it and enjoy every bite instead of worrying about what I'll eat for breakfast tomorrow.


Off to Washington on a press trip in the morning- four days of wine tastings and dining- expect some sweet blogs ;) Hope you all had a good weekend....and yes, my head is healing just fine.