Monday, June 29, 2009

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tuesday, June 23, 2009


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

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

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

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


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

Any cool merch ideas??? 

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

Friday, June 19, 2009

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

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

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

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

Sigh. "These are the good days."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

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

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

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

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

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

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

Option 1.                          Option 2.                      Option 3.  
                     Option 4.                         Option 5.                       Option 6. (if i'm not bloated.)


Tuesday, June 9, 2009

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thursday, June 4, 2009

Karma's a Bitch with a Cellphone

Karma called me the other day. OK, not me, Karma took an extra step and called My Love instead...thus leaving him as the messenger.  Karma didn't just dial up the number, it also left a voicemail, which was then kindly delivered to me via beau. This time the law of attraction wanted to remind me "what goes around comes around" by very effectively, using MY VOICE. Karma wanted to remind me that when you say negative things about people, you're going to get fucking cancer of the throat. You're going to end up the scratchy-box-hole-in-throat-commercial for not using your fucking voice box correctly.

In basic terms, I butt dialed my boyfriend and I have a big ass mouth. Ten minutes later, he's listening to a message of me talking about someone, rather brutally. Just bitching about, "this" and "that" and "blah blah" meaningless things was as if What Goes Around Comes Around and Karma tag teamed me, or gang jumped me and said, "we're not going to hit you with a car today or kill your family....but if you keep on that path, we may consider it. Here's why....BEEP..." then BAM,  Chelsea Literally Talking Smack, the voicemail version. 

The worst part was, I was talking about someone I love and adore. And if the ten minutes of what I was complaining about were to be broadcast on a bullhorn it would sound like I was talking about someone I loathe and want to stone with paper weights. 

So naturally, the rest of the day I felt like Karma gave me bare-assed lashing with a leather whip. I've always wondered if the statement about people's faults that you dislike being some amplified version of YOUR own faults, put very boldly in front of you so that you can recognize them. So that you can look at yourself and say, "Hey you know what Chels, sometimes YOU'RE the gigantic tool bag, or bad driver, or unreliable hot mess. Sometimes, that's you! You even forget your friends birthdays, so stop being righteous."

Then I went on the whole day wanting to reverse the karma; "Let's go feed the birds" or, "I've got like 20cents?...I bet homeless-toothless-Joe could buy sip of vodka with that, let's give it to him!" I was reminded that not only do I forget to be mindful of my words towards myself, but also for the words I contaminate the air with. 

So without further adieu, I'd like to apologize (this should hopefully knock down a few points on the Karma Scale, or at least offset contracting Lyme Disease):

To Janelle from Kindergarten, I'm sorry for biting you and blaming you for ripping the buttons off my  red dress-when I really did it for attention. To the many I "bumper bumped" in LA, sorry-it didn't look bad enough to leave a note. To my last ex-sorry for not caring enough when you did. To my Mom, for all the times I stole your MAC compact and left your face vulnerable and makeup-less. To my first roommate, sorry I ate your snacks when you weren't home and didn't tell you. To Amber for missing her birthday party and for making her do the "Apple Juice Diet" with me- sorry I put you at risk of vomiting up your organs. Sorry for not holding the door, for flipping the bird, for judging VERY HARSHLY anyone with a McCain sticker-I sent super bad voodoo energy your direction. Sorry for eating the last Jell-O, for forgetting to pay you back, for saying mean things about your baby, for envying you, for judging your wardrobe. I'm sorry for saying FAR TOO many mean things about Heidi and Spencer Pratt and for calling people with horse faces, "Horse Face" in my head. For that, I apologize. 

Hopefully Karma won't leave me anymore voicemail, or give me crabs. I'll be good, I promise.

What would YOU apologize for? 

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

Who Gives a Shit RIGHT?

You want feelings? Yes, I have feelings. I've gotten good at saying what I know people want to hear, apparently. The truth is, lately deciding what I feel hasn't been as close to the surface as it used to be. Feelings used to be palpable to me. Like hair raising on the back of you neck, goosebumps up the spine, like hovering your hand over the top of a stove, or feeling electricity spark off of another person's body when your lips are inches apart and the breathe between you is the only barrier.  My feelings used to drip from a pulsating "heart on the sleeve" down my arm like a juicy, perfectly ripe peach. My feelings with a usual range of 0-5,000 are at a steady , unyielding WHOPPING level 1. My feelings, USED to be like that. They're apparently on vacation. 

Lately they  (and I) have become various shades of neutral. Their soundtrack is of early alarm clocks, bare feet shuffling across my hardwood floor, the flick of light switches, power buttons and everyday Greek yogurt parfait making. There's this very poorly concealed feeling of routine and unimaginative motion in my presence. Instead of really "getting wild" or even just slightly creative, I've sort of let apathy take the wheel. It's like, eh, my hair could look good....but who cares. Or, I could really work hard to get rid of that extra giggle in my waistline....but who cares. I could stay up for fifty more hours and work tirelessly towards a thing that may never, ever come and at this point....who cares. I could call, I could try, I could surrender, I could cook, I could join, I could say....and so on....but, who cares. Uninspiring? Yeah, no shit. I'm no Pollyanna tonight. This isn't your routine self-help pick me up. Wa wa waaaaaa.

The day-t0-day motivation that has governed, strictly directed and conducted my existence for the past four years has become such a part of my mainstream life, that its slowly turned into something, frankly, unremarkable. The drive behind all my actions is now habit, it isn't sparked by some divine inspiration. It's business. And when something that you love turns into "business" the spirit of the thing itself is threatened. The spirit now has rules, the spirit now has obligations and expectations. 

There's days where I feel like everything I'm doing is replaceable and the worst part is that it IS.  If they hadn't hired me, they would've hired someone else, if we hadn't met you'd be meeting so and so, if I didn't show, if I quit, if I gave up, all things which I've decided "validate" my existence would prove their worthlessness. Whether I show up or someone else does, who cares. I used to call my best fried "brick brain" when she would fall into this impenetrable state of aloofness, this sort of head-detached-from-body -stoicism, then when I put myself on the other side of a conversation with me recently all I see is this gigantic CLOUD where I should be, behind it a BRICK WALL.

Every word for apathy pertains to me right now and THAT is how I'm feeling. I don't feel funny, or super witty and brilliant. I don't feel sexy or seductive. I don't feel like I could walk into a room and beam "good energy Starlet magnetism." I don't feel like emails are that important, I don't feel like the voicemails, or the conference calls, or the blogging, or the obligations mean ANYTHING. I am detached. I'm halfhearted and overly caffeinated. I am unfeeling, emotionless, aloof and indifferent.

My organs, every inch of the inside of my body feels asleep. No amount of yoga, or a stair stepper or someone hiding behind a corner to shock me into the present would do anything to "plug" me back into to being. What will? At this point...who cares

Monday, June 1, 2009

Before I die, I'm getting NAKED in public AND riding a hot air balloon.

Less talking, more action. 

Less wanting, more having. Less complaining, more thanking. Less comparing, more appreciating. Less doubt, more certainty. Less guilt, more pleasure. These are the things I've been doing lately. Today, coincidentally enough that ended up putting me in a 100 DEGREE yoga room where I was sweating my hypothetical balls was like a sauna in Africa. Or hell. 

But shit, it was on my list, THEE list....don't we all have one. A life list of some sort? Even if it isn't an actual piece of paper it's scribbled on some random gum-wrapper-sized unimportant section of your brain that gets thrown in the "brain's junk drawer" until further notice, or Spring cleaning. Then when you come across it again, you're like "oh yes.....I remember why I threw that there, because sweating my balls of in public, whilst shedding my inner toxins of red wine, coffee and neurosis makes me feel super vulnerable and uncomfortable." And P.S. there's no shock to the self esteem like staring at your sweaty ass in yoga pants for an hour....maybe walking around naked and painted like an alien is close, but still doesn't compare. 

Taking a hot yoga class isn't epic. It's just a thing. And that's exactly it....MOST of the things that are on our "life lists" aren't terribly epic, they just take some planning. It's like that load of laundry you're have to do it at some point. Some things take more planning, and more money than others....some ARE epic; Go to the Olympics. OR, perform on a major late night talk show. OR, tour Europe and get published in AT LEAST ten major publications....those all fall in various shades of "epic." Taking a pottery class, sweating your love handles into a mini reservoir in yoga class, learning how to make one TRULY FANTASTIC MEAL, planning a ride on a hot air balloon, taking a ballroom class, visiting Portland? Those aren't epic....they're things that can be activated by a simple action; DOING IT. 

Once in the middle of a college class my teacher put me in front of a class and taunted me to sing one of the hardest notes of my life, a note that could potentially crack windows, communicate with dogs, and/or leave people with bleeding, offended and broken eardrums. So I said, "I'll try....." and Miss Mama O (yes, that's her really name) said:


So when I sat down with My Love figuring out a plan of action to crossing of my ever growing "LIST" of some epic, some silly and seemingly insignificant "some days," and we decided to go with the mentality of
  1. That whole "the World is ending in 2012", so get the fuck on it and 2. No try. Only do.

Today, I did yoga. Not that I haven't taken yoga for years because I have, but this particular yoga, in this particular location- I'd never taken and always wanted here I was, very impulsively signing up and laying my clean face in a pool of my discarded toxins and quivering like a humiliated puppy. And I have to say...nothing felt better. 

Who knows, maybe this blog will get to turn into my "life list" journeys....and if that's the case, you should all be fucking excited. I'm quite sure I get naked somewhere on that list. 

What's one thing on YOUR "list"....(it doesn't have to be EPIC, it could be "learning how to sleep without the hall light on")