Saturday, August 14, 2010
I'm planning the wedding now
An open letter to my future husband:
Dear Ryan Reynolds,
I think you're pretty. Probably the prettiest person I've ever seen. And when I say "pretty," I mean "so hot I want to die because your sexiness is literally making my eyeballs explode." In a good way, though.
And, you're also kind of adorable in a little boy, goofy, dumb puppy sort of way. Don't worry, that's totally a compliment.
I know you're married. And if I was completely morally bankrupt that wouldn't even bother me. But instead of becoming a mistress, here's why I propose that you divorce She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named and marry me instead (see, I have scruples):
1. I make really good omelets. Like really good. People who don't even like eggs have been known to crave my omelets. So yeah, that good. And I would serve you in bed. Naked. Every day.
2. I'm not famous. No need to worry about me shacking up with a co-star or the paps snapping photos of my goodies as they hide outside our house in the trees. The only goodies the paps will be trying to get a shot of are yours. And let's face it, your goods are the only ones that matter.
3. See what I just did there? I said, "your goods are the only ones that matter." Because I'm selfless. In bed.
4. I'm pretty low-maintenance. I don't need lots of jewelry or designer clothes. I just need you. Naked. In bed. Maybe with some omelets.
5. I'm semi-funny and will be able to make you laugh. In bed. And not in bed. Almost everywhere.
6. I might not be as attractive as ScarJo but I promise I'm not Marla Hooch. Which means that your kids would still be cute. And just for you, I will pop as many babies out of my vag as you want. Because that's the kind of nice person I am.
I understand if you need some time to break it to Scarlett. I'll be here when you're ready.
All my love,
Chelsea xxx
Dear Ryan Reynolds,
I think you're pretty. Probably the prettiest person I've ever seen. And when I say "pretty," I mean "so hot I want to die because your sexiness is literally making my eyeballs explode." In a good way, though.
And, you're also kind of adorable in a little boy, goofy, dumb puppy sort of way. Don't worry, that's totally a compliment.
I know you're married. And if I was completely morally bankrupt that wouldn't even bother me. But instead of becoming a mistress, here's why I propose that you divorce She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named and marry me instead (see, I have scruples):
1. I make really good omelets. Like really good. People who don't even like eggs have been known to crave my omelets. So yeah, that good. And I would serve you in bed. Naked. Every day.
2. I'm not famous. No need to worry about me shacking up with a co-star or the paps snapping photos of my goodies as they hide outside our house in the trees. The only goodies the paps will be trying to get a shot of are yours. And let's face it, your goods are the only ones that matter.
3. See what I just did there? I said, "your goods are the only ones that matter." Because I'm selfless. In bed.
4. I'm pretty low-maintenance. I don't need lots of jewelry or designer clothes. I just need you. Naked. In bed. Maybe with some omelets.
5. I'm semi-funny and will be able to make you laugh. In bed. And not in bed. Almost everywhere.
6. I might not be as attractive as ScarJo but I promise I'm not Marla Hooch. Which means that your kids would still be cute. And just for you, I will pop as many babies out of my vag as you want. Because that's the kind of nice person I am.
I understand if you need some time to break it to Scarlett. I'll be here when you're ready.
All my love,
Chelsea xxx
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Why great minds think alike
I've been keeping a running list of blog titles and ideas on a Post-It note on my computer desktop so that I don't up and forget something. Yesterday, at the top of the list, I wrote: Why I want to Eat, Pray, Love.
That's why I was in complete and utter awe when I clicked over to Just A Titch as part of my daily morning blog fest and found this. Don't tell me that's not a little bit freaky.
This little coincidence made me think about how much we are all really connected. How much we share the same thoughts and ideas and feelings. How one thing can touch the lives of so many people.
I've always been inspired by other people's stories. Not just the stories that exist in the pages of a book, but the stories of real people living and learning and experiencing. As humans, we all share a common thread. We are all on a journey. A path that is never quite the same as someone elses' but similar in that we are all trying to figure out where our journey is taking us.
A lot of people complain that there isn't a truly original thought left. That something we think of has been thought and written and tried before. I've heard this depresses a lot of people. And while I understand that we all want to be original and unique and craft something so completely novel, I also kind of feel comfort in the fact that with all of the differences in the world that, at the core of our minds and thoughts we can be so much the same.
And I can't wait to both read and watch Eat, Pray, Love because I believe that by listening to the stories of others we can begin to make more sense of our own.
More to come.
That's why I was in complete and utter awe when I clicked over to Just A Titch as part of my daily morning blog fest and found this. Don't tell me that's not a little bit freaky.
This little coincidence made me think about how much we are all really connected. How much we share the same thoughts and ideas and feelings. How one thing can touch the lives of so many people.
I've always been inspired by other people's stories. Not just the stories that exist in the pages of a book, but the stories of real people living and learning and experiencing. As humans, we all share a common thread. We are all on a journey. A path that is never quite the same as someone elses' but similar in that we are all trying to figure out where our journey is taking us.
A lot of people complain that there isn't a truly original thought left. That something we think of has been thought and written and tried before. I've heard this depresses a lot of people. And while I understand that we all want to be original and unique and craft something so completely novel, I also kind of feel comfort in the fact that with all of the differences in the world that, at the core of our minds and thoughts we can be so much the same.
And I can't wait to both read and watch Eat, Pray, Love because I believe that by listening to the stories of others we can begin to make more sense of our own.
More to come.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Why it would totally suck to be a vampire or maybe that's not what I'm trying to say at all
So today I was standing in front of the mirror in my bathroom brushing my teeth with my roommates toothpaste because hers works so much better than mine and I realized that it would totally suck to not be able to see your reflection. True story.
Don't get me wrong, it's not like I stand in front of the mirror all day staring at myself because I'm not that narcissistic and that would honestly get kinda boring after a while. But wouldn't it totally suck if you were trying to get ready for a night out of drunken debauchery and you couldn't see yourself in the mirror to put on mascara? And when you end up stabbing yourself in the eye with the mascara wand, how are you supposed to make sure that you didn't end up making yourself look like Taylor Momsen?
And then? I wondered why it was that I even care about my appearance so much as to not want to be a totally BA kick-ass vampire just because I wouldn't be able to see what I look like. And the truth? I kind of care what other people think of my appearance. And? I guess I take pride in how I look. Not vain-y as in "look at me I'm so pretty and everyone should think I'm pretty too" kind of way but as in a "I feel good about myself because I took the time to make myself look on the outside how I feel on the inside" kind of pride.
And then, I realized that I am tired of doing things that don't actually make me feel good about myself. Oh sure, I am still probably going to make stupid drunk mistakes and binge on pizza and wine while watching Trueblood. But passing up that girl that dropped the entire contents of her purse on the sidewalk? And not going on that run because it's so much easier to sit on the couch and complain that I don't have anything to do? Yep, I'm going to try and work on that.
Because we should all feel great about ourselves.
But you know what I wonder above all? How does Edward Cullen gets his hair so freaking disheveled slash perfect. Does Emmett do it for him? Awkward.
Don't get me wrong, it's not like I stand in front of the mirror all day staring at myself because I'm not that narcissistic and that would honestly get kinda boring after a while. But wouldn't it totally suck if you were trying to get ready for a night out of drunken debauchery and you couldn't see yourself in the mirror to put on mascara? And when you end up stabbing yourself in the eye with the mascara wand, how are you supposed to make sure that you didn't end up making yourself look like Taylor Momsen?
And then? I wondered why it was that I even care about my appearance so much as to not want to be a totally BA kick-ass vampire just because I wouldn't be able to see what I look like. And the truth? I kind of care what other people think of my appearance. And? I guess I take pride in how I look. Not vain-y as in "look at me I'm so pretty and everyone should think I'm pretty too" kind of way but as in a "I feel good about myself because I took the time to make myself look on the outside how I feel on the inside" kind of pride.
And then, I realized that I am tired of doing things that don't actually make me feel good about myself. Oh sure, I am still probably going to make stupid drunk mistakes and binge on pizza and wine while watching Trueblood. But passing up that girl that dropped the entire contents of her purse on the sidewalk? And not going on that run because it's so much easier to sit on the couch and complain that I don't have anything to do? Yep, I'm going to try and work on that.
Because we should all feel great about ourselves.
But you know what I wonder above all? How does Edward Cullen gets his hair so freaking disheveled slash perfect. Does Emmett do it for him? Awkward.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Why I'm pretty sure Twitter is trying to ruin my life
I like to think that I am an intelligent human being and at least more technically savvy than my father who just recently figured out what texting was (not that he can actually do it in under 20 minutes). But, Twitter? It totally fucking confuses me.
Isn't tweeting just like making a status on Facebook? With lots of confusing @ and # symbols? I can figure out the @ thing. Hello, I'm not fucking...um, someone really dumb. But the pound thingy? Nope, totally don't get it. It's like a tagging thing, right?
#whatthefuckdoesthisevenmean??!?!?!?!
And why do I need another medium to make a drunk fool of myself? How many times a week can I really tell the Interwebz that it's the freakin' weekend (on a Monday) and am sooooo drnrkkkkk. Probably a lot.
And the whole following thing? That's a lot of pressure. I don't have that many friends, y'all. And interacting with celebs like the cool tweeters? Crap my pants right now. I doubt any of my 3 friends (or are they just followers? friends=Facebook only?) would create an army to defend me against William Shatner. So, basically, what's the point?
So, when I sign up for Twitter tomorrow and William Shatner blocks me and I don't have any friends/followers and make a complete ass of myself after a $5 liquor pitcher, I blame Lindsay Lohan and the fact that I really just want to be able to see her coke binged rants about her dad. When she gets out of rehab, of course.
Oh, and if anyone can actually coherently explain this whole Twitter businezz, I'll totally S your D*. Or at least send you a cookie and some nudie photos.
*Did I just make this up or have other people heard this before too? I feel like saying BJ is just so last week. I'm the only one? Go figure.
Isn't tweeting just like making a status on Facebook? With lots of confusing @ and # symbols? I can figure out the @ thing. Hello, I'm not fucking...um, someone really dumb. But the pound thingy? Nope, totally don't get it. It's like a tagging thing, right?
#whatthefuckdoesthisevenmean??!?!?!?!
And why do I need another medium to make a drunk fool of myself? How many times a week can I really tell the Interwebz that it's the freakin' weekend (on a Monday) and am sooooo drnrkkkkk. Probably a lot.
And the whole following thing? That's a lot of pressure. I don't have that many friends, y'all. And interacting with celebs like the cool tweeters? Crap my pants right now. I doubt any of my 3 friends (or are they just followers? friends=Facebook only?) would create an army to defend me against William Shatner. So, basically, what's the point?
So, when I sign up for Twitter tomorrow and William Shatner blocks me and I don't have any friends/followers and make a complete ass of myself after a $5 liquor pitcher, I blame Lindsay Lohan and the fact that I really just want to be able to see her coke binged rants about her dad. When she gets out of rehab, of course.
Oh, and if anyone can actually coherently explain this whole Twitter businezz, I'll totally S your D*. Or at least send you a cookie and some nudie photos.
*Did I just make this up or have other people heard this before too? I feel like saying BJ is just so last week. I'm the only one? Go figure.
Why being an adult can totally suck my ballz
You know what's completely fucking overrated? Being a self-sufficient, independent, and responsible adult. Yeah, I said it.
Sometimes I like to give the illusion that I'm a respectable and upstanding adult. But seriously, who the hell am I kidding? I can't even call and order pizza without getting all jittery.
My parents like to tell me that I've always been mature and a responsible. Which is actually very sweet (read: stupid) considering that they're the ones that are always yelling at me to get over it and order the pizza already because everyone's freaking starving. I suppose I have been responsible. I made good grades in high school, stayed out of trouble and the drama, got into a well respected journalism school for college, and have had a handful of jobs in which I've always been on time and worked hard at. But capital-A-Adult things like balancing my checkbook and watching the news and being completely financially independent? Yeah, not so much.
In ten months I will have officially graduated college (finger crossies) and then? It's the Real World. And not the booze fest in which 7 strangers share a ridonculous house in some awesome city. Like the move-the-rest-of-my-crap-out-of-my-parents'-house-get-a-big-girl-job-figure-out-how-taxes-and-oil-changes-work kind of real world. Also: bills, bills, bills. Like more than what I have already. Gross.
And isn't it like a rule of the universe that being an adult means that you're supposed to make meals that don't solely come out of a box or get black-out drunk on a Tuesday and sleep all day Wednesday or wear the same pair of jeans for three weeks straight instead of just doing laundry already?
No thanks. I can't hack it. Count me out.
My brain is practically exploding right now, so excuse me while I go do a shot of tequila to ease the pain of the knowledge that four years of college has absolutely prepared me for nothing except how to use APA style and get drunk on a Tuesday. I'm so fucked.
But seriously, this topic will be brought up again and again so hopefully the next one will be less of me complaining complaining complaining and more about what the hell all of this really means. No promises, though.
Sometimes I like to give the illusion that I'm a respectable and upstanding adult. But seriously, who the hell am I kidding? I can't even call and order pizza without getting all jittery.
My parents like to tell me that I've always been mature and a responsible. Which is actually very sweet (read: stupid) considering that they're the ones that are always yelling at me to get over it and order the pizza already because everyone's freaking starving. I suppose I have been responsible. I made good grades in high school, stayed out of trouble and the drama, got into a well respected journalism school for college, and have had a handful of jobs in which I've always been on time and worked hard at. But capital-A-Adult things like balancing my checkbook and watching the news and being completely financially independent? Yeah, not so much.
In ten months I will have officially graduated college (finger crossies) and then? It's the Real World. And not the booze fest in which 7 strangers share a ridonculous house in some awesome city. Like the move-the-rest-of-my-crap-out-of-my-parents'-house-get-a-big-girl-job-figure-out-how-taxes-and-oil-changes-work kind of real world. Also: bills, bills, bills. Like more than what I have already. Gross.
And isn't it like a rule of the universe that being an adult means that you're supposed to make meals that don't solely come out of a box or get black-out drunk on a Tuesday and sleep all day Wednesday or wear the same pair of jeans for three weeks straight instead of just doing laundry already?
No thanks. I can't hack it. Count me out.
My brain is practically exploding right now, so excuse me while I go do a shot of tequila to ease the pain of the knowledge that four years of college has absolutely prepared me for nothing except how to use APA style and get drunk on a Tuesday. I'm so fucked.
But seriously, this topic will be brought up again and again so hopefully the next one will be less of me complaining complaining complaining and more about what the hell all of this really means. No promises, though.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Why this blog is already totally screwed
So you know how everyone these days has a blog? Well, I must be running a fever or about to die of tuberculosis because I totally have one now too. Which is weird because I always said I would never get one. For some reason the thought of publicly sharing the details of my life makes me want to vom. And that is so totally hypocritical because I'm a bit of a blog fiend. I love reading blogs. I love stalking random strangers on the blogosphere and pretending that they are my real life friends. I love reading about other people's details.
Having my own blog makes me all vomy probably because this shit is wicked stressful. Like, what am I supposed to talk about? What do I want people to get from my blog? What's the aim? Ha, well, hell if I know. I guess we'll all be surprised. And secondly, how will I constantly be funny and deep and relatable and not a total freak ass like the bloggers that I seriously love and who give me a massive dose of the jealousies?? And, there's the whole naming business too. Which is probably what makes me vomy the most because, hello, like every original thing I can think of is already taken because apparently everyone except my 75 year old gradma has a blog. Except she probably has one too. And now I'm totally screwed because I'm going to end up with a blog name that completely sucks ballz and everyone will laugh at me like the time I threw up outside the cafeteria in second grade. See, wicked stressful.
So, the point of all of this is to not be surprised if I change the name every other day. Or if I update every six months like the time in junior high when I tried to keep a diary and all it ended up in was repeatedly signing my name over and over because I couldn't think of anything to write and in the event that I do write something, it probably won't be at all coherent because I'll probably be drunk because of all of the stress that this blog will give me will force me to drink. So basically this blog is going to make me an alcoholic. Not that I really need help with that anyway.
I'm pretty sure this makes me the worst blogger in the history of ever.
Hi, I'm Chelsea and I'm an alcoholic.
Having my own blog makes me all vomy probably because this shit is wicked stressful. Like, what am I supposed to talk about? What do I want people to get from my blog? What's the aim? Ha, well, hell if I know. I guess we'll all be surprised. And secondly, how will I constantly be funny and deep and relatable and not a total freak ass like the bloggers that I seriously love and who give me a massive dose of the jealousies?? And, there's the whole naming business too. Which is probably what makes me vomy the most because, hello, like every original thing I can think of is already taken because apparently everyone except my 75 year old gradma has a blog. Except she probably has one too. And now I'm totally screwed because I'm going to end up with a blog name that completely sucks ballz and everyone will laugh at me like the time I threw up outside the cafeteria in second grade. See, wicked stressful.
So, the point of all of this is to not be surprised if I change the name every other day. Or if I update every six months like the time in junior high when I tried to keep a diary and all it ended up in was repeatedly signing my name over and over because I couldn't think of anything to write and in the event that I do write something, it probably won't be at all coherent because I'll probably be drunk because of all of the stress that this blog will give me will force me to drink. So basically this blog is going to make me an alcoholic. Not that I really need help with that anyway.
I'm pretty sure this makes me the worst blogger in the history of ever.
Hi, I'm Chelsea and I'm an alcoholic.
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