My Margarita (to the tune of "My Maria" by Brooks and Dunn)

So it's December 20 and I haven't done one bit of Christmas shopping.  I don't really need to do much since I'm not married, have no kids and don't have a boyfriend to buy anything for.  Which in my book is a score because that means more money in my pocket.  Or so I'd like to think.  I got a letter in the mail the other day from the DMV of California telling me my wages are going to be garnished because I have failed to pay my registration on a car I don't even own anymore and was registered in the state of Massachusetts 2 years ago.  Like I mentioned before, when I moved from Boston I called up Audi to tell them to pick up my car because I didn't want it anymore.  Stupid decision on my part but what are ya gonna do?!?  I can't really say all the decisions I've made in my time are the best ones but I wouldn't be the rad person I am today if I didn't make a few mistakes here and there, and here, and there...So back to the wages being garnished...When I opened the letter I was like "WTF? You're serious.  Story of my life!  WAAH WAAH WAAH.  Why can't I just catch a break once!"  But then, as I sat there and pondered how I was going to handle the situation I started reminiscing.  Reminiscing about my car (random, I know).  All the good times we had during our last year together.  Driving across the country and getting splattered with cow shit in the middle of Wyoming, busting an axle in Ohio and being stranded for 3 days, coming home back to Boston from Christmas in CA the day after a huge snowstorm only to find someone stole my windshield wiper off the driver's side, my first time driving in a blizzard (there aren't enough hours in the day to write details about that one), digging her out of 3 feet of snow with a shovel that has a retractable handle resulting in my taking a chunk out of my left ring finger with the first attempt.  The list could go on and on.  I miss my Margarita (that's what my sister and I named her somewhere between Las Vegas and Utah in order to make our 3000 mile journey a little more interesting).  But then I think about my time without her and who I've become since giving her up and I'm proud.  I only officially gave her up a year ago which has made me think about where I was then and where I am now.  I don't even know who I was then, but I'm happy I've become who I am now.  (that was deep, I know.)  It's easy to hold on to the past and wish you had what you once thought was good, but if you take a little time to think about how you got to where you are now it's pretty amazing.  I think everyone could use a little self-reflection.  It might make the world a better place.  And a little more easy to laugh at.  Who knows what's going to happen with my wages, it's neither here nor there.  If I've learned one thing in the past 365 days it's that everything will always work itself out.  ALWAYS.  I hope you all have a VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS and an even better New Year.  And I mean it with the deepest sincerity :)

ROCK ON, YA'LL.

and yes, that's really Miss Margarita herself in the photo :)

The girl who cried wolf.

My mom used to ask me if I was going to die before or after dinner, if she should set me a place setting or not.I'm the girl who disinfects my own toothbrush with hydrogen peroxide every morning because I'm so grossed out by germs and getting sick.  I'm what you call a hypochondriac.  To the extreme.  In my brain I have literally had every terminal disease to grace this beautiful earth, and somehow I've seemed to make it out alive.  I've got this gift of learning or hearing about something and INSTANTLY convincing myself I have the symptoms.  I don't do it for attention, it's a real issue.    Sometimes I get so freaked out I can't continue on with my day because all I can think about is how I'm going to die.  If I look at the big picture I know I'm fine, but until I'm convinced I'll be OK it's the end of the world in my brain.  For instance, about a month ago I had a hangnail on my left pinkie finger that got crazy infected.  My little finger swelled up so large it looked like it was going to explode.  A vienna sausage if you will.  Now most of you are thinking this isn't a big deal but in my brain I had cancer.  Yup, the reason my hangnail got infected is because I have some sort of cancer.  I've read in my travels somewhere a long the way that excessive hang nails and infections can be a sign of cancer.  Mind you I work at Trader Joe's which means although I may seem like the delicate little flower that I am, from Saturday to Wednesday I have man-hands from opening boxes, cutting myself on God knows what and smashing my fingers between canned goods and metal shelves all day.  Which could lead to an infected hang-nail.  Nope, I had cancer.  I called my mom 6 times that day so she could assure me I was OK, and she didn't call back till almost midnight.  Co-workers made fun of me because I couldn't concentrate on anything, I broke out in tears at one point because I was so freaked and was ready to clock out and go to the ER to get the thing cut off.  Obviously I ended up fine and in case you're wondering, my pinkie has lost some weight and is doing fantastically.

Now on the Eve of my 29th birthday I woke up with a weird feeling in my body.  I felt dizzy and nauseated all at the same time.  Not too intense, but enough to make my brain rattle.  I brushed it off and told myself it was nothing since 20 minutes before I had this feeling I downed a 16 oz. double espresso from Coffee Bean.  Two days before this, September 10, my mom and I went to a wine bar by her house to do a little wine tasting in honor of her birthing me 29 years ago.  What seemed to be was going to be a chill night ended up the exact opposite.  I woke up the following morning with 9 cuts and bruises all over my body and a mean pain in my left elbow.  Some friends from High School that I haven't hung with in maybe 10 years happened to be at the bar next door so we merged parties and the rest is history.  The first boy to ever break my heart was there, who I haven't seen since High School graduation so of course I felt a little awkward.  The F.A. (standing for Fucking Asshole) is what we'll call him as that is what he was appropriately known as back in the day in the Rodriguez household.  So you're probably wondering why I woke up with 9 cuts and bruises and a mean pain in my left elbow the following morning.  The FA beat the shit out of me.  Not literally, but literally.  What started out to be a fun night at the bar ended up being a mock wrestling match between the FA and I at one of his friends house.  Drinks, repressed anger and lots of laughter don't make for a clean bout. Clearly I lost.  Back to the bruises.  They were the kind you look at and say "what the fuck happened to you, Chelsea?".  Kind of embarrassing and not normal.  So of course, in my brain I have some sort of cancer.  Because again, I've read somewhere in my travels that excessive bruising means cancer.  No bueno.  So lots of bruises in a matter of hours and feelings of dizziness and nausea are a perfect recipe for cancer.  I'm not going to live to see 29 I told myself.  So after a week of having this strange feeling and watching my bruises come and go I researched and decided I was anemic.  So I made myself a doctors appointment.  Just so you know, I don't do doctors.  I'm the hypochondriac that won't go to the doctor or take medicine for anything.  I'd rather not know there's really something wrong than go find out and freak myself out even more.  Weird, I know.  So I show up to my doctors appointment ( after hours of convincing myself not to flake because I was scared to find out there's really something wrong) and sit on the table with the crinkly white paper and a blood pressure cuff around my arm.  123/82 is my blood pressure.  "Your body temperature is 98.5.  OK, Chelsea, the doctor should be right with you." the nurse said.  "Hi, I'm doctor (whatever the hell his name was).  Nice to meet you!  Can you tell me what's wrong with you today?"  "Umm, well to start I just want to warn you I'm crazy.  I'm a hypochondriac and I think I'm anemic.  I've researched and I swear I'm anemic.", I said to him.  He stared at me like I just escaped the looney bin and ran straight to his office.  "Well can you tell me why you think you're anemic?" he asked.  So I told him.  "I bruise easy, I've had dizzy spells, blah blah blah", I told him.  "What else?" he asked again.  "Umm, nothing.  I think that's it." I replied.  "Well from what you're telling me I think you're fine.  Let me take some blood just in case to see what's going on inside of you."  "Umm, what?  What are you going to test?" I asked.  "Your blood cell count, cholesterol, coagulation, blood sugar, etc. etc."  So at this point in my brain I'm thinking "holy shit, I'm really going to find out I'm dying.  What the hell am I thinking coming here?" And before I know it there are 3 viles of my blood on the counter.  "Ok, just pee in this cup and leave it on the counter.  I call you tomorrow with your results." the doctor said.  "OMG, I can't do this!", I thought to myself.  There's certainly no turning back at this point-he's already holding my blood for ransom and he's going to poke and play with it as much as he wants to until he finds something wrong.  So after a day of no sleep and lots of worry The Doc calls me.  "Hello, Chelsea?"  "Yeah, it's me", I said.  "Well I got your results back," he said with all seriousness, "and it looks like you're perfectly healthy.  You seem to be dehydrated.  Do you drink a lot of water?", he asked.  I do.  All I drink is water.  Except during the month of September.  Every friend I know has a birthday, including myself so for a 30 day period it ends up being one long party.  Every year, for the last 40 million years.  Which explains a lot.  "And there's no reason you should be bruising so easy, so just make sure you drink more water.  Now that you're 29 try to resist the urge to go out so much and take care of your body", he said to me.  Thanks for making me feel better, Doc.  I felt like I was getting reprimanded after coming home late from curfew in high school by my mother.  It took a mere anxiety attack, 3 viles of blood and a cup of my own urine to make me feel like an ass by my new doctor.  I knew I hated them for a reason, and this just confirmed it.  From now on I'm going to stick to my previous methods of healing, save a few pints of blood and take a deep breath because I'm fine.  He told me so.

Till next time.

CIAO!!

OH HELLLL NO!

There are 3 people that live in my own personal hell.  Max Rivera, Desmond (the moving man) and George Eads from CSI.  Max for reasons very well known, Desmond because, well you read the previous blog and George Eads because he is the reason I am in any kind of debt today.  I attribute all of my current debt to him and the reason why since I have moved home to CA I have not been able to get a car.  Back in 2005 on a beautiful Saturday morning in North Hollywood I ventured into the world to pay a visit to my Grandparents who were visiting at my Mom's house in Riverside.  Just like any normal day I got ready, jumped in my car and decided 1/4 of the way that I wanted a coffee from Coffee Bean.  So I proceed to fulfill my every fantasy of sipping on an Ultimate Mocha with banana in it (hold the whipped cream) and get off the freeway.  As I was getting back on the freeway to proceed on my journey to the Inland Empire I turned on Britney, sipped on my Ultimate and began to rock out.  As I'm sitting there at the left turn light signal and my left turn green arrow comes on I proceed into the intersection cautiously and begin to make my  left turn onto the on-ramp.  Well...low and behold a Jeep Wrangler going God knows how fast decided not to pay attention to the red light in front of him, ran it and smashed into the rear passenger side of my car.  So of course, I freaked out for a second.  There's not much to really freak out about if you have insurance and a little patience.  I got out of the car only to see this hot hot guy coming toward me telling me "Oh my God I am so sorry" with a Texas twang.  "It's cool" I told him.  "Shit happens."  So at this point I wasn't sure what to do because I had never been in a car accident before, I didn't want to be there forever because I wanted to see my Grandparents, and standing on the side of an on-ramp to the 101 Freeway probably wasn't the safest place in the world.  So I beeped my Dad.  It was back when Nextel phones were the cool thing to have.  So I beep him, tell him what happened and wait for his response.  "My dad's a firefighter so I'm just gonna ask him what to do because I'm not sure.  Something tells me he may know."  "Oh he's a firefighter?  Ask him if he watches CSI" George says.  "He does.  I already know.  Why?" I responded.  "Tell him George Eads from CSI ran into you.  He'll love it."  "Dad, this guy wants me to tell you George Eads from CSI hit me." I beeped.  "Who?  I don't give a shit who hit you just make sure you get all of his information.  He's stupid anyway." my dad says.  My dad is the type who doesn't care about who anyone is, where they come from, what their status is.  Nothing.  Everyone is a moron, an idiot or stupid.  He's very South American and thinks he's the shit and only he is the shit.  "Did you hear that?" I said to George.  "Yeah.  Well..."- "He doesn't care who you are." I laughed.  So I got all of his information, the tow truck came because my car was undriveable and George very nicely drove me back to my brothers house in North Hollywood.  "We film over here sometimes." he said as we were driving down Sherman Way.  "Nice." I replied.  I'm not really one to get starstruck either so the fact that my whole day was shot and I had no car didn't make me any more excited to be in a car with a guy who plays on a TV show I've never watched a day in my life.  "Well I'm sure we'll be in contact" I said to him as I got out of his car and went into my brothers house.  And that's where the beginning of the rest of my life began.  George's insurance company didn't pay for much.  My car ended up getting fixed by a man who I am almost certain is an accomplice in the Argentine mafia and I never got reimbursed for anything from his side of the world.  Upon getting my car back from the body shop I noticed every time the gas tank hit 1/2 a tank the entire inside of the car would smell horrendously like gas.  Well being the hypochondriac that I am, I am almost certain I have at least 3 forms of cancer growing in my body from all the fumes I had to inhale during a 4 month period.  Finally, after being fed up with my insides getting contaminated with carbon monoxide I took my Jetta into the Audi dealership and traded it in for the Audi A4 I always wanted.  I owed too much on my car to sell it and it wasn't worth giving someone else a slow miserable death like I had to endure for months so the dealership tacked on the extra amount to my Audi and I paid for it all then.  My Audi made it with me all the way across the country and through so many memories I'll never ever forget.  Most of which are on the "Fizzle and Dizzal Do America" DVD's, courtesy of Frankie.  Anywho, so upon moving from Boston to New York I tried to get rid of the Audi.  Who needs a car when they're in NYC??  It's money that doesn't need to be spent.  Yeah, not so easy.  Because I had to add on $8000 to the cost of the Audi from my Jetta by the time it came time for me to go to NYC I owed $18,000 on it.  The car is only worth maybe, if I'm lucky, $9000.  Who has an extra $9000 laying around to pay the difference?  Not me!!!  So being the free spirit that I am, thinking that I'm not going to need a car for a long time because at that time I planned on being in NYC for a long time-I called Audi and asked them to go pick up my car in Boston at a friends' house because I didn't want it anymore.  It sounds funny saying it out loud, but try being me now, back in CA with no car.  My sister is generous and amazing enough to let me drive her car until I get one, but nobody will give me one!!  "I'd like to get a car loan".  I told the Banker at the bank.  "OK, I just need some information from you before we find out."  So I gave her all of my info, kept my fingers crossed and BAM!!!  "Ma'am, they're going to send you a letter after they do some more research to see if you're qualified." she said.  I knew it.  Who is going to give someone a car loan to get a car when the first thing on my credit reads "Voluntary Surrender" next to my Audi loan.  So like I anticipated I got a letter in the mail 10 days later telling me they thought I was joking trying to get a car loan from them.  It wouldn't all be such a big deal because I have something to drive in the meantime, but it'd be nice to start my life out here and finally do the things I wanted.  I can't buy furniture for my house before I get a car, that'd be messed up.  I can't go to Vegas like I would love to before I get a car, that'd be even more messed up.  It's not like I don't have the money to pay the monthly payment, dealerships and banks think I'm a joke!  So the moral of the story everyone is....If you know anyone who wants to give me a car or a loan, let me know!!!  I'd love to buy a new couch and go get my hair done in Vegas sometime soon.  I know you're never supposed to forget your roots, but these ones on my head are worth doing away with!!  Frankie might be sad if I did all of the above while driving her car around :)  

Rock on.

CIAO!!!

Just Dance

I broke into tears this morning at work when a song came on the radio.  "One Sweet Day", by Mariah Carey and Boyz II Men.  I haven't heard it in God knows how long but the emotion it brought to me was unstoppable.  In 1996 my best friend in the entire worlds' older sister was killed by a drunk driver. To this day it is one of the more traumatizing things I have ever had to go through.  She was an older sister to me.  Or the closest thing I had to it.  I have an older brother, who don't get me wrong is one of the more amazing men in my life, but what little girl doesn't want an older sister to look up to and steal her clothes from? (you're welcome Frankie :) )  Sara treated me like an older sister.  Amy, my best friend and I, used to steal her car when we were in 8th grade and drive it around the block, drive by boys' houses we had a crush on, wherever.  As long as it was within a 1 mile radius, we drove by it.  Every time we would turn the corner to go back to Amy's house Sara would ALWAYS be sitting on the curb pissed off, yelling and screaming, telling us she was going to beat us, tell Sheila (Amy's mom) on us, everything.  She did not hold back with me either.  She picked on me, made fun of me, laughed with me, cried with me, all of that.  Well when she died there was a single cassette in the tape deck of her car that we found.  "One Sweet Day" by Mariah Carey and Boyz II Men.  It reminds me of her every single time I hear it.  It is one of those songs that gets into your soul and makes you just feel it and want to sing so loud at the top of your lungs and cry your brains out you can't help it.  There aren't many songs like that.  Everyone has their pick.  That just happens to be one of mine.  And it came on the radio at the most perfect time.  

Last weekend Amy's grandma died and I found out her Grandpa is sick as well.  Again, I grew up with them.  Amy's family is part of my family (whether or not we talk all the time or see each other every day, her family is one that will always be close and dear to my heart forever and ever and always).   Well most people when they grieve, are happy, sad, depressed, excited, anxious, whatever it may be have some sort of faith they go to to tell them everything is going to be alright.  Whether you believe in God, Buddah, the little red Kabbalah bracelet everyone wears to be trendy, the clouds in the sky, whatever, everyone has that one thing they turn to.  Mine happens to be music.  I decided music is my faith.  When I was in high school my mom, instead of grounding me, would take my stereo away for weeks at a time.  I didn't watch much TV or play on the computer all that much because I was always in my room listening to music.  I can't function without music.  It has been there through the best of best of times and the worst most miserable times I've had to go through.  And I didn't officially realize it until 3 days ago.  Lori, my sister-in-law/true sister/friend from freakin ages ago, her mother past away on Thursday.  She has been going through chemo to treat breast cancer but nothing was terribly wrong.  Well on Thursday I got ready to go down to meet some old friends, left my house and stopped by Coffee Bean for a quick chat with my sister.  In the midst of the chat my sister tells me how Lori's mom is in the hospital, she's not doing well, etc.  I didn't know what to say.  My first reaction to everything is to look at the good in the situation.  What good can come out of what Frankie just told me, I have no idea but I tried to stay positive.  We had our chat, tripped out about what was going on and went about our business.  Now stay with me because it's going to get complicated.  Back in January I went through a break-up that for about 10 minutes in my brain I thought it was the end of the world.  Only 10 minutes though.  When I really realized what a piece of shit the guy was I became the happiest person in the world.  Anywho, back in January I turned to music.  As I always do.  It's a way for me to escape.  Well...there's a song by Lady GaGa called "Just Dance" that was popular, catchy, blah blah blah.  I heard it a few times and didn't even like it, but when I started going through all of my emotions and 808's and heartbreaks, I fell in love with it.  Solely for the lyrics.  "JUST DANCE!! IT'LL BE OK!  DA-DA-DOO-DOO. JUST DANCE!!" It's the most amazing get through life with a smile song in the world.  I swore by it.  In my lowest of lows I would put it on, sing at the top of my lungs and just cry my brains out.  So back to this past Thursday when Frankie and I congregated at Coffee Bean.  I got in my car, turned on the radio, and no joke the first song on was "Just Dance" by Lady GaGa.  TRIP OUT.  Now the majority of you may be thinking to yourself "big deal.  it's a popular song, came out only  8 months ago, blah blah blah".  But really, out of all the lame lame lame Lady GaGa songs on the radio right now when's the last time you heard that one??  So I took it as a sign.  My Music God was telling me once again that everything was going to be alright.  Just Dance!!!!  Take a deep breath cause you're gonna get through it, Chels.  That's what I heard.  (i'm not crazy, i swear.).  I then called my sister to tell her what had happened because I was so tripped out, we both just had a moment.  Well now an even longer story short, Frankie's life anthem is "Wind Beneath my Wings" by Bette Midler.  No one ever hears that song on the radio unless you tune into Love Songs on the KOST every night at 11 pm.  Of course Lori, her family, my brother and all have been through a ton in the last 48 hours so we congregated at their house last night to have dinner, play a little RockBand and just shoot the shit.  Take our minds off of everything.  Well we're eating dinner and Frankie started telling us how she was so tripped out because she got in her car and the first song she heard was "Wind Beneath my Wings" by Bette Midler.  And I teared up in my brain.  The feeling I got inside my body was so surreal I had no words.  Sounds funny because it's just a lame song that comes on the radio every 10 years, but when you put the whole story together, it's kind of neat.  And when I heard "One Sweet Day" this morning I was assured that everything would be OK.  No matter what happens in life, everything will be OK.

JUST DANCE.

Ciao!! 

Thank God for Velour

Thank God for Velour, you may say?  Well let me tell you how much you appreciate velour in desperate times of need and don't even know it. 

Like I mentioned before, I got my stuff shipped from NYC to LA.  I've done the whole drive across the country gig.  It didn't work out so well.  For those that don't know, what should have been a 4 day trip turned into an entire week because my sister and I ended up stranded in a little town called Bryan, OH (population 20) for three days.  Looong story short, the front right axle of my car got busted into pieces so of course we couldn't go forth with our journey until it was fixed.  Fast forward to a month and a half ago.  I woke up in the morning with a bug bite on my tongue, on both lips, my forehead and the side of my cheek.  If you're trying to get a visual, I looked like Will Smith on Hitch when he has an allergic reaction to food.  If you don't know it, Google it.  Aside from being stressed out because the movers were coming that day to pick up my stuff,  I had to deal with a face that  I wanted to scratch off because whatever mosquito was let into the house that night decided to have a Thanksgiving feast with the subcutaneous layers of my facial region.  Whatever.  2 days prior to all of this I booked a moving company to come pick up my stuff so it could peacefully get shipped to CA and I could blissfully hop on the airplane with just my suitcase and meet my goods on the other side of the country.  Well this is my life we're talking about so OF COURSE it didn't happen that way.  I can't remember the guys name to save my life (I probably subconsciously forgot it on purpose because I hope he rots in moving business owner hell) so we'll call him Desmond. (??) Anywho, so Desmond calls me on Tuesday, the day before all of my stuff is going to get picked up by his company, to tell me the moving van will be there between 4 pm and 6 pm.  Well come 10:30 pm, I haven't gotten a call from Mr. Desmond and no van has showed up to get my precious belongings.  I had a feeling all day something like this was going to happen.  Because like I began the story, I had a face that looked like a poor little rookie that got my face beat in by jumping into the Octagon and a U-Haul full of boxes waiting to be picked up  (the part about the U-haul is for a whooole 'nother day).  So as I'm sitting patiently, not really super stressed because whatever, my stuff will get picked up at some point.  I call Desmond.  He says they're going to be there in 25 minutes.  Well...2 hours later I'm like "umm, 25 minutes?" So Desmond proceeds to tell me he got pulled over, blah blah blah.  Whatever.  He finally shows up around 1 am.  Which is fine.  At this point all I wanted was for my stuff to be gone so I didn't have to worry about it anymore.  Desmond does an inventory of everything I hand over to him.  Tells me my stuff will arrive between July 13 and 16, he's going to give me a call the day before the drop off so I can make arrangements and to make sure I'm home to receive it because if he comes by to bring my stuff and no one is there to take it it's going to go back to NYC and I have to pay all over again to get it shipped back.  Whatever, I was just happy to not have to deal with my stuff at this point.  The fact that I wanted to scratch off my eyeballs and the side of my tongue was much more important to me than giving this total stranger who apparently is just starting his moving business everything I own.  So I move home with just my suitcases packed with all the essentials I'm going to need for the next month since at this point it's June 17 and I won't get any of my personal belongings till July 13-16.  So July 18 rolls around and I still haven't heard from good 'ol Desmond.  Mind you, I was supposed to get everything by July 16.  So of course I so calmly call Desmond just wondering what his story is so I can make sure to be home whenever he chooses to arrive in LA to receive my stuff.  Desmond just so happens to be driving through the Grapevine at this exact moment I'm calling which is so funny to me because what are the odds that he'd be entering LA and I still didn't get a call from him!  Whatevs.  He tells me my stuff will arrive at my brother's house at 7:30 am the next morning.  Which was a Saturday.  And for those who know me fairly well, I love to sleep.  I don't wake up before 10 am unless I absolutely have to.  So I'm up and at 'em at 6:45 just to make sure I'm ready to receive.  Well 10:30 rolls around and I still haven't heard from Desmond.  All of a sudden as I'm going outside to make sure there's room in the garage for all of my stuff I notice a moving van in the middle of the culdesack and random house furnishings are spread all over the street.  Apparently Desmond hired the guy from The Departed that gets arrested and Matt Damon interrogates in the little office by himself, just with a straight up NY accent instead of a Yugoslavian accent of sorts to make their trek across the country.  So instead of getting mad that they were 3 hours late and I had to be at work in 2, I walked over to Desmond, gave him a shout out, asked if he needed any help (which if I'm correct isn't in my job description as the movee), everything.  So as I'm helping the guys out I look down at my TV I'm carrying across the front lawn and see "C. Rod- North Hollywood" written in permanent black ink.  ON MY TV.  Well, I've never been one to keep my mouth shut, but I tried, until I saw the same words again written on other items.  Well poor Desmond here was sweating more bullets than an AK-47 can hold in the back of this moving van so I felt bad walking over to him and saying "You're Kidding, right?".  "Kidding about what?", he asks.  "You seriously wrote on my shit with permanent black ink?  What the hell are you thinking?".  I replied.  "Well I had to separate it all and identify what was yours somehow." he says.  "So you wrote on my stuff with permanent marker?  WTF??!?  Try a piece of paper and some tape you idiot!" I said.  And I walked away.  Meanwhile, my brother has proceeded to come outside and watch all the shenanigans go down and just keep an eye on what's happening since it is his neighborhood and all.  Well I'm no longer helping the boys unload my belongings at this point because I'm so annoyed, not really super mad, that they wrote on my stuff.  In the big scheme of things it's nothing a little Simple Green, rubbing alcohol and a scorning pad can't handle.  So they're unloading and unloading while I'm going through my inventory to make sure I'm getting everything I gave them.  After Desmond and Vinny, for humors sake, unload the furniture they made it a point to tell me all they had left were some boxes.  Which is fine but my bed frame was missing.  I had my mattress, box springs and no bed frame.  So I brought it to their attention and Desmond says to me "A bed frame?".  "Yes." I told him.  "A mother F'ing bed frame."  "I forgot it in NY." he tells me.  "I'm so sorry.  I didn't know it was yours and I left it in NY."  "Well you seemed to identify everything else of mine, what made you stop tagging all my shit once you got to the bed frame?" I said to him.  "What do you want me to do, Chelsea?" he said.  " I don't know, you figure it out.  You're the business owner here.  I do know I'm not giving you the full amount I owe you, that's for sure.  I'll give you $600 tops."  "Give me $500." he said.  What an idiot.  I already took a huge chunk out of his earnings and he's voluntarily taking off more?  "OK." I said.  "I'll go get cash right now."  So while I'm at the bank getting cash to pay the guy so I never have to see him again I realize he brought my TV stand into the garage not all in once piece like I had left it with him and after pondering I realize there are pegs that keep it together.  And what did he do with the pegs?  "Umm, where are my pegs to the TV stand?" I said to him.  "Oh, they've got to be back here somewhere." he said nervously.  Mind you, the back of this moving truck is filled with other peoples' belongings that I'm sure he F'd up the same way he did mine-they just had yet to find out.  Cutting to the chase after he looked in the back of the truck for oh, about 20 minutes I finally stopped him and said "What, are my pegs with my bed frame?  What the heck do you expect me to do?  You lose my bed frame, lost the pegs to my TV stand so only God knows how I'm going to put it back together, you put holes in my mattress (one part I failed to mention earlier) and basically dragged them across the dirt to make sure you got them as dirty as possible before handing them over to me and saying 'Here Chelsea, I hope you sleep reaaaal well tonight in a bed full of shit since that's all i seemed to deliver you', you showed up 5 hours late in NY and I was so chill about it, you don't even call to tell me you're going to be here today to drop off my stuff-which is 2 days late may I add, you write on my stuff like it's the brick wall across the street from your house in Brooklyn and you want me to pay you more than $1 for all of this.  You've got to be kidding me!!!"  After oh, I don't know, about an hour of yelling and 4 letter words being exchanged, him calling me Boo 7 times too many and a whole lot of staring, I finally got him to settle.  I've dealt with my fair share of legal jargon this year with all the drama that took place in NYC to get him to go "UGH, fine." and sign his name.  So....cut to last Thursday when I'm unpacking all of my boxes in my new apartment that's all my own.  It's miserably hot because I'm on the second floor in the corner of the building, I'm tired, hungry and all I want to do is set up my bed and fall asleep.  After taking a shower.  Well, I've unpacked all of my boxes already and I realized I didn't have 1 towel.  Where the heck did all of my towels go?  That bastard lost the box with my towels!!!!  It must be sitting next to the bed frame and pegs in NYC somewhere.  OMG.  I was so mad.  I managed to stay so chill throughout the whole process until right this moment.  What the heck was I going to do!  Whatever.  I took a shower anyway and brainstormed throughout the whole thing as to how I was going to dry myself off.  "It's hot enough in my apt. that I could just air dry and be dry in no time at all.  No towel, no biggie."  Yeah, not the case.  I live 3 miles from the beach.  Which means there's humidity in the air.  Which means I'm not drying off any time soon.  Weellll...I remembered...I had a velour track suit in my closet that I never wore.  Ever.  Towels are made of velour, right?  So I mosied over to my closet, took the pants out and wah-lah.  Done!  The next day I went and bought a towel to hold me over till I figured out what I was going to do.  I went yesterday (1 week later) to buy some towels and other essentials you never know you need until you move somewhere where you have nothing and headed to my brothers house to chill with my sister-in law and niece.  Well as I'm turning the corner to get to their house it dawns on me.  "Lori, did I leave my towels here?" "Yes." she said very firmly. " I was going to tell you you did.  They're in the closet upstairs."  "WTF??!?!  You're kidding, right?  Do you know what I've gone through this past week because we take towels for granted and never know how bad we need them till we're left wondering if a rat the size of Splinter is crawling through my poor left behind box in NYC??"  So I proceeded to tell her how I thought Desmond lost them, how I used my velour suit to dry off, blah blah blah.  Of course.

Now, my friends, a word to the wise.  Always take a towel with you because you never know when you're not going to have one.  Even though I did have 1.  I had like 10 with me the whole time and didn't even realize it.  Which is so amazing in itself.  And since velour suits are no longer in style you may not have one to yank off a hanger to soak up those drops of water.  Unless you're like me and just keep things to keep them.  It's up to you.  Just don't say I didn't tell you so. 

That's all for now.  ROCK ON.

  

Ciao!

My First

I recently moved back home to LA from NYC, and it's been much harder than I thought it would be.  I was on the East Coast for 2 years, starting in Boston.  It had been a dream of mine to live in Boston (without ever visiting one time before deciding it was a dream, or actually making the dream come true), so one day I decided something needed to change in my life and I told my boss I was leaving in 4 months and going to Boston.  I quit my job of 10 years, moved out of my apartment  by the beach, packed up my car and headed East.  For the weeks before I moved and in the midst of saying all of my goodbyes there seemed to be a common theme between parties.  That I should blog about my stay on the East Coast.  But, contrary to popular belief I don't do anything on the internet but check my email and see who decided to write their entire life happenings for the last hour as their status on Facebook.  My attention span doesn't go any further than that.  I didn't even understand what a blog was until 3 months ago.  And even when I did come to understand what a blog was, all I could think about is "Why would someone want to put what's going on in their brain on the internet for the world to see?".  And better yet, "Who cares?!?".  So.  Here I am.  Back home officially starting my blog.  I'm only deeming this appropriate because 2 years ago (upon arrival to Boston) I started writing a book about my life.  Sounds a little attention whore-ish, but seriously, the shit that happens to me does not happen to anyone else.  And it's nothing but a comedy, tragic in my eyes, but comedic genius to the general public.  However, since I have the most amazing form of self-diagnosed A.D.D. in the entire world...I've only written 2 chapters.  In 2 years.  Now cut to today.  Or last week shall I say.  I moved into my first apartment all by my lonesome.  I've never had my own place before.  No one to answer to, no one to tell me where something goes, no one to tip toe around if I bring someone home.  No one.  The Average Joe (or Jane in my case) would be stoked.    However, as I was unpacking all of my boxes that had just arrived from New York I had a mini anxiety attack.  I knew while I lived in New York that I didn't want to spend the rest of my life there.  Or the next month at that.  LA is my home.  I love the sunshine, the beach, my flip flops, zip up hoodies, palm trees, and Coffee Bean for God's sakes.  But as I was hanging up my scarves and winter coats I had accumulated during my time next to the Atlantic, I started to get sad.  I loved it out there.  I became ME out there.  I had my heart and soul ripped out and torn into shreds out there, realized that America really does run on Dunkin' (unless you live in Southern California, then you just run), watched people do the most absurd things to earn a dollar on moving subway cars on a daily basis, and even fell in love with Reggaeton (wtf??).  But I still loved it out there.  It's the prime example of "you never know what you have till it's gone".  I'm happy to be back home, I really am, it's just going to take some adjustment.  I'm a big girl now back with those I know and love, waking up to the smell of the ocean and the sunshine beating down on my face (which let me tell you, in NYC that DOES NOT happen. I don't care who you talk to.) but I still feel like a big piece of me is missing.  I'm never really satisfied, which is my own fault.  Once I start to feel like I'm too comfortable I start to freak out and have to make some sort of drastic change.  So being back home, and staying back home is going to be my personal challenge.  A tough one, but I think I can do it.  I have everything I ever dreamed of out here, just not the East Coast. 

I wrote my first short story about shit I was going through while living in New York and decided it was the BEST form of therapy I had ever discovered.  I don't tell people my feelings, I write them and keep them to myself.  Weird, I know, and very High School- but it's so much easier.  So since moving back home to LA I told myself that if I'm going to continue to grow like I did while I was away, I'm going to give up on the whole book idea because I will NEVER get it finished, and just indulge you all with the funny shit that goes on in my everyday life and or my brain via the world wide web.  So as I go on my journey this will be my way of being OK with the world and letting some steam out.   So you, the reader, can indulge and laugh hysterically or cry right a long with me.  Either way, it's an experiment for us all.

Now that I've popped my blogging cherry, I'll enjoy your feedback and laughter in the days to come :)  I'm already getting bored from sitting here so long.

Ciao!