I am pretty sure someone just dumped their trash on me.

I am writing this post from my grave because I am pretty sure that I am dead. I am perma-hungover. I have complete dumpster mouth and I smell like vomit and trash. Do you remember in my last post when I said I was going to get super shitty? Ta da, the end result. What the fuck happened last night? Why is it when I am faded I turn into the most generous person in the United States of America? Seriously, why the fuck do I spend money on people I don't know? How did I lose my pack of cigarettes? Why did I steal the microphone from the karaoke set to say, "Someone here stole my cigarettes and I want them back."? Why didn't I get kicked out after that? How did I get back to my friends house? Why have I been starring at the wall for 20 minutes? Why am I not brushing my teeth? Seriously, fuck.

latoya.

There is something I feel you guys should know about me other than the fact that I just spelled 'know' 'no'.. I have an older sister. I don't talk about her much because, well, she's kind of a thug..... In a gang. Her name is LaToya and she's half black. Back in the 80's my mom went through a jungle fever faze and slept with a fellow Boogie Down Productions follower. 9 months later little LaToya was born. Growing up I always thought she was vicious, she used to pick on me so bad, I'm pretty sure it was because I am white and every now and again I would catch her in the bathroom putting baby powder all over here body to make herself appear white. As she got older she really grew into her blackness. In high school she started hanging out with the scary girls. Not the girls who thought they were scary because they had cornrows and talked loud. No, she hung out with the girls who rolled one pant leg up and wore bandannas. Our family started really worrying about her but when we tried to mention something about the way she acted she would threaten to kill us. She actually said, "Bitches better shut the fuck up yous asses will be getting capped up in hur, I fucking kill you." Excuse me Latoya? What does that even mean? Was that English?

Things have gotten a lot worse now. She has been in and out of jail on several different occasions for drugs, arson, and shooting someone in the face. They didn't die or anything though. We are all very scared for her.


Just. FUCKING. Kidding.

My older sister is a librarian in Canada. She lives there with her husband, Lazor. Also, her name is not LaToya, but that's what I am going to call her from here on out. Okay just so you are all caught up, let's recap.

LaToya- My older, white librarian sister, lives in Canada, her real name is -------, loves to eat bacon, just kidding, she's vegan.
Lazor- LaToya's husband, plays the keyboard, aspires to be a base jumper, and kills Nazis on a day to day bases.

Got it? Good, let's move on.

LaToya and I are really close. Though she lives in Canada we still keep it real via text, cell phone and IM. She's always like, "Hey I'm at some boring library convention thingy and I'm meeting all of these boring people blah, blah, blah, you're not listening, I know you're not, blah, blah, blah." And so I say, "Blah, blah, I just got my arms waxed, blah, blah." That's usually how it goes. But, she's the shit. Always. I feel like if anyone were to hurt her I would kill them. I would seriously fucking shoot them in the head. And, I'm at work right now, so I have to make a latte. Fuck.





I'm back, only to say that I am going to party my ass off this weekend. I can't believe how fucking shitty I am going to get. I am going to get so shitty. Shitty awesome.

wake up call

Dear Chelsea,

Get the fuck up. Put down your computer and do something. I miss you. I feel like we haven't been connecting lately and even your friends are saying you've been a wet blanket lately. Remember the good old days? When we used to stay up all night together ragin' and testing our limits. I miss the fun you. I know you can do it bitch. Just get the fuck up.

Love,

Your body

mexican madness

When put in an uncomfortable situation I have always been known for asking strange people questions that would offend someone even though I do it unintentionally. One of the first times Tito and I hung out we were asked to eat dinner at one of my many Mexican lovers house. The plan was to eat dinner at Chris's, get heavily sedated and then go bar hopping. Two of these things happened.

Chris made us an amazing veggie stir-fry followed by us getting completely blitzed. I wasn't living with Tito yet and it took us a good 3 hours before we could move off of the couch and find our way back to the house I was living in at the time. We composed ourselves after having a ridiculous conversation about foreign policies in China. Just. Fucking. Kidding. That conversation never took place.

We got back to my house and attempted to walk to a near by bar to have a night cap. We sat down in the coolest bar in Lansing, ordered our drinks and noticed my roommate at the time, no hair, walked in. No hair was in his lushfull drinking faze, and when I say that I mean alcoholic faze. He joined us and after a drink Tito and I were over the whole scene. We left no hair to go back to my house to make grilled cheese sandwiches.

After being at my house for about 15 minutes my other roommate, no hair's brother, walked in with a group of friends from work. Tito and I were still feeling sedated so we joined their conversation about a quest for winter boots. During our discussion of suede vs. fur in stumbled no hair with two new found friends, when I say two new found friends I mean two HUGE SCARY GHETTO new found friends. They made themselves comfortable in our living room and were persistent on knowing our names though they wouldn't tell us theirs. I asked to talk to no hair in the kitchen to ask him who the fuck these people were. Our conversation went like this..

Me: "Who the fuck are these people?"
No hair: "Oh, two guys I met in front of the liquor store."
Me: "Ummm, excuse me, is your brain leaking?!?! Why did you bring them here?!"
No hair: "They wanted to party."
Me: "Oh, well, that makes sense."

We went back into the living room, and feeling very uncomfortable I began to preach to one of the scary fury men about how it is so important to know what color to paint your babies room before they're born because it sets the mood on how the child grows.. like I am such the expert on child growth. I thought Maternal and Mattel were the same thing for the longest time.

The Wilder beast men kept telling Tito and I how they saw UFO's over 8th street and you could tell the questions I was asking was annoying them to a T. My roommate saw one of their hands starting to clinch so he asked them if they would be so kind to leave.

They weren't happy, but they ended up leaving. That was when I learned to shut my fucking mouth.

pac man, ghosts and taco bell

A few nights ago as I was watching Roseanne and playing pac man on my laptop I glimpsed over at my open window and zoned out for a few minutes as I reminisced about movies I liked as a child which led me to think of Casper. This led me to texting Tito who was downstairs in the living room. The text conversation went something like this..

Me: "I swear to God if our house was ever infested with ghosts I would spend every spare minute of my life leaning how to asphyxiate the dead to protect you, Victor, Starbuck, Chuy, Baby, Louise, Sneezy, Grumpy and Moe."

Tito: "Oh My, how do you plan to do this?"

Me: "Well, I feel like rookies always make the common mistake of trying to illuminate the already dead by using an average Dirt Devil vacuum cleaner.. I would go about this much differently, I would use an industrial vacuum cleaner, like a Kirby or something, and really utilize the tools that come with it to suck the little fuckers up and then I would take the vacuum into the woods and light it on fire. You really have to cover all of your steps when it comes to that shit."

Tito: "Well, it sounds like you have everything covered.. by the way, what are you doing upstairs? Do you want to come downstairs and hang out?"

Me: "Maybe in a little while I am really busy right now googling the most affective ways to shave your legs."

Tito: "Ahhh, I see how that could be important, I have to say I am surprised that in the 10 years you have been shaving your legs you still don't have it down to a science."

Me: "4 years Tito"

Tito: "oh my goodness girl, are you serious?"

Me: "No, I'm just fucking with you, do you want to get some Taco Bell or something?"

Tito: "Yeah, I could go for a run to the border."

Me: "Awesome, maybe tonight will be the night I switch my order up, probably not though."

Tito: "You only live once, meet me on the stairs?"

Me: "Deal."

microwavable forks

Supposedly you are not supposed to put forks in a microwave. It wasn't until a few weeks ago that I thoughtlessly put a fork in the microwave, walked away and thought about the leftover cuisine I was about to take in. I was interrupted during my daydream by Tito shouting, "Chelsea! What are you thinking?!?" I looked at him confused and replied, "What?"
"You can't put metal in the microwave, are you nuts?!" He said.
"I guess I just never really thought about it." I replied back.

And then we stood there and stared at each other for 4 minutes.

Just kidding.

I'm really happy that I have Tito and Victor around the house to teach me all of the most important things anyone would ever have to know. They are always encouraging me to learn special skills so that if the world ends we will be prepared and they always have the best advice to give. A few days ago I was struggling to open a jar of pickles and Victor said, "You can do it, I believe in you."

I can't help but to wonder what our lives would be life if we were in a sitcom.

hold the mayo!

Growing up I always wanted to be just like Patty Mayonnaise. Thinking about it now, I don't think I would really care for being a cartoon.

failed attempt

Tito and I have started boot camp, so, if you don't recognize us in 3 months it's probably because we're going to look like this.

just wait until your father gets home

Nobody ever remembers this cartoon, but, it does exist! What a great show.

Memory Lane

My friend Jenny came to visit me a few days ago with her boyfriend Steve. I have been friends with Jenny since kindergarten so she knows all of the embarrassing shit that has happened to me over the years that I wouldn't mind forgetting. I have always been known for being pretty outrageous and having the energy of a ferret and when Jenny ever meets new people that I introduce her to she loves to tell them stories about our childhood.

They had came into town for Steve's birthday so I had arranged for us to go to a pre-thirsty Thursday baseball game drinking party. We got to the party and there was a lot of people there from my work, some randoms and of course the group of 19 year old drunk sluts you see at every party. We spent most of our time there drinking and sharing stories about the people at work we hate and the difference between the Gremlin movies, I had to tell a couple people to step back when they started hating on Applebees, seeing as it is one of my favorite restaurants, but, other than that it was a real stellar time. My friends house the shin dig was at is real close to the stadium of the baseball game so we walked there and on the way Jenny thought it was an appropriate time to pull out a story from the archives. She told my friends about how when I was a senior in high school I failed Choir and got kicked out of the class for performing 'Bah Bah Black Sheep' in front of the class for my exam instead of the required piece from the ballet, 'Carmen'.

I am fairly certain my friends are now very sure that I am a terrible person after hearing the stories that were told throughout the evening. It was all in good fun though and 2 dollar beers is a really good deal. Throughout the game after my 7th beer a fight was about to break out in front of us amongst some douchebags who were arguing about the better baseball team. Like anyone really cares about the Lugnuts or the Sharks, everyone knows the real reason to go to baseball games is beer and tight pants. The fight was unfortunately broken up by a butch security guard and as the Lugnuts fan was walking away in frustration my friend looked at him and said, "Go Sharks!" This really pissed him off, he attempted to spit at us but really just ended up drooling on him self. As he was walking away up towards the bathrooms I decided to follow him and get right behind him, tickle his butthole with my fingers and told him not to pretend like he didn't like it. He called me a fucking bitch and I went to the bathroom. Like I've said before, I am not one to suffer any consequences for my actions.

The game was fun, the night was fun, and I have no idea who the girl is in the picture I posted in this blog post.

In Regards to Oh Mother.

To clear up any confusion there may be, I love my mom more than anyone else in this universe. She supports me more than anyone and has a great sense of humor. My mother is the strongest person I know and I wish we could spend more time braiding each others hair. I wish I had long hair to braid.

On another note, since Heidi Montag cyborg surgery does this ensure that her and Spencer will not be having kids? If so, thank-god.

Oh Mother.

Everything my sisters and I learned growing up, we learned from Danny Tanner and Mr. Belding. My mom was never very hands on with us, except when we needed to be changed, fed, or bathed but that all came to a stop when I turned 10. She always just let us do our own thing and trusted that we make the right decisions. Not growing up with a father made it really easy for my older sister to show her midriff when she got in to the Jr. high, she had the best 90's stomach, I was so jealous. This also made it really easy for me to get away with whatever I wanted.

So this shouldn't have been a surprise when I came home pregnant at 13.

Just kidding, at the age of 13 I probably couldn't have even paid an old perv from the up coming internet to have sex with me. I was really lucky to have lost all my baby fat and invest in contact lenses after graduating high school. Jr. High was the awful. I don't know one person to say that their best years were between the ages of 12-15.

Growing up my mom and I never had that great of a relationship, it wasn't until I moved out when she started inviting me to do things with her. This is all fine with me, who wants to go to the club with their mom at the age of 16 anyway? Her and I are very close now, we live far apart but we still keep in touch and she is always a great back-up drunk dial. She insists that I call her or my sisters before making a fool out of myself calling a guy I'm interested in.

If I could do it all over again, I wouldn't, my mom wasn't around to give me the advice I yearned for growing up but she is always available now to offer me some gems...

1. "Don't drink and drive, if you do, don't go to jail because I don't have the money to bail you out."
2. "Always use protection, I can't stand to think of being a grandmother."
3. "Do the right thing."

Happy early mothers day mom! Love you bitch.

A Slackers Fairytale

As I get closer to approaching the age 24 more and more often I get asked the question, "So, what do you want to do with your life?" What does this mean, really? I want to do a lot of things, I've always wanted to take up vegan baking and move to Germany to become a vegan baker, or there has always been my desire to become an airline pilot. I feel like going to school to get a degree in something like philosophy is not going to guarantee my happiness through life. Sure, it will make me look smarter than others, but that would all be bullshit seeing as I would probably spend most of my time in school cheating and taking Adderall. I have never been a big fan of wasting sanity either. I did go to school for a few years from when I was 18-22. That was a fucking joke really. I spent most of my time in the institution catching up on sleep I had missed the night before and getting on Facebook to blurb to my closest friends.

I really, really like money and spending it as freely as I wish it with little worry as possible. I am a big fan in not suffering any consequences for my actions, so I feel like taking out any more student loans is not a good idea. The government has this stupid rule where if you don't pay the money you borrowed back they will take it from you anyway. It's not like when you check out a movie from Blockbuster and you forget to return it, sure you may get a few phone calls from a 000-000-0000 number but in the end you're up one movie and after 6 months you're able to regain your membership.

I also hate wasting time, I live in a place called America where if you have a college degree, that's cool, but it doesn't guarantee success, a retirement plan, a bigger penis, or a perfect body. I feel like I am going to do just fine throughout my life so everyone who seems to be worried about where my life is going and what I am doing with it, don't be. I'm never going to work at McDonalds, I am never going to be Homeless, and I will NEVER have an STD.

Also, People who go away to college and stay in dorms have a better chance of getting athletes foot. And that is fucking gross.

Karaoke piss

I have to say I am very happy that I have not recently peed my pants in public. This is something that I became notorious for during the summer when I was 19. This was when I had realized how much I enjoyed drinking, and how cool it made me feel. I have always been a strong believer in asking myself two questions before deciding on any life choice, those being..

1. How is this going to effect my addiction to television
2. How popular will this make me

The funny thing is I have had to acquire my own taste for alcohol. I grew up in a very dry house, where an idea of a wild evening for my folks was cracking open a can of O'dools, or splashing .5 oz. of Frangelico into Eggnog around the holidays. At the tender age of 10 I already knew that my family was a snoozefest and if I wanted to make any excitement for my life I would have to do it myself.

Anyway, I was 19, my life was really on track, I was working at Starbucks and Applebees, living in Downtown Flint, trying not to get shot on my way to my doorstep. Most nights after closing down the restaurant a few of us would go out for a couple after work toddies. We use to love to go to this real trashy hole in the wall karaoke bar to sing to our favorite licks. I don't know what it is about taking shots of Jose Cuervo and singing to the sweet beats of Pat Benatar, that cause me to bust out an electric slide across the dance floor followed by me pissing my pants.
This is something I feel I struggle with and am very happy that it only happens to me now when I jump on trampolines or cough too hard.

Sometimes I wish I could teleport myself back to the age of 19 again. I would get involved in healthy living, working out, and doing things that would benefit my future.

That's a fucking lie, if I could kick it back to 2005 I would definitely utilize my time by perfecting my keg stand.

Typical evening on Beaujardin

I live with two gay men who are in a relationship. I have known them since September of this year and work with one of them. We will call them Tito and Victor. Tito is the one I work with,he is sassy delicious and one of my all time favorite people. Victor is his boyfriend and I think he is pretty funky fresh too. They always offer me the best advice and have the best ideas like trying to talk me into not going to work so I can stay home and watch TV with them, or when they encourage me to dress up as wizards or pop culture Icons. I feel like the three of us really have a perfect connection.

A few nights ago after heavily drinking I came home to have a taco bell picnic in my bed and go to sleep. After inhaling my 7 layer burrito with potatoes, fresco style, grilled with guacamole I decided to call Tito to recap my evening. Tito works third shift on the weekends driving around our townhouse community to put a stop to any ruckus that may be going on. He was on the force stopping crime in our community when I called him telling him how fucked up I was. I remember trying to tell him stories about the evening, about meeting some guy who looks like the lead singer from maroon 5 and about how I think I can change the world, usual nonsense I mumble after 14 shots. I don't remember how much sense I was actually making but I am sure it was comparable to a newborn monkey baby.

Tito is always really good about listening to me and encouraging me to do the best things when I'm drunk. During our telephone conversation he was telling me how now was the perfect time to attempt to crawl to my ceiling, he said that this is the best way to rid any possible demons I could have living in me. What a great idea I thought! I have always wanted to rid any possible demons I have in me. I waited the 20 minutes for him to get home to try this out. When I did it was not as successful as I had hoped.

A few minutes of laying there after my failed attempt Tito decided to put a wet wifebeater over my face while I slept so that If I had a panic attack in my sleep I would survive. This is something he had learned after watching a Lifetime movie where a mother did this to her son when he was having an asthma attack.

I woke up the next morning with a semi damp tink-top on my face, nacho cheese in my hair, and new bruises on my body. Typical evening on Beaujardin.

ATTN: Douchebags

Dear Jesse James and Justin Bobby,

I'm just dropping a line to request for you both to please stop wearing hooded sweatshirts underneath your overalls. Neither of these garments are attractive and pairing them together is what I call the definition of white trash. You both aren't important anyway. I'm not sure why any women would want to sleep with you. you're both fat, hairy and have gonorrhea, I'm sure. I hope you two are very thrilled to know where your lives are headed and that is maybe, if you're lucky, one season of 'Celebrity apprentice' and one season of 'I'm a celebrity, get me out of here.' This is where all C-List celebs go to die. Enjoy the next year of fame you have left, and please take my advice. If what I said was offensive, then good.. It was meant to be.

Yours Truly,

Chels

Parking lot diaries

And now for your entertainment, a blurb from the past...


I told Frank to step off his pedestal after he refused my malt liquor beverage while pre-drinking in a parking lot outside of a gay dance club we enjoy. Frank was drinking Bacardi Lemon and Pepsi out of an empty Taco Bell cup that had been left in his car for a few days. He had boycotted Taco Bell for a few weeks prior to just recently after they messed up his order, giving him beef instead of beans and causing him to make a scene inside the dining area which lead to him throwing his burrito at the moronic clerk.

Just kidding.

In the four years of our friendship, I have never witnessed Frank as shitfaced as he was. We had made plans to meet up with some friends and small dick, so we stumbled into the club, paid the cover, and went to the bar. At this point of the evening we were certainly tipsy, but not to the point of passing out and peeing on strangers. We had a seat and I started talking to Frank about my kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Gauthier, then we took a shot of tequila, then I was talking to him about my shitty job, and we took two more shots, and by this point I was rambling on about my dad until I was rudely interrupted by noticing that Frank was no longer sitting there. I looked around and spotted him at the entrance meeting our friends, and small dick.

I hadn’t seen small dick in what seemed to be years, and it wasn’t until a few weeks ago when we reconnected through Facebook, that we decided to meet up. I gathered my cigarettes, cell, and clutch from the bar and model walked over to them. Without even saying hello to the others I walked right up to small dick and stuck my tongue down his throat. Nobody even seemed to notice. Frank bought everyone three rounds, and then we made our way to the dance floor, sort of. Small dick and I stopped outside for a cigarette. Nobody will ever know of what we talked about outside that night because I wasn’t speaking English. I got myself together, and we headed to the dance floor. We started grinding and dry humping, I was licking his face and all around his mouth until our friends came up to us and told us that Frank was missing. I knew what I had to do. I ran up to DJ, and had him paged over the intercom.
This is not the first time it’s happened. A few years ago Frank abandoned me while I was in the bathroom so that he could sneak off and get a blow job in some random guy’s car. The plan to have him paged did not work well then, and it wasn’t until after I put the request in that I remembered that. We exited the dance floor in hopes of finding Frank. As we were doing a half ass job of looking around, small dick noticed this shit faced fool rolling around on the floor. Security immediately ambushed him and escorted him out of the building. When they passed us on the way out, we could tell who the fool was…

It was this loser douche bag that Frank and I used to hang out with a year ago. Frank was in the bathroom puking his guts out. He did end up being escorted out of the bar that night and proceeded to stumble into the parking lot. That is when his body took an ultimate plunge on to my 130 lb. frame. This upset me. I don't remember if I was more upset about adding new drunken scars to my body or the fact that the next day I couldn't make myself purge to feel better because my knees hurt too much to straddle the toilet.

Frank ended up falling asleep in a random car, woke up, freaked out, jumped out of the car, set the alarm off, ran to Burger King, Peed in the parking lot, Used their telephone to call a cab, left his car in Lansing, paid one hundred and twenty dollars for the ride home, and then had his parents take him to work three hours later. I on the other hand slept in small dick’s guest bedroom at his mom’s house.

Blame it on cheap beer

I have a really hard time working 14 hours and then going to the bar and doing 5 shots of Jose Quirvo. Don't get me wrong, I will do it but sometimes it's a fairly difficult task.

A few nights ago my roommate, who has the social life of a 67 year old, came home heavily intoxicated after spending a long afternoon with my friend, the sauce. I had spent the day working and was too heavily sedated on my own life to play reverse roles for the evening but he has been there for me one too many times while I was in that state so I did my best to tend to him in a somewhat patient manner.

Epic fail.

I gave it my all and did my best, but, after hearing the same slurred story 3 different times and having chewed bits of peanut butter toast projected at my face I felt it was time to go to sleep. My roommate, the lush, was not very happy about the idea of me leaving him alone so once I had snuggled into bed he barged into my room, jumped in my bed, and shrieked in the voice of Satan, "You're a bad frrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeennnnnnnnddd!!!" He then proceeded to crawl out of my room.

I ended up having a dream about the movie 'The Grudge' that night, and my roommate doesn't remember a thing.

The monster mash

If I lived with Lady Gaga I feel like her and I could do the monster mash every Sunday after watching Spin City reruns and eating vegetable lasagna. I don't know how much Lady Gaga actually eats though, then again who eats to be skinny? Coming from an aspiring anorexic, I feel that nobody has ever gotten anywhere by eating a full meal.

That was all bull shit by the way, except the part about doing the monster mash.

Buzz is the word

I'm Chelsea. I am known for my long legs, my whimsical ways and the attractive men I date. I love finding good Indian food and drinking fountain Diet Coke when I'm hung over. I've created this blog to let people into my life of chaos and unusual circumstances I am constantly getting myself into. A lot of my writings are exaggerated for shock value, what's real and fake is for you the reader to determine. I'm a very real person with very real substance abuse problems just like any other single 23 year old. If it leads to telling an interesting tale then I usually say, fuck it, bring it on.. bitches. Just kidding, I never say 'bring it on' in real life.

On another note, I am very happy Paris Hilton has made it okay for everyone else to call your friends, co-workers, and random strangers bitches. I don't know what kind of world I would want to live in if this sort of thing wasn't acceptable. In the gospel according to Chelsea, Pop culture makes this world go round. If I can't keep up with the Kardashians at least 9 times a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year, then I don't want to keep up with anything. Luckily the E station has made this very easy for me. Thank-you E for making it possible for me to see what local tanner Kim is getting skin cancer in, potential fist fights between Courtney and Scott, Chris Jenner's intolerable face.. It is all just such a dream come true.

I feel that Twitter and E should really team up and make the impossible possible. Celeb tweets can start appearing during reality programs. Tweeting is the future people. Everyone has something important to say, right? No. Everyone thinks they have something important to say. I shouldn't talk though, I just recently created a 'Buzz' account through my Gmail, which is practically the same as Twitter. I actually sort of like the idea of having followers, who doesn't though really.

I blog because I like to write. I tweet because I want to be like Jesus.