All My Single Ladies?

Is it sad that the longest relationship I've had is with the Norton Security software on my computer? We're in the middle of a break-up right now though. It has been going on for about three years now and the first year was great! He served his purpose of fulfilling what I needed from him and still gave me my space.. It was really nice. The second year wasn't as great, he started to question my commitment to him by asking me if this was legit like three times a week. But now, he has really fucking derailed. He is popping up all over the place, needy as hell,  whenever I am in the middle of something important.. "Renew?!?! Are you going to Renew me? Don't you love me anymore? Renew, Renew, Renew!" No, Fuck off. This relationship has expired just like the orange juice in my refrigerator. So, if anyone knows any other software that will protect me, I am on the market! -Insert single ladies chorus here-

Let's talk about that. My dating life. I average about three dates every two weeks and it seems like I keep going out with these pompous Betties. You know, the real pretty ones that almost look gay and claim they aren't because they play the guitar and have a beard and listen to underground hip-hop music, but only because of political reasons. Which makes no sense to me. At all. I would never think it would be that hard to find a straight man, that is a vegetarian who dresses like Mr. Rogers, who has a good job as a social worker or kindergarten teacher, that will do my dishes and not judge me for eating four buckets of popcorn at the movies. Something you must know about me.. we may have discussed this, but, I fucking love a good deal. If there are free refills on something I am so getting down with it. And, popcorn in my favorite food so suck it, really. ALSO- This perfect male must be smart enough to tell me not to give our children lighters and wine corks to play with like I do my cat.

Double also-- Remind me to please never be one of those people who say, "I don't need a boyfriend, I have my cat."

Triple also--tonight is my last night with Bernie Mac. I know you're probably thinking.. "Umm, Chelsea.. your last night with Bernie Mac was like three years ago." And, I meant the dog, dummies.

I met somebody once that actually would go home to watch Bernie Mac reruns on channel 5 at 7:00 and 7:30. This person never became my friend.

Notorious BIG and Moldy Bread

     Would you like to know what is even worse than when you go to make a sandwich and you realize that there is mold on the bread? Let me tell you.. Not having the motha fucking internet. I seriously open my lap top, (which is missing keys because Borris is trying to improve his typing skills using his razor claws.. Good for him though, forty-seven w.p.m is impressive for a cat) Turn on my ITunes, put on some motha fuckin' Missy Elliot and I click on the two double computers with a bold red X going through them that indicate that I do not have access to the best thing in the universe, in hopes that someone has moved in near by with an unsecured internet connection. Preferably an extreme hot gypsy king with the body of a Greek God. But guess what..?? That never fucking happens. So then I pick up my lap top, move to every location in my apartment, including closets, continue to click the double computers that are now laughing at me, and no fucking dice. So then I play solitaire.. for probably way longer than anyone should. I'm on the expert level now, sort of a big deal. Those dancing cards that appear when you defeat the game is a sweet reminder of success.

   Speaking of success, I have managed to keep more than four beverage choices in my fridge at any given time since I have moved into my apartment. Kool-aid? I got it. Coke Zero? Yeah, I got that too. And I ALWAYS have soy milk. Fucking crucial. Except when you come home from seriously gettin' yo drink on and wake up in the middle of the night, thirsty as shit, go to the fridge with retard crusty eyes, reach for whatever you grab first, chug it and then say, "fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuccccccckkkkkk... soy miiiilllllllkkkkkkkkkkk... Why couldn't I have grabbed the peach infused pomegranate juice!?!?!?" -insert sad face here-

Oh yeah, and by the way.. this picture that I drew has nothing to do with anything, really.. Except for the fact that I would buy a gold grill before I would buy braces.

PS. Will somebody please buy me one of those electric coffee mug thingies to keep my coffee warm so that when I walk away to make a moldy sandwich I don't come back and say, "fuuuuuuuuuuuuccccccccccck... cold cooooofffffffeeeeeeeeeeeeee." -one more sad face-

PPS. Please remind me to never again answer my phone at 4:00 in the morning when I see that it is Joe Joe, LaToya and Lazor calling from Vegas because more than likely it is just going to be them screaming things in  a different language. And that language is drunk retard screaming language.

You should ALWAYS tip your barista

So.. listen to this, bitches. The owner at the coffee shop I currently spend way too much of my life at just told me a day ago that he will now be getting halfsies on the tip share that comes in while he is there. Back in the good ol' days.. (yesterday) whomever worked with the owner, or from now on as we will call him, indian giving slut, wouldn't except tips and the baristas working would split them upon themselves. This was a huge boner for me

because the majority of my shifts consist of just him and myself. So, with that said, on a normal Wednesday morning I would work ten hours and walk with at least fifteen dollars.. but now, it will be 7.50. I am not sure if Indian Giving Slut is aware that I use that money for VERY important things... such as, feeding Satan, beer, cigarettes, envelopes, water bottles I use to squirt Satan, condoms, and most importantly... Beer.

So, when I am slaving away making the perfect latte, providing the MOST prestine customer service and attempting to be "nice" to bloodfart, Indian Giving slut will be in the back office on his computer googling different ways to improve his triatholon times and still collect my hard earned cash to buy new spandex and bibles. Does anyone else know how fucking hard it is to be nice to people? Is it just me? Does the cheese stand alone on this one? Ew, I can't believe I just compared myself to cheese. Memo to self, never do that again.. unless it's Munster.. that shit is actually pretty good. And, it makes me think of Eddie Munster. I wonder what he is up to these days and if he still has that wicked white stripe in his hair.

On another note, will someone please start paying me to make them speghetti or something? I really need to get the internet at my apartment. Bars that offer free wi-fi fucking rule but, this is probably why I can't afford internet in the first place.

I wish you could live in bars. Minus the whole not smoking thing. Oh yeah, and those "E-Cigarettes" are fucking bullshit.

It's Saturday, so peace out bitches.

Why Bernie Mac is staying at my house

Satan cat is going to eat my sisters dog. I know what you're thinking about this photo. But, fuck off. This is the best I can do being slightly hung over and still heavily sedated on pain killers. And, no. I am not a chronic pill head I actually have a legit prescription for them. I blew out my shoulder/neck on Sunday and had to go to the hospital and everything. Though the pain went away on Tuesday and it is now Saturday, I never feel the need to be wasteful.

Anyway, back to this piece of shit picture. I am dog sitting for the week for LaToya and Lazor when they waste their life savings in Vegas. They have a pug and it looks remarkably like Bernie Mac. He is actually pretty cute though, I only say that because I have a thing for big black men. Satan kitty wants to fuck his shit up though. I feel like I should be hosting some sort of dog/cat fight but last time I checked that is illegal and as a vegetarian I don't see how that would favor my whole love for animals thing.

Let's talk about something a little more important, my last twenty-four hours. If you judge me I will fucking derail on you. Just kidding. Sort of. I was quite productive and went to the laundromat which we discussed in my last post. I then rode my bike to Old Town Lansing in attempts to go to Bluesfest and then turned right back around because I realized I was way to drunk to be seen in public by people who probably weren't as shit wrecked as I was. So I went home and spent about fifty-seven minutes attempting to make a grilled cheese sandwich. I know, how hard is it to fry some fucking bread? The worst part is that I have a do it yourself grilled cheese maker. Which by the way, everyone should own. The only reason it took my this long was because I was also in the middle of a Gossip Girl marathon and I kept burning the shit.

I think I am the only one who spends a Friday night wasted watching Gossip Girl and burning grilled cheese. In my defense I was going to stumble to the bar but nobody would have talked to me even though I was looking quite fierce in my black sweatpants and Mickey Mouse sweatshirt that I cut the neck off of to make it look super cool and hipster. If I were to have a conversation with someone it would have probably ended up with me lieing about everything because that is what I do when I drink too much. I once told someone that I was tambourine player in an amazing folk band and we were about to tour the world with Mates of State.

Hands down, I am the BEST person to party with.

That is all, peace out bitches.

My love hate relationship with the laundromat

I usually spend my Fridays like anyone else would, doing laundry, going to the strip club, drinking coffee, taking shots of tequila, grocery shopping, going to the bank, having sex with black men, mowing my neighbors yard, playing Pictonary with my cat, doing crosswords at a burrito bar, pointing at the white trash people that live down the road and cleaning Satan's litter box.

But, I fucking hate the laundromat. If I made two hundred extra dollars a month I would pay someone to do my laundry for me. I would say fifty dollars but my shit stiiiiiinnnnnnnkkkkkkkks.

By the way, doesn't the sink I drew in this "cartoon" look like a face? I thought so too.

peace out bitches.

How to lose track of a decade

Listen bitches... I know you are all probably extremely upset for my lack of blogging lately, but seriously, I am fucking important. So we should start Here.

Okay, so, in the last three months this is what my life has entailed.. I got my own place, fucking score. I live there with my cat, Borris, who I am certain attempts to kill my while I sleep. He has a little bit of Satan in him and though I pretend it doesn't bother me because I am a big fan of Satan and all of his work, it sort of does.

Tito and Victor can both burn in hell. Actually, they can burn in heaven. I wouldn't want them anywhere near the master himself, Satan. I know what you're thinking.. "Chelsea, when did you get to be so into Satan?" And well, the truth is I have no fucking clue. Probably as of this morning when I woke up and Borris was laying on top of me with red devil eyes planning his attack. Anyway, back to Tito and Victor.. They live upstairs from me and refuse to reason with me on a simple bill that we share.. All of that shit is super boring to you. My revenge to them is that I put porn on 24/7 as loud as it goes on my tv. And, when I have sex in my house I am as loud as humanly possible even if the sex sucks. Sorry to the boys I have slept with in the past couple months but, it probably wasn't that great.

ALSO- I got promoted at my job at the coffee shop which is still a huge surprise to me because I come in slightly hung over every day and write my phone number on the cups to every man I find slightly attractive or at least the men I think would be good to bring home and sleep with. I have recently only started dating older men. I like this. If I had a therapist they would probably tell me it is because I have "Daddy Issues" but what the fuck does that mean really. I just want someone to take me to PF Changs. Shit.

I interviewed Adam Lambert and we talked for twenty minutes about the spot in his head that his stylist shaved off for him which really doesn't matter anymore because that was back in June and I am sure it has grown back now. Nobody will even know who Adam Lambert is in a few months from now.

My friend Gigi gave me this sweet vintage jacket that I was skeptical about at first but she was all, "Chels it looks fucking great on you." and I was all, "I don't know it has really big sleeves" and she was all "Whatever sleeves are in this year" So with that said, I guess sleeves are big this year. Literally.

 So Anyway,  I am still fucking fabulous and that is the most important thing, right?

Why I wish Dr. Dre was my dad

At one time or another I am sure all of us have wished that our parents were celebrities. My sister has always wished that Christopher Walkin was her dad. This girl I once met, who was in her early 20's once told me that she wanted Ashton Kutcher to be her dad. When I asked the girl why, she said, "because he's hotttt." Excuse me?? What do you mean, because he's hot?? Are you planning on fucking your dad, lady??

I want Dr. Dre to be my dad so bad you guys. I know most of you have forgotten about Dre.. But, I think he would really be the dream dad. I Can only imagine how sweet my life would be if Dr. Dre was my dad. I would have so much gold it would look like Lil' Wayne and Cleopatra threw up on me. I would probably walk everywhere I went just so I could blind people with my bling, but still, I would have an unnecessary amount of cars, or "whips" as my fake celebrity dad, Dr. Dre would say. I bet if he was my dad I would have an Uncle Cent an Uncle Dogg and an Uncle Eminem. Also, growing up I would never have been in trouble if, What would he say? "You're grounded for getting caught smoking cigarettes." "Excuse me?? Are you serious right now, dad???? You were in a gang.... You've shot people... You and Uncle Dogg smoke 10 blunts in our basement a day." My favorite part about my fake life where my Dr. Dre is my dad is the posse and the nicknames I would have.. Lil Dre, Chelsea Dre, Dr. Chelsea. Those names actually don't sound sweet at all. You know what does sound sweet though??





Hang gliding.