Saturday, September 8, 2012
Monday, May 7, 2012
Fifty Shades of Brown
Chapter One
I stare at myself in the mirror. Why did I cut my bangs like this, again? My hair is dark brown, bangs cut straight across. Eyes; deep brown, too large for my face, the colour of a BM. I look like a stereotypical anime character. My body; ruined from child birth. Pear shaped and bottom heavy, my father would often say I was "sturdy, like a boat". Don't worry dad, it only hurts my feelings every time I think of it.
"Chelsey, are you finished in the bathroom?" Joshua Jackson yells through the door, over the sound of my tasty jams.
"Give me a few minutes." I called back, "I drank too much coffee."
It's not a glamorous life, but it's mine.
I open the door to find Joshua Jackson pacing back and fourth. His green eyes gleaming. Slowly turning red and watery, as I sprayed too much air freshener.
"I need to run to the store, we ran out of coffee cream." I said in a dark, husky voice. "We also need garbage bags."
A smile danced across his lips.
"Take my debit card, I'm going to take a shower." he breathed heavily.
A shower, I thought to myself. I couldn't stop my mind from wandering. The bathroom hasn't been cleaned in weeks. The laundry piling up on the floor, a spider laying lifeless where I squished it with a shampoo bottle. Hair sprinkled on the sink from where he shaved.
I pushed up against him.
"Be careful with the faucet handle. It's been falling off."
I met Joshua Jackson when I was a rookie working for the FBI. We worked on a case together, involving people trapped in amber on a city bus. He has saved me from kidnapping, wandered through my mind (literally), been erased from time, and had a baby with my doppelganger. We fell elbow deep in love, and the rest is history.
That was in no way a rip off from the plot of Fringe.
_______________________________________
I make my way up the stairs of our two storey apartment, the sound of "Toopey and Bino" echoing off the walls. The smell of last night's fish tacos still lingering in the air.
"Get out of the garbage, IDIOT." I say lovingly to our stupid ginger cat Louie. He looks at me with indifference. He listens to no man. I have a quiet respect for him.
I putter around the kitchen, throwing out pop cans and cardboard, flicking giant ants off of the counter top from time to time.
"Chelsey, we need to talk." Joshua Jackson crept behind me and carefully brushed the hair off my shoulder, lightly drawing a circle on my skin with his fingers. My skin throbbed where he touched me.
"You have a discoloured mole here, I think maybe you should have it checked out." he whispered. "And I find you so incredibly irresistible when you don't recycle."
"Take me now, Joshua Jackson." I grabbed him by the pants and pulled him in. He breathed heavily with anticipation. I slipped my hand into his pocket and pulled out his car keys. "The walk-in clinic is open until 5."
Monday, January 23, 2012
Chelsey M Syndrome
I'm pretty sure they should name a social anxiety disorder after me. Maybe call it Chelsey M Syndrome, Chuck Disorder, Chols Complex, Welby Condition, Chelferlane Sickness, Cholo Disease, Chunky Ailment (f u Kevin) or possibly even Chelper Problem. I'd be thrilled with any of these options.
I'm sure you all know and understand social anxiety. Terrible thing it is. For as long as I can remember, I have had social anxiety, though it was much worse when I was a child. My dad would say "Let's order pizza!" and I'd be all like "Hoorah! Pizza!" and then he would say "But you have to order it." Oh God no. You can't possibly be serious. Call them? And speak to them? You have GOTTA BE joking. I'd rather starve.
The rare times I would actually try to attempt to order the pizza, I would get so flustered that I would hang up the phone and cry a little.
"We can go to McDonalds, but you have to order your own." Nope. No f'ing way. I'll just have this glass of water and crusts of bread.
I remember when I was about 5 years old and I wanted to call my neighbour to play but she wasn't home. After several minutes of coaching on how to leave a message on her answering machine from my sister, I finally got the balls to do it.
"Hello Barbara? This is Barbara. UGH!" click.
I think I must have left about 15 messages not cluing in to the fact that they would probably know I called after the first 4 botched messages.
I'm still a mess when it comes to social interactions. If I'm out at the mall or grocery shopping and I see someone I knew in high school (someone I was friends with, even) a lot of the time I will a) pretend my shoe is untied, and I just can't manage to do that sucker up, b) stare the other way like something has really caught my eye, or c) intently read the nutrition facts on a box of crackers I have no intention of buying.
"I'm trying to calculate the percentage of calories from fat. What? I'm only eating things with less than 30% calories from fat!"
Calories, smalories.
When someone very rarely catches me in a good enough mood to say anything, I usually do something really stupid and embarrassing. A guy I knew in high school drives a bus and as I was exiting said bus he said "See ya later Chels." and I in turn, yelled "BYE!"
I immediately turned around and said "I have no idea why I just did that." and walked away.
Maybe I don't so much have social anxiety as much as I dread the awkward conversation. 9 times out of 10 with me, you're going to have an awkward conversation. I'll mostly just stare at you and make weird facial expressions. It's honestly not something I can control.
These days when I have to phone someone, I will rehearse a thousand times over. I'll even pause for laughter at something witty I said. Yeah, that never happens. Instead, my palms get really sweaty, my voice gets caught in my throat and they think I'm rude because they have never spoken to anyone who says "Thanks, bye." so many times in one conversation.
"Hi, may I speak to Chelsey?"
"Speaking."
"Hi, I'm calling from the medical clinic as a reminder about your appointment tomorrow?"
"Thanks, bye."
"...So you'll be there?"
"Yepthanksbye."
How do I fix this? How do I escape this crippling fear of having a simple conversation? I don't have any idea, I'm sure I'd have to speak to someone to find out. Thanks, bye.
"Shit. The phone is ringing. I can't answer it, it's ringing!"
I'm sure you all know and understand social anxiety. Terrible thing it is. For as long as I can remember, I have had social anxiety, though it was much worse when I was a child. My dad would say "Let's order pizza!" and I'd be all like "Hoorah! Pizza!" and then he would say "But you have to order it." Oh God no. You can't possibly be serious. Call them? And speak to them? You have GOTTA BE joking. I'd rather starve.
The rare times I would actually try to attempt to order the pizza, I would get so flustered that I would hang up the phone and cry a little.
"We can go to McDonalds, but you have to order your own." Nope. No f'ing way. I'll just have this glass of water and crusts of bread.
I remember when I was about 5 years old and I wanted to call my neighbour to play but she wasn't home. After several minutes of coaching on how to leave a message on her answering machine from my sister, I finally got the balls to do it.
"Hello Barbara? This is Barbara. UGH!" click.
I think I must have left about 15 messages not cluing in to the fact that they would probably know I called after the first 4 botched messages.
I'm still a mess when it comes to social interactions. If I'm out at the mall or grocery shopping and I see someone I knew in high school (someone I was friends with, even) a lot of the time I will a) pretend my shoe is untied, and I just can't manage to do that sucker up, b) stare the other way like something has really caught my eye, or c) intently read the nutrition facts on a box of crackers I have no intention of buying.
"I'm trying to calculate the percentage of calories from fat. What? I'm only eating things with less than 30% calories from fat!"
Calories, smalories.
When someone very rarely catches me in a good enough mood to say anything, I usually do something really stupid and embarrassing. A guy I knew in high school drives a bus and as I was exiting said bus he said "See ya later Chels." and I in turn, yelled "BYE!"
I immediately turned around and said "I have no idea why I just did that." and walked away.
Maybe I don't so much have social anxiety as much as I dread the awkward conversation. 9 times out of 10 with me, you're going to have an awkward conversation. I'll mostly just stare at you and make weird facial expressions. It's honestly not something I can control.
These days when I have to phone someone, I will rehearse a thousand times over. I'll even pause for laughter at something witty I said. Yeah, that never happens. Instead, my palms get really sweaty, my voice gets caught in my throat and they think I'm rude because they have never spoken to anyone who says "Thanks, bye." so many times in one conversation.
"Hi, may I speak to Chelsey?"
"Speaking."
"Hi, I'm calling from the medical clinic as a reminder about your appointment tomorrow?"
"Thanks, bye."
"...So you'll be there?"
"Yepthanksbye."
How do I fix this? How do I escape this crippling fear of having a simple conversation? I don't have any idea, I'm sure I'd have to speak to someone to find out. Thanks, bye.
"Shit. The phone is ringing. I can't answer it, it's ringing!"
Friday, January 20, 2012
Wanna know how much I hate my cat? This many.
Question: Louie, why are you such a dick?
10 months old and this asshole has accumulated more hate than any one person can in a lifetime.
What's that? Louie pee'd all over the clothes in the bathroom? And in the bedroom? And in a laundry basket of my clean clothes? And on a box of cheerios? And on my face? And ON MY LIFE? And then he took a shit in front of my bedroom door? And then I stepped in it? And then he ate the plant and threw up all over the place?
"Surely you'll understand, that bath mat looks just like my litter box."
"You mean to tell me that your pillow ISN'T supposed to be shit on?"
"Oh sorry, was this yours? What, you don't like the smell of my piss? Yikes, I guess that's my bad."
"I'm gonna have to plead the fifth, here."
Here's a little anagrammatic poem I wrote just for the occasion;
This is what I wanted:
This is what I got:
Look at you, your beady little eyes, too close together. Laying around like you don't have a care in the world. Little do you know, as soon as you fall asleep, I'm going to spray you in the face with the "Louie's a dick" water bottle. Not just once. No, no. Each and every time you fall asleep. Me? I don't need sleep. This is more important. You can hide, but I'm going to find you. In the chair, or on the back of the couch, or underneath the kitchen table, or against the wall downstairs, or on the bottom stair where you lay purposely trying to kill me, or in your litter box... Wait, what am I saying? You and I both know that I won't find you in your litter box.
You'll get yours.
10 months old and this asshole has accumulated more hate than any one person can in a lifetime.
What's that? Louie pee'd all over the clothes in the bathroom? And in the bedroom? And in a laundry basket of my clean clothes? And on a box of cheerios? And on my face? And ON MY LIFE? And then he took a shit in front of my bedroom door? And then I stepped in it? And then he ate the plant and threw up all over the place?
"Surely you'll understand, that bath mat looks just like my litter box."
"You mean to tell me that your pillow ISN'T supposed to be shit on?"
"Oh sorry, was this yours? What, you don't like the smell of my piss? Yikes, I guess that's my bad."
"I'm gonna have to plead the fifth, here."
Here's a little anagrammatic poem I wrote just for the occasion;
L- Louie, I hate you.
O- Oh man, I hate you so much.
U- Urine.
I- I hate you.
E- ...I hate you.
This is what I wanted:
Look at you, your beady little eyes, too close together. Laying around like you don't have a care in the world. Little do you know, as soon as you fall asleep, I'm going to spray you in the face with the "Louie's a dick" water bottle. Not just once. No, no. Each and every time you fall asleep. Me? I don't need sleep. This is more important. You can hide, but I'm going to find you. In the chair, or on the back of the couch, or underneath the kitchen table, or against the wall downstairs, or on the bottom stair where you lay purposely trying to kill me, or in your litter box... Wait, what am I saying? You and I both know that I won't find you in your litter box.
You'll get yours.
Friday, May 13, 2011
Chelsey Sparkle (ne Martin) no longer MIA!
Hush, I'm here now. This is the part where you rest your head on my bosom, I stroke your hair, and you take in my every smell. Lucky for you, I'm wearing deodorant.
So, how in the H-E-double hockey sticks have you been, my friends? I'll take your silence as a positive response. Me? How have I been? Well. Let me give you a brief run down of the past 2 and a half months in the world of Chelsey Sparkle (ne Martin).
Early March 2011, I moved to exciting Boston, Ontario. Population: 7. And we happen to be 4 of those 7. Home to a church, an elementary school and a general store (which is open until 11 pm, holla!), there's usually a whole mess of nothing afoot. We have been living (myself with no mode of transportation) without telephone, internet and cable. That's right, I'm a certified Mennonite. You know, without any of the manual labour, churning butter or wearing dresses. I'm still a big advocate for pants.
At first it was like "Okay, I'm stuck out in Boston without a car, but let's be honest here. How often did I leave the house anyway, right? Gotta make the best of every situation."
to
"Okay, I'm stuck out in Boston without a car, and I can't watch any tv. But that's alright, I didn't watch much tv before anyway. This will be a good time to catch up on reading."
to
"Okay, I'm stuck out in Boston without a car, I can't watch tv and I have no phone to get ahold of anyone. Not ideal, and I'm starting to get pretty bored."
to
"I'm stuck in lame-o fucking Boston with no car, tv, phone or internet. I might take up bulimia as a hobby."
A few of my favoured activities in my early days of Boston, included staring at the wall, crying, and staring at the wall while crying. On occasion, I would put on Toy Story 3 for background noise, and attempt to put my head through a window based on the fact alone, that I had to watch Toy Story 3 for the six thousand, nine hundred and eighty seventh time. Good movie though.
So, approximately 75 days later, things are definitely looking up. I have channelled all of that negative wall staring energy into more productive things, like doing the dishes once a week, or reading a book I've already read about a dozen times. My tear ducts have seen an improvement, that's for certain.
Why cry, when you can sleep?
You're probably wondering "Jesus H. Christ, Chelsey Sparkle (ne Martin), you've had so much time on your hands, why haven't you been writing up a tropical storm of sorts? And what does the 'H' in 'Jesus H. Christ' stand for?"
The answer to that is easy. It stands for Helen.
I know my writing already comes off as depressing, self loathing, and self deprecating to the max, and that's on a good day when I'm not so depressed and stuck in oblivion that I find myself counting the hair follicles on the back of my hand.
I have zero by the way, because a real lady doesn't have any hair on her hands.
So yes, I was doing some writing. It got a little hard to read between tear drop smudges and big rips in the paper where I decided to jam my pen in and pull.
But I would like you all to rest assured that my funk is now a thing of the past. I was all like... "Hey you funk, get the funk out of here." I would say it was nice knowing you, but let's be honest, it wasn't even!
Here's to positive attitudes, lots of writing and pants!
I look forward to writing to you soon, friends. If you could see my face, you would see that it's a happy one. Or at least that's what it feels like. It might look a little like I don't like your hair cut.
So, how in the H-E-double hockey sticks have you been, my friends? I'll take your silence as a positive response. Me? How have I been? Well. Let me give you a brief run down of the past 2 and a half months in the world of Chelsey Sparkle (ne Martin).
Early March 2011, I moved to exciting Boston, Ontario. Population: 7. And we happen to be 4 of those 7. Home to a church, an elementary school and a general store (which is open until 11 pm, holla!), there's usually a whole mess of nothing afoot. We have been living (myself with no mode of transportation) without telephone, internet and cable. That's right, I'm a certified Mennonite. You know, without any of the manual labour, churning butter or wearing dresses. I'm still a big advocate for pants.
At first it was like "Okay, I'm stuck out in Boston without a car, but let's be honest here. How often did I leave the house anyway, right? Gotta make the best of every situation."
to
"Okay, I'm stuck out in Boston without a car, and I can't watch any tv. But that's alright, I didn't watch much tv before anyway. This will be a good time to catch up on reading."
to
"Okay, I'm stuck out in Boston without a car, I can't watch tv and I have no phone to get ahold of anyone. Not ideal, and I'm starting to get pretty bored."
to
"I'm stuck in lame-o fucking Boston with no car, tv, phone or internet. I might take up bulimia as a hobby."
A few of my favoured activities in my early days of Boston, included staring at the wall, crying, and staring at the wall while crying. On occasion, I would put on Toy Story 3 for background noise, and attempt to put my head through a window based on the fact alone, that I had to watch Toy Story 3 for the six thousand, nine hundred and eighty seventh time. Good movie though.
So, approximately 75 days later, things are definitely looking up. I have channelled all of that negative wall staring energy into more productive things, like doing the dishes once a week, or reading a book I've already read about a dozen times. My tear ducts have seen an improvement, that's for certain.
Why cry, when you can sleep?
You're probably wondering "Jesus H. Christ, Chelsey Sparkle (ne Martin), you've had so much time on your hands, why haven't you been writing up a tropical storm of sorts? And what does the 'H' in 'Jesus H. Christ' stand for?"
The answer to that is easy. It stands for Helen.
I know my writing already comes off as depressing, self loathing, and self deprecating to the max, and that's on a good day when I'm not so depressed and stuck in oblivion that I find myself counting the hair follicles on the back of my hand.
I have zero by the way, because a real lady doesn't have any hair on her hands.
So yes, I was doing some writing. It got a little hard to read between tear drop smudges and big rips in the paper where I decided to jam my pen in and pull.
But I would like you all to rest assured that my funk is now a thing of the past. I was all like... "Hey you funk, get the funk out of here." I would say it was nice knowing you, but let's be honest, it wasn't even!
Here's to positive attitudes, lots of writing and pants!
I look forward to writing to you soon, friends. If you could see my face, you would see that it's a happy one. Or at least that's what it feels like. It might look a little like I don't like your hair cut.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
This is my friend Dave. His favourite colour is sienna.
 |
| He's baaaaack |
And ready to chomp on your soul. I'm sure most of you remember little Dave People Eater, but for those of you who don't, take a hop, skip and a jump over to http://whatthechell.blogspot.com/2010/11/these-are-daves-i-know-i-know-these-are.html and get better acquainted with the many Daves that I know. Despite the terrifying face and tiny evil idle hands, Dave "Plus I'm hungry for flesh" Pointy Eyebrows, turned out to be not such a bad kid after all.
A while back, I decided it would be fun to interview friends of mine. But then being extremely lazy got in the way, and I put it off for about three months. Like I do. Hey, it's better late than never, isn't it? Get off my case.
Please friends, welcome Dave with open arms.
Dave People Eater
I'm using a sock I just found (a clean sock) to wipe my nose. How do you feel about that?I find my disgust level is lower than expected. It's there. But it hovers around a 6. I was expecting high 7's, low 8's.
If you could be Indiana Jones, what would be your first order of business?
Get the best Monkey Helper money could buy. Like a Monkey Butler, but with more personal freedom for him. Like he can go out and pick up dames if he wants, but during the day he needs to do my bidding. Step 2: Take out the Nazis.
Very admirable, Dave.
How attractive do you find Harrison Ford?
Han Solo Harrison Ford...9
NOW Harrison Ford....2
What's your favourite flavour of jam?
I know this isn't the question, but marmalade is fucking disgusting and whoever invented it should be put down like a dog with rabies.
Strawlsberry.
Is that a typo, or is that just your favourite kind?
Zero percent typo.
Team Edward or Team Jacob?
Twilight is so gay.
That's all you have to say?
Team Edward, because he's super white like me, and that other guy looks like an Indian.
If you could have a 5 person famous people dinner party, alive or dead, who would be invited?
2Pac...obviously. Albert Einstein, Sigmund Freud, Bill Clinton and Dana White.
Disregard females, acquire currency.
Who did you vote for on the last season of Canadian Idol?
I have no connection with Canadian [Idol] beyond that my sister went when Lionel Ritchie was there and made signs. I have never voted in Canadian Idol. I feel shame.
Would you rather be cheese grated to death, or have your head run over by a roller skate until you die?
That's tough. But fair. Is someone wearing the roller skate or it's just like the roller skate itself? Cheese grating sounds way to horrific for me to be able to do, either way I'm going with the roller skate.
Marry one - Boff one - Kill one - Kate Goslin, Chelsea Clinton, Kathy Bates
Tough. Chelsea Clinton is way less gross then she was as a teenager and she's an earner so I'm gonna marry her. Kate Goslin is a fucking toolbag, but I could hate fuck her something fierce, Kathy Bates was disgusting in her prime and her prime was 30 years ago, so I'm sorry Delores Claiborne but you're getting killed.
One word to describe yourself
Awesome.
One word to describe me
Jaunty.
What would you do if you were at the bar macking on some chick, you go to the bathroom and when you come back, Mike "The Situation" Sorrentino is humping her against the wall?
Try for the Devils 3 Way (2 Dudes \|/ ) For sure. Imagine the story. We'd Eiffel Tower.
___________________________________________________
For all of those who aren't in the know, \|/ are devil horns. I myself was at one point, not in the know. And thus concludes my interview with the wonderful Dave People Eater. I would like to send you off with a few of my personal favourite DPE moments.
"What is IRL?"
"In Real Life. We just went through this. You said you were going to work on your internetting. You clearly didn't."
"My mom just brought me groceries because she heard I was sick. This included juice boxes, beef broth, blueberries and C Plus pop because it's got 25% fruit juice. The combination of sweetness and ignorance washes over me like a wave."
Encouraging me to get my blog out there...
"You have to be out there, adding links to every website.
Going on forums, and adding links.
reddit.com
fark.com
digg.com
And you need to do this every single day.
Enter writing contests.
Take nudes.
Send them to me.
Links.
All over the world.
Find other blogs.
Don't read them.
Place a link."
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Me + You = Not friends unless I can bully you
Today is "Stop bullying day" or some shit along those lines. Everyone wears a pink shirt to support anti-bullying. Yeah. That's cool. If you're a chick. If I see a man wearing a pink anti-bullying shirt, I'm going to bully him.
I made a joke about bullying children on a certain social network that shalt not be named, and a woman got on the defense because she has children who are bullied. Yes, maybe the joke was in poor taste. Let's face it, most of my jokes are in poor taste. Does it make them any less funny? GOD no. It makes them funnier.
Listen here, Lady. I'm going to bully you if you don't get off my case.
I was bullied in school. Everyone was bullied in school. I'm not advocating bullying and I know there are terrible things happening (kids committing suicide, setting schools ablaze with gun fire, etc) but come on. Just let me make the jokes I want to make. I don't tell you not to make the crappy knock knock jokes you probably make. I wouldn't do that, because I'm just such a nice person.
Everyone needs to quit being so sensitive. I'll call you fat, you'll say my eyes are too far apart, we'll have a good chuckle, and then we'll call it a day. How does that sound, Nancy?
Either you agree with me, or you're too scared to say anything because you're living in crippling fear of me bullying you. Both completely acceptable answers.
You. Your panties. Untwist them. Thank you.
I made a joke about bullying children on a certain social network that shalt not be named, and a woman got on the defense because she has children who are bullied. Yes, maybe the joke was in poor taste. Let's face it, most of my jokes are in poor taste. Does it make them any less funny? GOD no. It makes them funnier.
Listen here, Lady. I'm going to bully you if you don't get off my case.
I was bullied in school. Everyone was bullied in school. I'm not advocating bullying and I know there are terrible things happening (kids committing suicide, setting schools ablaze with gun fire, etc) but come on. Just let me make the jokes I want to make. I don't tell you not to make the crappy knock knock jokes you probably make. I wouldn't do that, because I'm just such a nice person.
Everyone needs to quit being so sensitive. I'll call you fat, you'll say my eyes are too far apart, we'll have a good chuckle, and then we'll call it a day. How does that sound, Nancy?
Either you agree with me, or you're too scared to say anything because you're living in crippling fear of me bullying you. Both completely acceptable answers.
You. Your panties. Untwist them. Thank you.
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