Just a Song Before I Go

Oh hey, World. I have some big news.

I am HOMELESS.

Mother is going to be furious about this...

Ok, so I really am not homeless, but I did move out of my dwelling in Bountiful. Which adds to more news...

I am JOBLESS

Bring on the calls, Mother...

Well, I ended my job with Davis Behavioral Health. With me ending said job, I had to move out. Sometimes, even with a mental illness, you don't get to live with the rest of the crazies.

Rats. (not really)

So yeah, I ended my job. I have been thinking about this for awhile (since my first week at the job...woof) and a year at a highly demanding job like that is amazing. Incredible. Almost impossible.

Well, I defied impossible once again. Go me. No, but some crappy crap was going on at work and then they decided to make the place coed and when they said that, I put on my panama hat and headed out the door. Problem was, I totally forgot that my parents were moving out of their place and there was no room in their inn for this virgin (immaculate, I know).

Shoot.

(Currently, Cami is sitting by me reading this while I type and she just told me "I really wish that I wasn't reading this right now and laughing because then I won't be able to laugh at it tomorrow during class." I am a fun crusher sometimes, for sure.)

So. I was about to be homeless. Imagine this, if you will. Chelsea, high stressed and highly emotional, thinking about THE FUTURE. Scary thing to imagine. Scarier thing to go through. Thoughts of adult responsibilities ran through my mind. 

--I have to pay rent.

--I have to find a job that will help me pay rent.

--I have to have a baby.

--I really don't have to have said baby, but thinking about it terrifies me. 

--I try to find a date so I can marry and have said baby.

Woe. Is. Me.

P.S., I hate "dating" or whatever the hell that term means. Damn Match still isn't cutting out. None of you get to see me on a commercial any time soon. *single tear* ---Pun definitely intended.

Back to being an adult.

It was a scary moment thinking about it. I don't want to be homeless. I would have to prostitute myself with Lord of the Rings or something (body wise, I wouldn't be the best choice for a prostitute. Double woof. However, LOTR-wise, I would be rolling in the Benjamin's with Smeagol or somethin' like that. Big Pimpin' in Mordor. Hobbit style.)

Please ignore that little snigit *combination of snitch and golden nugget* of grossness. But really, the idea of being homeless was horrible. I would stink. And I guess other stuff too. The point is, it would be a horrible experience and all I would grow from it is a butch hair cut and a barbed-wire tattoo on my arm. So I was freaking out and contacting everyone I know to tell them that I wouldn't have a home, hoping people would offer a place. Sneaky, I know. 

And it worked! Really, I have some amazing friends. My sweet, incredible, amazing, gorgeous, almost social worker (sorry, Cami, it's not you) Kara and her amazing hubby offered me a place with them. Miracle on 34th street for sure. So I will be their practice child for a month. 

I will make them never want to have kids. 

But, really, it has been pretty rough with thinking about moving. I mean, it is super exciting. I will get a new job, meet new people (not from Match...duh) and just have some great new experiences. It is scarier than Hell though. In fact, if I do go to Hell, I am sure it will be an eternal struggle of thinking I am going to be homeless and job hunting. 

Double Woof.

Plus, I am going to miss my ladies. 

That job has been rough. It has been miserable at times. I remember the first month, I would have my weekly breakdowns on Sundays. It was glorious. False, it was terrible. But I made it through and then the job was actually, well, quite enjoyable. I learned a lot about myself ( like, that I really should never be a manager or an RA ever again) and I learned a lot about other people, good and bad. 

I love my ladies. One of them came in and chitchatted with me while I finished my packing and it was great. We talked about Lord of the Rings (no brainer) and just some good ol' times. She was one of the toughest clients at the house, but it was just great to just sit and talk with her. She told me about her life and gave me some great grains of wisdom. One of the best things that she said to me was this: "Chelsea, you are going to make it though this and you are going to be happy. You will get a job, you will have friends, and you are going to be great to everyone around you. I know you have made a dent in my life and you are going to continue that wherever you go."

Wow. I started bawling and she told me to stop because those are just wasted tears. It has been great talking to them. They have helped me learn more about me and...tooting my own horn here...but of all the good that I can provide for others. When I was telling my favorite client about me moving, *we all have favorites, so shut up. I know I am one of Craig's top three. I may have also made him say that* She was like, "Chelsea, if you leave, I will die." After her saying that, I was like, "Well, if you say something like that again, we will have to make a trip to the hospital."

I am reeeeally funny.

But she then said, "No, I am serious. I will not live there if you aren't there. You make the place comfortable."

Again, I started crying. Boob, I am. I mean, comfortable is not a word to be used lightly, in my opinion. When something, or someone, is comfortable, it is the best thing in the world. I automatically think of my bed, Diet Coke, and Return of the King (again, why won't guys realize how awesome I am?* So to be considered comfortable is the highest honor. 

I hope I don't sound like bragging. I think I really just need to write good things about myself so I can feel good about the situation, you know? Maybe if I read these things and remember them, then I will believe them. Trying some psych right now. 

Really, though, let's get to the point. I truly care about these women. It has been the hardest job ever, but working with these women, I have learned that I really do like them. We have had some great times together. Whether it is me making them push me in the cart at Wal*Mart or watching When Harry Met Sally, it has been full of laughs. We would dance, we would sing, we would laugh, and we would even cry. They are great people. 

I really am going to miss them and the job. It is sad leaving people and worrying about who will come and take care of them next. I guess I am a little protective over them, but really, they deserve the best care and I hope they get it. 

Anyways, after bawling my eyes out all day there, I went to my other job and bawled my eyes out there. May have accidentally dropped a tear or two in front of the kiddies. BONUS FOR ME THOUGH. It totally made them shut up and be on the greatest behavior ever in tutoring. It is sad with that job too, though, because program is ending next week. My kiddies are going off to summer break and I won't get to see them.

I love my kids. I adore them. Oh my gosh, they are horrible sometimes, but they are the best things in my life. 

So there you go. Chelsea is stressed, tired, and thirsty. But as my lady said, 

Chelsea is going to be happy again.

Cheers.

Ch.Wa

Belfast

Today is Mother's Day. Right now, my mother is telling me that I shouldn't be driving home tonight because I could hit an animal.

Gosh, I am so glad she is my mom. 

 My mom is seriously the most beautiful woman that I have ever known. She has always been so stylish and always looks good. I like to blame it on my mom that I can never really go out in public looking like trash. Pajama bottoms and no bra while going to the store?

Doesn't happen. Ever.

You see, though, Nancy just always looks good. She has poise and she has grace. She is so feminine and carries herself as a woman quite well.

 Some of my favorite things about my mom are...well, a lot. I feel like since I am the youngest child, I have an extra special relationship with Nimmer. I remember being a kid in our old house and having her serve me breakfast in her and my dad's bed in the morning while I would watch "Sleeping Beauty." She had/has spoiled me rotten. In fact, I love hearing the stories about how I was such a mama's girl that I would sit in the corner of dance classes and cry because she wasn't with me. I also got out of many piano teachers because I knew how to work her.

But really, here are some special moments that remind me of her.

• Elton John/Simon and Garfunkel. My mom is great with music. Her taste is incredible. But these two artists are what really stand out with her. I remember listening to Scarbarough Field while riding with her to Maddox when I was a little girl. That song was magical to me. I probably (and maybe secretly still do) thought that it was such a romantic song and that I would get married in the woods with my first grade boyfriend and it would sound just like that song. Nerdy, I know, but it is great. I also love how she loves Elton John. He was her first concert, (was only five bucks or something to see him) and she still loves him to this day. Whenever I want to think about my mom, I just put "Belfast" on the pod, and think of our good drives to that song. 
• Dancing. My mom is a horrible dancer. I am a horrible dancer. So when we dance...well, we dance. It is terrifying but oh, so much fun. Her classic move is the "camel dance", which is just awful. Ang and I still try to master that dance but she is the only tamer of that one. 
• The Graduate/When Harry Met Sally/The Way We Were/any sappy romantic movie. My mom loves a good romance movie and whenever I need a good "woman time" movie, I always ask for her advice. I love watching her favorite movies so I can share that with her. I still remember when I stole The Way We Were from her. It was the first month of me moving into the house and I was a wreck. So I was thinking, Oh hey, Bah-bra knows how to make someone feel good. Well, I was wrong. I called her up after bawling and talking about how great that movie was. She really does know some good stuff.
• Also, she told me that Edward Scissorhands is a funny movie. I called her after watching it, bawling hysterically and telling her she lied about it being funny and her response was, "Well, when he grooms the dogs it was hilarious." Yeah, that part was only five minutes. Horrible.
• My mom remembers every outfit she wore on the first day of school. It is great hearing her talk about her amazing memory (she can remember things like that but not my name? Awesome.) I also love listening to music with her and how she can say things like, "I remember I was in Sixth grade when I got this vinyl and I was wearing such-and-such outfit and someone threw a snake at me." 
• Adding to that, she is amazing telling stories. I want her to write down all her childhood memories so I can share them with my kids.
• My mom loves El Matador. Hell, she really loves gross mexican food. Sometimes, when I come home on Sundays expecting dinner, I find out that dinner really is just chips and salsa from Javiers. Not the greatest moment, but hey, it is a nice snack

I really do have the most amazing mom. I swell up with pride whenever anyone says that I am just like her or that I look like her. She is tougher than nails but is still so gentle. I really do see her as my best friend. I loved it when I lived in New York that we would call each other every morning to talk about how our days are going to go. I love how she hates The Lord of the Rings. I love how she will call me three times in a row and when I call her back, she will tell me, "Oh hey, I have to call you right back." Annoying as hell, but she never lets me down with that. I love how much she loves my siblings and me. I love how she loves my friends and the people I care about most in my life. I love that she loves our dog more than us kids sometimes. I love her cooking. I love that she reads. I love having her there for me always. I love walking with her in the mountains. I love her when she is nice and I love her when she is annoyed at me. I love that I call her Nimmer. 

But most of all, I love that I get to call her mom. 

I hope that I get the chance to be the amazing type of mom that you have been to me. Thank you for all the wonderful things that you have done for me. I thank God every day that I have you as my mother. 

bees

So.

Lemme just start by playing the blame game with why I don't EVER post on here. The latest blame of it all? I don't have a computer.

It is unbearably almost IMPOSSIBLE to post on a phone. Also, the job stopped sending internet services to the house, so I cannot use the office there. So since I don't have a pooter for my pleasure, I have to wait until I go to my parents to "help" pack up the crap that is in the house and pretend that I alone am the holder of the Mac and the endless wifi.

Amazing.

I may or may not be listening to Sarah McLachlan while writing this. There is a fine line between what I label as "mom music" and "lesbian music". She crosses waaay too much. But hey, she reminds me of the sister, so what can I do? Also, Ang loves the lesbo artists, which is strange, but great at the same time.

So I guess it is story time. I will start with my most painful one. There I was, at the after school program, pretending that I know how to garden for a class. Well, I left the most important thing at my house (the seeds) so I just made the kiddies go outside in the sun so I could try to get some sort of vitamin D in my body. Well, I decided to sit in the grass when it felt like I was sitting in a patch of stinging nettle. Seriously, my butt has not been in that much pain since I was hit by the leprechaun last St. Patty's Day. I couldn't find where it came from, until I moved over a bit.

In the grass, I found a bee.

Yes, a bee was able to sting my butt through two layers of clothing. What the crap.

So I hobbled into the school to figure out what to do. I told the secretary that I was stung and I didn't know what to do. Also, at this point, I was crying. Go me. So she helped make me some weird mixture of baking soda and water so I could put the paste on my derriere to suck out....the evil of bees out of me. Worst experience ever. Just don't try to imagine me crying in the bathroom trying to put paste on my butt. Then one of the kids was like, "Why don't you call your mom, Miss Waterfall?" That made me bawl because I realized that
A: I have never been stung before
B: No one can help me right now because, oh I was just stung on my butt
C: You are never too old for mom's wisdom of what to do when things happen
D: I still need my mom for emotional times like this.
E: All of the above

I called the Nimmer, she told me to put mud on it (yeah right) then go to the ER immediately if my throat closed up. Awesome.

I survived that.