I'm still around!

If you've noticed I went missing from the parts, fear not! I can be found over at www.chelseawithacarryon.com - won't you come join the fun!?

on domestication

One of my favorite things about cohabitation has been cooking.

Is that weird? I think maybe that's one of those faux pas things I'm not actually supposed to admit to. Everyone complains about having to cook dinner, right? Sorry all, maybe I am the freak of nature, I actually look forward to it.

Back when I lived alone I'd try out a recipe here and there, but mostly I made small simple meals that didn't include leftovers because, well, because I hated leftovers. It also wasn't very fun to spend an hour in the kitchen crafting some satiable bounty that only your dog and your instagram followers got to revel in the beauty of. 

I cook dinner for us 3 to 4 evenings a week most weeks, and have a growing repertoire of favorites. 

If you're ready for a real shocker, get this... I've even started using a crockpot.

Yep, you heard right, the self-proclaimed anti-crocker has converted. I'm still pretty selective, it's usually for pulled pork or any type of shredded meat dishes but hey it's a start right? 

Sigh, so this is 30. Domestication. Blogging about how I use a crock pot.

My how things have changed

Northern Africa on the horizon

A week from today we'll be wrapping up our projects at work, setting our Out of Offices and scrambling to start on that last minute packing.

Then Saturday it's wheels up for Morocco. (Well, technically it's wheels up for Barcelona but those few days we are spending amongst the land of Catalonia isn't the highlight of this trip for me haha!)

Aside from the insane level of excitement I have to finally visit Morocco, this trip also holds another special place in my heart. This trip will mark my 6th continent, and the last big adventure before turning 30.

Judging by every photo I've seen of the country, I'm likely to either A) fall so in love I never want to return or B) buy SO MUCH STUFF in the souks I'm going to have to find a shipping container to send it all back stateside.

If anyone has any tips/must-see's/must-do's send them my way... I'm all ears! We will be spending about 2.5 days in Barcelona total, and a week in Morocco

Well, it's been over a year now of living together and we haven't killed each other so, quite frankly, that's worth a blog post... no?

Actually (wait for it, most cliche blogger line coming right up) I miss this place. I think writing was always therapeutic for me. That and it helped me not forget every single thing.

Or maybe I'm just waxing nostalgic as that infamous 30th birthday starts to sneak closer. Have I even accomplished enough in life to be given the 3-decade-trophy? I mean, if I didn't blog it, it probably didn't even happen - right?!

Anyways, I may pop around these parts a little more often nowadays. Not only do we live on the most fascinating street in Indianapolis, I've also hopped a few other continents, learned how to actually put away laundry, perfected a few signature dishes and other noteworthy things worth sharing. (Although, I cannot for the life of me find the coding to remove these chevrons from my blog background so if anyone can accomplish that feat throw me a line)

Until next time, adios amigos!

On living with a boy.

I bought my house shortly after turning 23. I lived alone for 5 and a half glorious years, which by the way, I recommend every girl does in her life.

Sure I had sleepovers, I had friends stay, I even had post-hospital stints where I stayed back at my parents for a few weeks. But all in all, for five sweet years, those two thousand square feet were my own.

I painted the walls wild colors. I bought a teal couch. I hung giant photos of palm trees, of me posing with koalas, of my friends and I laughing hysterically.

I broke shit. I fixed shit I broke. I you-tubed a lot, and consulted the google diary of home ownership more than an average person probably ever would (perks of owning a 1930s home, I guess.) And when I couldn't fix the shit I broke, I cried for a bit. Then I called my dad and he came and fixed it for me.

You don't really grasp the kind of freedom that comes with living alone until it's gone.

Gone are the days when I meticulously arranged my Tupperware, or I ran around with my pants around my ankles because the toilet paper needed refilled, or I stood on chairs to get the perfect angle of my homemade pizza for Instagram. Do you KNOW how weird it is for someone to walk in on you standing with the fridge wide open eating straight Parmesan cheese in your underwear on a Saturday morning?

On Memorial Day weekend, we said goodbye to Tate's bachelor pad in the heart of Indianapolis and moved him out to the suburbs. Being the type to always have something to look forward to, we (of course) fell in love with a house (also downtown) that same week, and if I remember correctly, had our offer accepted the day we were loading his eight--hundred pound dresser onto the trailer to go to the storage unit.

All of this to say that living with a boy is strange, strange territory. I'd like to think we're navigating it OK together. We've learned that I'm always right when it comes to taking the trash out, how to put away dishes, properly doing laundry, and so on and so forth. And I guess I've learned how to let him veg out watching four hours straight on the history of Irish Castles.

It is nice to have someone else to share doggy duties with, and my bed is a lot cozier now that I have a full-time snuggle buddy. I've enjoyed cooking for two, versus leaving myself with a mountain of leftovers. We've depleted my wine stock tenfold, and having the longest-running game of Rummy in history. We've managed to divvy out the chores pretty easily, and he makes me put away my clothes. Which I guess is a good thing, considering my closet hasn't 'thrown up' all over the bedroom floor in nearly 3 months now.

It still feels like this weird purgatory of having a boy living in MY space though. It's all MY furniture, my art, my routines and plans, my name on all the bills. And I can tell he feels like an extended visitor at times.

I think we're both in the same boat eagerly anticipating closing day (this Friday - eek!) on the new home. A fresh start for us to build a 'together' home.

Who knows, I may even let him have a say in how we organize the Tupperware in the new place?