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?

48 hours in Manhattan

We stepped off the plane at 8:30 Friday night, and stepped right back onto the plane at 8:40 Sunday night.

48 hours in New York rivaled 50 hours in Vegas. Regardless of the fact the flight was half as long, the city was equally as exhausting.

I guess I should back up and explain that this great big, exhilarating, New York weekend was my birthday gift. Yea. You heard that right. Because I'm not spoiled or anything.

A few weeks earlier that sneaky fella of mine sent me an airline confirmation.

Having never been to the BIG CITY (yea yea - insert gasp here, I am used to it) I had no clue what to expect. Of course, everyone passed along their long lists of Must See's and Must Eat's and Must Drink's and Must Avoids, but we pretty much decided to go into it with an open agenda.

The taxi ride from LaGuardia to the W Hotel may have been the most tortuous ride of my life. Tate decided to book our hotel in Times Square so we were in a central location to everything... which was fantastic, but also terrible, because Times Square is... well terrible, as I quickly learned. The concept of traffic flow (both by foot and automobile) seems lost on everyone there.

As soon as we got checked into our room on the 36th floor, we were back out the revolving door, in search of food. Thus began our first leisurely stroll (and by leisurely I mean, block after block after block), where we stumbled upon a little Argentinian place in Chelsea (how fitting). By the time we walked in the door, I was less than pleasant, and an eleven on the hangry scale. They immediately brought me my wine and a basket of bread and all was right in the world again.

Porteno did not disappoint, and I would highly recommend it to anyone who asks. But then again, they brought us complimentary wine after our meal too so I may be biased.

Can I pause for a second and ask if there is an over-abundance of Irish in New York, or if every other bar genre just threw in the towel and added a 'Mc' in front of their name and Guinness to their tap line?

After a few drinks at one of the local Mc'watering Holes, we decided we better call it a night, and trekked back to the hotel. Saturday took us to the 9/11 Memorial, and museum (a sombering experience, but I somehow managed NOT to cry, so there's a miracle),

When we left the museum we made a pact not to spend the rest of the day dipping into depression, and proceeded to wander around the city and saw EVERY OTHER THING THERE IS TO SEE IN NEW YORK CITY. No really. I think at the end of the day we had logged like 20 some miles. Thank god, for once in my life, I heeded advice and wore practical(ish) shoes.

And then I did what any sane female would do. Dawned 4" heels for a Broadway show that night. What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger, no? That's what I kept telling myself as we climbed the stairs to our balcony level seats. (We saw An American in Paris )

Guess where we went after the show -- yep, another Irish pub. Shocking, huh? I told Tate we had to get drunk and find trashy New York pizza joint for a night cap (hey, you're only young once) so we did just that. Lucky for us, the one I picked had a cocaine dealer out front, so we had prime entertainment for the 14 minutes it took us to scarf down the most delicious thin crust pizza and a few bottles of water.

Sunday morning it poured, which was perfect because we wanted to do nothing but sleep. We finally managed to get up and showered shortly before checking out of the hotel at noon. Leaving our bags behind we headed back to Chelsea for brunch (Tipsy Parson -- GO! So good), wandered the High Line, hit up Chelsea Market, then were off to Central Park and the last leg of our whirlwind see-it-all-do-it-all Manhattan madness.

As late afternoon rolled around and we hopped into the taxi to head back to LGA, I closed my eyes and sank into the seat. I had achy legs, and a happy heart. It's not that I haven't traveled to a hundred cities, it was moreso who I was travelling with.

New York City wasn't what I expected it to be. I anticipated huge, bustling, high action... it was big, and it was busy... but it wasn't unmanageable. I anticipated overwhelming, but we conquered it easily. Guess that just proves you never know til you try

Interested in where else I've traveled? Check out my wander page to find out more!

What happened to love?

 

Do you ever find yourself in conversation with an older gentleman, probably someone's grandpa, and he gets on the topic of his late wife. Do you notice the glimmer he gets in his eye? The smirk when he mentions those quirks shes had, the love they shared, the longing ever since she passed?

Fast-forward to modern day men, and that glimmer is gone. I can't tell you the last time a guy brought up a relationship and he actually seemed happy to be in it. When he didn't call her "crazy" within the first 10 minutes, or complain about the things she does, the things she says.

What happened? Where did the love go? When did we, as a generation, lose that sense of pride and commitment to a relationship, to our 'partner'?

It's refreshing to hear a guy bragging on his girl, instead of complaining about her. It's adorable to watch a fellas eyes light up when his girl walks into a room, as opposed to hearing him groan and make some one-off comment. It's admirable when it's clear a man can't get enough of her, and has eyes for no one else, instead of trying to flirt with any other woman around.

This isn't some feminist rant about holding doors or paying for the tab. It's just a mind dump where I confess that it makes me sad. It makes me sad that all these guys date these great girls and act like they could care less if they were even around.

Maybe that's part of the reason I continue to chose to be single. I don't want to juts be in a relationship because it's expected. I want to be in one because I can't get enough of someone, and they can't get enough of me. I want to be in one where we make each other awesome, and happy, and elated and maybe this is just me dreaming un-achievable dreams, but I find that hard to believe when I've met so many grandpa's and grandma's who still have that glimmer in their eye.

Story of a boy.

Boy meets girl.

Boy gives girl his number, and invites her to hang out.

Girl already has plans.

LinkedIn tells girl that boy checked out her profile.

Girl texts boy, boy doesn't reply.

A week later, boy asks girl to lunch.

Lunch is fun! Boy and girl laugh a lot!

Boy invites girl to a gathering next week.

Girl texts boy, boy doesn't reply.

And people wonder why girl chooses not to date.

An ode to couples that don't suck.

If you want me to be completely honest here, some couples suck.

Maybe that's harsh, but it's the truth. There are some couples who, when you log a few hours with them, they just absolutely suck the life out of you. Whether it's because they're constantly bickering, or wayyy too affectionate, or only into each other, whatever. They just suck. And when you finally wrangle free of their grasp it's like the heavens open up and you're all THANKTHELUCKYSTARSIMSINGLESTILL.

Where am I going with this? Well a few weeks ago a small group of us began planning a trip down to Louisville. Specifically for bridesmaid dress shopping, less specifically for Thunder Over Louisville and shenanigans. 

When I realized this 'small group' would consist of two engaged couples, myself, and one of my best girlfriends, I was slightly hesitant. Was I signing myself up for a weekend of pre-wedded-bliss torture? 

Fast forward (rewind then fast forward?) through this past weekend, I remember making it a point to tell them on the ride home how glad I was that they didn't suck as a couple.

We chatted, we shopped, we ate, we drank, we ooh'ed and ahh'ed over airplanes and fireworks, we laughed until our abs burned and tears were streaming down our face, and then we ate and drank some more.

Truth be told, there was more than one occasion where watching them together warmed my icy heart up a little. Maybe ALL relationships aren't absolutely dreadful. Maybe.

In closing, congrats (and thank you) on not sucking, Courtney & Legends, and Amelia & Andy. I want to be you one day when I grow up.

Love Languages.

I remember hearing about the 5 Languages of Love book a while back, and kind of laughed at the idea. But the more I thought about it the more I agreed, and while I haven't read the whole book I do agree with the excerpts I've read.

Just as everyone learns differently, everyone loves differently.

With Valentine's Day looming around the corner, I found myself in a conversation this morning regarding how I felt most 'loved' and immediately googled to find the quiz and learn my "love language".

If I'm being completely honest - when my results popped up, I felt like an asshole. A materialistic jerk.

But the more I thought about what they said, the more I realized it was true. And the more I realized that's how I naturally 'show' my love for others.

I absolutely adore surprises. When someone takes the time to plan something, or pick something up for me 'just because' I get SO happy.

And I find myself doing it a lot for others, when I'm in a relationship. I LOVE giving gifts, especially ones that are completely at random and just scream the other persons name. Every birthday and Christmas I struggle because I am SO wrapped up in finding the PERFECT gift.

Second place for my 'love languages' was tied between Words of Affirmation and Quality Time, which I can fully agree with. This was really interesting to me, because it pointed out some things that I had realized before. And also reminded me that maybe not everyone feels loved because I surprise them with a gift the way I do (ha!)

(PS I have no affiliation, with this site, the author, the book, etc. I just found it interesting. The quiz can be found here - I'd love to hear what your love language is, and if you agree!)

 

To my future mister, I promise...

I promise to take an obnoxious amount of photos of us. And of you. And of cute things you do/say. And occasionally I promise to exploit them on the blog, or other various forms of social media. FOR POSTERITY'S SAKE


I promise you anytime you're bummed, I'll be the first one cracking dumb jokes and making silly faces trying to get you to crack a smile.


I promise you that if a laugh isn't what you need, I'll be there to offer the biggest hug, a hand to hold, an ear to listen, and a shoulder to cry on. And then I'll tell you that you owe me a new shirt due to snot stains.


I promise you will never be hungry. My love of cooking is only just beginning, and baking has always been my favorite pastime. I promise I'll occasionally make healthy food too, so we don't become lard-asses.


On that note I promise you'll never be thirsty. I have enough liquor in my house to allow a family of 10 to survive a decade long Prohibition.


I promise I won't whine about the action/drama flicks you pick up from Redbox for date night. It's hard to whine when I fall asleep 20 minutes into any movie.


I promise you will rarely have to see me in the same outfit twice. I can't help that I excel at shopping, I'm willing to bet you won't ever have to wear the same thing twice ever either.


I promise we will never be on time to anything. But you bet your ass you better be ready ahead of time. It's expected that you'll have to wait on me... but you turning the tables is just unacceptable.


I promise the house will never be completely spotless, the laundry will rarely ever be completely put away, and the sink will probably have dishes in it. I think it's important to share chores, I don't want to take any of the joy of a "achieving a clean home" away from you.


I promise I'll be your best partner in crime, egging you on whether it be karaoke, shots, or the Blackjack table. But don't worry... I'll make sure you don't get TOO out of control, and remind you when you're being a dumbass/brokeass/drunkass.


I promise you will never be bored. Whether I'm dragging you to a country concert, hanging on your arm at a sporting event, or snuggling on your shoulder on a long flight. We'll have adventures. I promise if you aren't already broke, we'll make a dent in that together. (Hey, can't take it with you when you go.)


I promise to argue every major world event with you, place all my best conspiracy theories on the table, and explain to you all the Googling I geekily did leading up to those viewpoints. I'll also remind why you're wrong, if/when I'm clearly right.


I promise to spoil you with surprises and gifts. Do onto others as you would like others to do onto you.


I promise to give you headaches, to piss you off, to wear you out, and probably give you no choice but to drive around aimlessly for hours on end to clear your head. I promise we'll make mistakes, together. And we'll learn. I promise there will be times we're so damn sure we hate each other but I promise I will make you break a smile.  I promise we'll get through the tough times, and we'll have the best of good times.  I promise I'll be your best right hand lady, and I promise to never hurt you and love you with all my heart.

I pinky promise. 

Oh how things change.

It was our first semester as freshman in college, one of my best girlfriends and I logged a LOT of hours at the local Barnes & Noble. Counltess nights were spent sitting in the Starbucks with our triple grande white mocha, sub 2 pumps raz (see... I can throw down at 'bux if I HAVE to)- it was our chance to catch up on magazines, girl talk, and just hang out somewhere that wasn't our parents houses. (Woe is us, little 18 year old babies).

One night, sitting crosslegged and giggling over that months list in Glamour's "Hey, It's Ok..." section I spied someone approaching our table from the corner of my eye. I fidgeted, picking at my brown & pink vans as he introduced himself and apologized for interrupting. Rattled something off about how he studies there often, was attending the same college as us for pre-med, and then how we had caught his eye, and he proceeded to ask if he could give me his number, in hopes of taking me to dinner sometime.

Time out. 

I remember thinking to myself "IS THIS WHAT COLLEGE IS LIKE!?" 
You mean boys don't send their friends to ask your friends if you want to go out sometime (ahhem, I'm lookin at you high school)... they actually APPROACH you, shake your hand, carry on a conversation? WEIRD. SIGN ME UP.

(Because I know you will ask.... we went on a few dates and had a good time, but our schedules never quite meshed up, and newly collegiate Chelsea had minimal interest in committing to anyone in particular that early in the game.) 
The whole scenario came back to mind a few months ago, when I was approached, again, by a guy who's eye I had caught.

We were at a bar one evening, a whole mashup of random friends and strangers, he at one end of the table, me at the far other.

And my phone lit up.

Oh how things have changed.

It was a Twitter DM saying I was hot or something equally as charming. (sarcasm).

A twitter message. From the other. end. of. the. table.

Chivalry is dead. 

[rearview mirror] second week of august.

One of the best parts of having a blog is easily looking back on what you were doing this same time in years past.

Apparently August likes to bring a lot of drama with it. Also, I'm apparently never single in August

Three years ago I put an offer in on a house. That was a first. (Hint: I didn't get that house, and was heartbroken. It all worked out perfectly in the end though)

Two years ago I was positive I was exactly where I was supposed to be (Hint: two weeks later I was freshly heartbroken, and a week after that brought the plot twist of a lifetime.  It all worked out perfectly in the end though)

Last year I was chasing the racer, experiencing what I thought would become the new norm. (Hint: that ended less than a year later. Hey - it will probably all work out perfectly in the end though. Of course!)

Our kind of crazy

Valentine's Day is weird to me.

I'm the kind of girl who shows up to the cities "four star restaurants", 10 stages below 'dolled up', and dines to my hearts content on martinis and sliders. Anyone care for a lesson in humility?

Needless to say, the whole 'gussy up and enjoy impossible-to-hear conversation in a packed house of Valentiners for overpriced heart-shaped meals' isn't exactly my thing. And when LT confessed that this was his first true Valentines day, I decided he definitely didn't need to succumb to that torture.

I threw out the idea of a non-schmoozy Valentine's celebration. Perhaps a night in, which evolved into cooking dinner together, which ultimately settled upon homemade pizzas and building a fort.

(When you don't have a rolling pin, you get resourceful)

Armed with an air mattress  every spare sheet and blanket in my house and a few strands of Christmas lights we set to work.

A little bit goofy? Maybe. But it was laid back, and chill. It was our kind of crazy. It was just us. One chicken ranch pizza, some Matthew McConaughey movies, the coziest fort and a box of girl scout cookies later... I was in Valentine'd bliss.

And yes, said fort is still engulfing my living room. I think Holly was right when she informed me it looked like a "forever fort"

 

Lingering Past

And at one point he looked at me and goes "you know what Chels, it's bullshit that you are letting them control your life still"

And I cried, out of anger. Big fat ugly cry.  He had no idea what I had been through, what they had done and said and how many ways they had broken my heart. But as the tears were falling I realized something. The key word is HAD. He was right. I was running from a future relationship because of what HAD happened. I really was letting these undeserving exes of mine control my future.

That fight was back in early moments of last summer, we were fresh into our relationship. LT and I had gotten into it over some silly thing I'm sure, probably about a friend of his who was a girl or something. We duked it out, then talked it out, then moved on. But to say I got over it quickly was a lie. It's hard. It's flat out HARD to trust after being cheated on in past relationships.

Sadly, I can distinguish when I'm being overly critical on him because of something someone had done to me in the past, but I haven't gotten to the stage where I just simply DON'T do it. That's the worst part, to realize I am punishing him for mistakes my ex's made, stuff that has nothing to do with him or how he treats me.

As we round the corner to that one year mark a lot of clarity is coming with it. I'm so so very fortunate to be dating someone who understands, and is helping me work through this. It's funny. I hit strong points where I write things like this post, shouting my appreciation for having been cheated on. And while it's true, being cheated on more than once has still left some deep, ugly wounds. Things you don't notice until you're stuck in some situation, at a fork in the road, where you start remembering the past and someone else's actions and panic.

Maybe this is a little random, or a little deeper than I've ventured on the blog lately, but it's straight from the heart. It's something I, we, battle every step of the way. And I have a sneaking suspicion that I am not the only one.

As much as it scares me to admit it though, I notice those walls I put up falling down a bit more and more every day. Do I know LT will never hurt me? Nah, no one KNOWS that for sure. Do I believe deep down in my heart he never would, yea. Yea I do. And that's a really good feeling.

365 days

Funny how much things change over the span of a year, huh!?

And so it ends.

As with most stressful situations, it always seems a little glimmer of hope pops up just when you need it.

I received my glimmer Thursday afternoon, when LT text me saying his manager told him he was getting cut that evening.

Holy cow. Three long months of him working 4 states away was suddenly, finally coming to an end.

I won't lie, it was bittersweet. Him getting cut means no more paycheck either. Unfortunately, with this gig if you ain't workin, you ain't gettin paid. But for the time being, him coming home is exactly what I needed.

Friday afternoon he packed up his apartment and hit the road. A long 9 hours later, his truck pulled into my driveway and that cliche "run out the door and jump into his arms" movie moment unfolded right outside my little old house.

It hasn't even been 48 hours but I just feel so much more content knowing he's back in the same area code.

We did a few little home projects around my house, caught a hockey game, had a few meals and started finding our way back into a routine.

Aghh. I can't even tell you how happy I am to be riding shotgun with that boy again.

Curveball.

I can't think of a way to describe this past weekend except curve ball.

I remember telling LT, as we were driving back from Michigan 2 weekends ago how excited I was that racing season was over, we would have so many free weekends to do fun stuff.  We decided we would spend all of Labor Day weekend together in the ultimate laid-back, unwind, lounge around kind of way.

Fast forward to the last day of August. I ran out to grab lunch and my phone rang while I was waiting on my order. "Hi babe... I uh, I have good news and I have bad news", he said. I don't know about you, but that phrase always has a way of making my heart sink.

"I was offered a job, the pay is amazing...." he told me, then a long pause, "but it's in Chicago. They need me there by 8 am tomorrow. I'll be working seven days a week, 8-7 every day pretty much."

About as quickly as my mind started reeling the tears started falling.
What? No. This wasn't fair.

It was Friday, the kickstart to our ultimate laid-back, unwind, lounge around kind of weekend. The start to us enjoying the off season and not spending every weekend racing. The start to all of the fun dates we talked about going on, places we wanted to go, concerts we wanted to see.

And just like that, here we are 6 days into this new 'thing'. What do you even call it? Our new arrangement? Our new life? Our new long-distance relationship?

It sucks. I think part of the reason it's been such a struggle for me was because I was completely blind-sided.  I knew he had been looking for something to fill up the off season, but I didn't expect this soon, I didn't expect him to have to leave the next morning, I didn't expect him to move three hours away, I didn't expect a seven day work week.

So, naturally I cried a lot. I know it's a seriously amazing opportunity that he couldn't pass up, and I really can't blame him. But my selfish side has spent a lot of time moping. I've never done this long-distance thing, I don't know how to do it. It's been a week of struggle.

I know all you are going "well good thing he isn't in the military and deployed" or "Chels get over yourself, he's only 3 hours away" but me and the "unknown" don't get along well, and right now we don't even know how long this gig will last. Weeks? Months? Years?

I always had joked with him about how I couldn't be surprised. Well, kudos boy, you pulled a hell of a surprise over on me.

So... there you have it. There's the update on that front. Welcome to the Chels & LT, Long-Distance Edition.  Suggestions and advice welcome.
 

Drool.

Can I revert back to 8th grade for a moment.

You know, when you had a "notebook" with your friends that you passed back and forth and wrote notes in, doodles, taped pictures of your crush in and all that. Well this picture would go into that notebook. With pink glitter gel pen doodley hearts ALL over it. Sigh.

Yea... once upon a time I let it slip that a scruffy fella in a plain white tshirt and ripped up jeans may be the hottest thing ever.


LT showed up to my house after work yesterday in just that. (Dear universe, I am not sure what kind of good juju I put into the world to be rewarded with such a handsome fella, but I'm not even mad)
 

Once I picked my jaw up off the floor and wiped up the drool, he escorted me out the door, into his truck and whisked me off to the state fair where we enjoyed a lot of fried food, a little bit of country music, and a whole lotta kisses. It was the perfect midwestern summer night.

The Pit

We're headin out to a special place we love that just a few folks know
 

Me and my favorite copilot packed up Friday afternoon and headed out some back country roads towards a place lovingly referred to as The Pit.

To spend the weekend with this cute boy.

The Pit is the blob of land that LT's family owns, it was once a gravel pit that has since been filled by underground springs. I can't tell you how many weekends have been spent out there this summer.

Family, friends and the best food. Swimming, corn hole, horseshoes, cocktails, great weather... really what more could a girl ask for!?

This is too funny not to share--  after 3 days there Russ Russ the Ladies Man was so tuckered out he passed out on the center console 15 minutes into our drive home last night.