My home away from home

In true Chelsea fashion, I ended up at my home away from home yet again this past weekend.

You see, for the better part of last week I wanted to die every time I ate. My stomach would just go wack and hurt so.damn.bad. Naturally, I threw back some tums and sucked it up. As I'd be clutching a pillow to my gut, tightly curled up in the fetal position.

On Friday I thought maybe it was alcohol causing it, so I decided not to drink all weekend. And I still wanted to die. But the pain would fade every time, and being the stubborn little lady I am - I kept on truckin' without much of a second thought.

Saturday morning my friend picked me up and we headed out to the track to enjoy a little pre-Brickyard fun. We grabbed breakfast on the way, and walked over to the track. Stupid Move #1: I ducked into the gas station to grab some pills because my stomach hurt so bad I was struggling to walk. I figured if I took some antacids it would ease up.

We proceeded to get our pit passes, and head into the track. As we're standing there talking to a car owner I'm eyeing my surroundings trying to spot the nearest restroom. I duck out, nearly at a run, and start dry heaving as soon as I lock myself into the stall.

A good thirty or so minutes later, after I've puked every ounce of ANYTHING out of my body, I still have the most excruciating pain in my abdomen. I regain as much composure as I can, and go back to find my friend. It doesn't take long before he tells me he's taking me home and we trek back to his truck.

The thing is, I couldn't even walk. I literally sat on a curb and waited for him to go get the truck come pick me up.

I got home and resumed the fetal position on my couch. Except it wasn't easing up, if anything it was getting worse. I finally threw the white flag and called my dad and asked him to come get me. And he ushered me off to those all too familiar emergency room doors at the nearest hospital.

An IV, some pain meds, a bazillion labs later, they tell me that the only thing that didn't look normal were my slightly elevated white blood cell levels. They tried to toss it aside as nothing, really, handed me three prescriptions (for nausea, an antacid, and a pain pill) and sent me on my way.

Something just doesn't quite add up for me, and some friends have given insight. Fingers are being pointed at ulcers, gallbladders and pancreases. I really don't know... I do know, however, that I'm hoping that was the last time I don that gown this year.

(Updated:  Lo & behold... glug goes the ol' gallbladder )

The things you learn from Man's Best Friend

(My sister-in-law will surely kick my butt if she finds out I'm sharing this story... and if my blog is still lurking on the internet when my niece grows up, she will kick it as well)

Yesterday morning after our weekly family breakfast, we were all hanging out in the front yard when my niece suddenly became fascinated with the dogs doing their business in the yard. She kept asking "what are they doing? why? why?" and would squat down to check out their rear ends after they finished their business. We were all cracking up at her curiosity and just laughed it off.

I stuck around my parents house after they left to help my mom paint my brother's old room and my old room. As the afternoon turned into evening, my brother & sister-in-law came back over to cookout. We were wrapping up dinner when my sister-in-law mentioned how Liv hadn't used the, ahhem, restroom in a few days.

My mom cracked some joke about how she goes everytime she plays in her little pool in the backyard. Naturally, this escalates into full blown discussion and before you know it my niece is in a diaper in her little pool in the backyard.

You already know where this story is going.

A little bit of time passes and little curly-cued girl proclaims she has to go poopy. Before anyone could say anything, she jumps out of her pool, whips her diaper off, and runs out into the grass where she proceeds to start squatting like she had seen the dogs doing earlier.

Lord help me if I ever have children. I would have abs of steel from laughing at their shenanigans

(Note: she did not go in the yard, her efforts to be like the furry four-legged pals were intercepted... but the sheer audacity of the situation had us all laughing our butts off)

That Moment.

It's that moment when you glance to your left, then to your right, and then fall into a fit of giggles with your best friend, hands clenched together in a death grip, because you're crammed 4 deep in the backseat of a car speeding through the dark, winding roads of Playa del Carmen. Not sure of your final destination, even more unsure of if you'll make it to see the rising sun that dawn will bring.

They promised you a local club, full of those latin beats you were craving, salsa dancing, cheap drinks. It's that moment as you were doing your best to interpret their broken English, giddily climbing into the vehicle, where you don't ask yourself WHY, but rather WHY NOT?

Sure, every one warns you with narrowed eyes, 'whatever you do - don't leave the resort' but I've always been one to toe the line, push limits, fly by my own wings.

The truth is we had a blast that night, we danced our asses off, and we tucked ourselves into the safe and sound beds of our resort in the wee morning hours without a scratch.

That was over 6 years ago. I think I was 18. When I flip through the pages of my passport similar stories flood my mind. I don't remember the food or the pools or the room service, I remember the reckless abandon. The people. The stories.

This past trip to Jamaica was no different. The last night of our trip I jumped at the opportunity to go out to a local Jamaican night club in Negril. As I was walking off the resort grounds to meet up with my Jamaican buds I felt that nervous feeling bubbling up in my tummy. It's weird how much I trust them after only "knowing" them for 3 weeks out of the past year. But I knew they wouldn't let anything happen to me, it's funny the level of rapport that gets built over such a short time span.

I followed close behind, up 3 flights of stairs to the rooftop terrace of The Jungle.  A reggae remix of Rhianna was blarinig from the speakers, people were dancing everywhere. A smile crept across my face as we made our way to the bar, I was falling in love with Jamaica all over again.

The time flew by, and as I unlocked the door to my hotel room in the wee hours of that next morning I couldn't help but shake my head. Oh the shenanigans that little island country provides. I packed up my belongings and prepared to head to the airport in a few short hours. Another night for the memory books, another great trip.

 

I jumped

I'm not very good at the whole "don't post on social networks when you're out of town" thing, partly because I always share pictures and videos throughout the week and partly because if someone truly wanted to break into my empty home and steal my 1994 big screen tube television I probably would applaud them and thank them gratuitously.

Anyways, if you hadn't already caught on, I was back at my second home last week. Eight blissful, relaxing days. No near death experiences this time (although I did toe the line and tempt fate here), no marriages (although Jamaican Hubs was there and this time he spent the week telling the resort about our 10 "cappuccino" babies).

I did, however, jump off a cliff. Twice. A cliff 35ft above the lagoon.

It. was. a. BLAST.

I chickened out the last time we were at Rick's Cafe a few years ago.... so this time as soon as we booze cruised into the lagoon and hopped off the boat I handed my stuff off and marched right up to the platform and down I went!


As soon as I got back up to land everyone complained that I went too quick, and they didn't even get a video.... so of course I did it again!


I highly recommend if you're ever in Negril to go jump. Rick's is sort of meh, too touristy for me - but the locals who are cliff jumpers are a must see!

Something to laugh hysterically at.

A few years ago I bought fake glasses from Forever 21. For two reasons mainly,
a) i wanted to feel smart and b) they were $4.(and if you haven't realized I'm the queen of spending money on dumb crap, you haven't been a loyal blog follower for long enough)

I'd wear em here and there. They became a fun little accessory and if I strategically wore them places like Whole Foods or Barnes and Noble people probably really did question my IQ (in the good way)

Yea, well apparently karma doesn't think that shits funny, and she's all "oh you wanna play dress up little girl? ha watch this"

So after getting caught squinting at my computer monitor one too many times, a coworker bullied me into scheduling an eye appointment.

And now I need glasses. Real ones. With lenses and a prescription. Ew. Four eyes.

I deemed myself Too Good (read: too broke) for the glasses offered at the doc's office, and turned to the interwebs. Whit showed up with an entire list of places for me to check out.

Lo and behold, one of them, Warby Parker will send you up to 5 pairs to "try on" before ordering. for free. Free glasses to play in? I'm down to clown.

Clown being the keyword here. Enjoy:

(Clearly, I'm back to the drawing board. Unless there is a comic book convention I can wear one of these options to)

The real stinger: LT was trying them on the other night, and looked like he walked off the pages of GQ. Figures. 

Track trashin'

It would be a travesty to let the month of May pass without talking about my adoration for being tracktrash.

Let's momentarily be honest. I don't really follow racing, had I not seen the constant heckling of Ashley Judd on twitter during the 500 Awards Banquet I probably couldnt have even told you Dario won the race Sunday.

BUT... but... May in Indy is my very favorite time of the year simply because it's FUN. There is always SOMETHING going on somewhere.

So when you wake up on a Saturday afternoon with not much on the agenda, this is what you do...

1) go pick up your best friend and pack a cooler so full you have to put a 5 foot inflatable shark on top to keep it closed in the car.

2) wander around the Indianapolis Motor Speedway for a few hours in weather so hot your shoes are sticking to the asphalt. Find race-industry-employed friends and use them for their air-conditioning found only in the garage areas.

3) decide you started the day a little early, and proceed to the infield lawn to take a nap

4) Since it's nearly 6pm and the track is closing, you pack up and head out. Listening only to quintessential 'merica tunes.

5) Talk those friends from earlier into taking you out to dinner. Where they proceed to find themselves HILARIOUS and tell the waiter you are "very single", and he creeps on you the ENTIRE dinner, while they fake being 'in love'

6) Duck out of the restaurant after leaving a fake number, and proceed onto race track number two for the day. To watch a certain cute boy race that evening.

7) Don't forget to Pabby!

8) Continue to lighten the cooler load

9) Finish off the night with a round of grandstand grandslam. Until someone (ahhem myself) pops the Lightening McQueen ball by hitting it onto the track.

Kachow.

23 going on 65

Not to toot my horn or anything but you are in the presence of greatness right now.

That's right...

I waltzed outta the bingo hall Sunday evening with 250 extra buckaroos in my pocket.

Quilting, knitting, antiquing, now bingo. I truly excel at hobbies aimed towards bluehairs.

Next up - shuffleboard.

Newspaper Theif: Revisited

What’s that saying… ‘if you can’t beat em, join em’? Or maybe it’s more along the lines with ‘keep your friends close, and your enemies closer’.

I remember telling Scott early on about the newspaper thief I live next to, and him cracking up as I rehashed the events from that evening when I watched the klepto strike with my own two eyes.

So imagine my surprise when one morning last week, I’m sitting at work and I get this message….

Scott had been helping me out a ton around the house this past few weeks getting it ready for my bash, and apparently was becoming BFF's with my neighbors in the meantime!

He talked about how sweet she was, but I wasn't convinced-- she stole my newspaper right off my driveway, afterall! However, I didn't want cops showing up because of noise disturbances or something, so I'm glad he made the effort and extended the peace pipe. 

She actually made an appearance at my housewarming bash Saturday night, side dishes in tow. As much as I hate to admit it, she's not some crazy klepto, she's actually kind of hilarious. And anyone who shows up at my front door with a batch of deviled eggs is welcomed with open arms.

Joann told me all about the lady who lived in my house before, and that she always keeps an eye out on it. She's silly. But I like her. She told me to "holler" sometime! Here's to making amends.