Apologies, Road Trips, Beaches and Boys.

First, and foremost, Sorry for the delay in blogging. For some reason everyone in California blocks their wireless internet. "Free" truly does not exist in the "Golden" state. My apologies to all you yuppies who actually read my blog. God bless you.

God has always given me alternative birth controls throughout my life. The first being my amazing set of teeth, or lack thereof. Second, no patience. Third, my "awkward" looking stage was during my three years of High School, making dating a mythical concept to me. Then last but not least, every child I get stuck in a car with or come in contact with has the dreaded A.D.H.D. and screams at a volume only dogs can hear. 

Thursday morning I was surprised by the family and packed into my sister's Honda Civic with her and her two children. Now I love my niece and nephew, but home girl here can't take repetitive noises, a consistent rhythm of kicking in the back of her chair, and screaming. Ten hours in a car with no silence can send anyone into rage or insanity. I don't know how my sister's do it, motherhood that is. Kids seem to be the most unpredictable creatures alive. The only thing you can predict is that they will eat, poop and cry. The most ironic part to my road trip was the night before I was thinking about how marriage and having children could be nearer in my future than I might be comfortable with, and for once it didn't seem like such a bad idea. I was really warming up the idea of getting serious about dating and growing up (my parents would be so proud). Then I woke up, I clicked my seat belt in, got on the fifteen, all so could be reminded that I am so HAPPY right were I am in life. SINGLE and WITHOUT CHILD.

While in California, I was excited to conform to the "beach" lifestyle. I feel like every time a "out-of-towner" goes to california, the beach is a must. It's like the idea that you have to hit up the beach when you are in california is beat into American's heads at birth. It's such a commercial scandal. It's made out to be this surreal paradise to everyone. So many people decorate their houses with beach looking crap and tropical fruit smelling fragrances. And I'm not talking about the people that actually live by a beach. No, no, I'm talking about your typical stay at home mom that lives in one of the square states. You know who I'm talking about right, we've all witnessed this madness? The pictures of waves, clean sandy beaches and sunsets over the ocean. Such a paradise you look at while you're in the comfort of your own home does not exist in Southern California ya'll. It is a myth. What they forget to intel in these illusions of paradise are things like the smell, the trash everywhere, shit loads upon shit loads of people, lack of available parking and the most annoying of all, THE SAND. It clenches to your skin and hides in every nook and cranny. If you are lucky enough to find parking before the sun goes down, count your blessings. And then curse the parking God when you are showering two weeks later and still have a pile of sand lining your drain.

While at the beach this trip, I took my comfort of nudity to a new level. Usually the occasional "mooning" and "flash" are my extreme. My most frequent and consistent victim being my poor mother. You'd think I'd let her catch a break after bathing and changing my diapers all those years. NAH! She always gives me a great reaction. My motto has always been, "Attention is a attention, positive or negative, it's still attention." Another nude experience worth mentioning, so you as my reader can grasp my comfort level nudity, are the three and a half years of college basketball I forced myself through against my better judgement as a human being. Coaches never expressed on any of my recruiting trips that team unity involved community bathing and openly being nude with your fellow teammates. Some suspicious characters might consider this team bonding activity a perk and others might see it as another moment to lose all your dignity. Either way you're conditioned to let it all hang out. Well at the beach, it is hard enough to squeeze into your bikini and not judge yourself, let alone lose your bottoms in a crashing wave. Finally, Chelsea Robinson blushes. This was my reality. Full frontal, cold sweats and a blushing face. Classic.

Now to wrap up my weekend trip, I have to mention my encounter with a certain fella at the pool in Las Vegas last night. As girls we tend to give boys all the power and the benefit of the doubt. Why? I don't know the answer to this phenomenon, but I am a victim of this too. So I'm in the pool with my sister and nephew enjoying the chilled water. (I forgot to mention our air conditioning broke while driving through Vegas. This is why I am in a pool in Vegas. And enjoying cold water.) I lock my eyes with this gentleman across the pool. He looks like he's about 30 years old, confident, relaxed and on the prowl for some Vegas memories. I proceed to leave the pool and sit in the hot tub alone. After locking eyes a couple times a boy might take this as flirting or and invitation to talk to me. What he doesn't know will hurt him, I'm not that smooth, I made contact while judging his loneliness and I was just freezing and wanted to strangle anyone who splashed water. The hot tub was my "out". I've learned it's just best to excuse myself in social situations like this, no one likes violence in family settings, cardinal rule or something. Well, my googler thinks I have "game" so he come and joins me in the hot tub. While climbing in, he set down his landing gear and eased in slowly. Eye contact was made, which makes this so much sweeter for an asshole like me, as he starts to submerge his body in the blistering water/urine. He failed to detect the air bubble gathering in and around his essentials. The air found an escape route through the top of his bathing suit and splashed his smooth ass in the face. His game was gone. He was exposed. I held  in my laughter and excused myself to enjoy his humility out loud with my sister in the other pool. Thank heavens for over confident men and the simple laws of physics.

A Night Out with the Girls and John.

Does John Mayer know what he looks like when he sings? Cause I do. Not pretty.

Yesterday started out just like any other day in the City of Salt. Wake up, initial thoughts, 1. When can I go back to bed again, 2. What should I eat today, and 3. Morning routine. This day was different though, being that I was with some of my girls and we spent the entire day entertaining and shootin' the shit together. We definitely stuffed our faces first and then saw the new Batman thrill, Dark Knight. I'm not gonna lie. I was extremely bothered. I don't know if it's this new philosophy class I am taking or the fact that I'm just starting to realize how much we don't think for ourselves in our culture, but why is it that as a society we can't accept the joker? This is because he paints his face and is what one might say, crazy as a shit house rat... but on the other hand we cheer on, support and are perfectly okay with the fact that a man dresses up like a Bat, has Daddy and Mommy issues, and has multiple personalities? That right there just goes to show how absolutely absurd our thought patterns can be. Both characters are absolutely insane and I'd go as far to say they believe halloween is everyday of the year. Can that shit be treated? 

Anyways... continuing the outline of my day. After the movie, we were influenced to go to a concert with friends. This was the John Mayer and Colbie (boring ass) Caillat concert. Not gonna lie, not a huge fan of either, but in this world of pleasing everyone but yourself, I took one for the team and went. $31.00 dollars I will never get over spending, in this lifetime or the next. 

We arrive and pop-a-squat on the grass to enjoy ourselves and the trendy music we can't even hear over the mass of people screaming the lyrics. Now to add to the literary effect of my blog you have to understand the group of people I am with. If you only knew my roster of friends, you would be absolutely jealous that you could not be part of this evening. I had some of my all-stars with me that night. Most random, funny and unique bunch I've thrown together yet. My friend, who does not live in Salt lake City and who will be mentioned as T.R.E. or 503 girl, actually said, "If you were to measure on a scale of 1-10 how jealous I am right now, I am a 13. I am spitting jealousy". Hopefully you can imagine how entertaining and fun this bundle of girls is from her statement alone. 

So back to the concert, we are enjoying ourselves and before we know it we are surrounded by some questionable individuals that some of us know from work or what we are going to call "play". Now we all have pasts and they seem to have the ability to haunt us. Most of our pasts are haunting because of the people who were in them. That is why when people tell me not to burn bridges, I respond saying, "Burn! I plan to blow that shit up." Why hold on to ties with people who are incapable of not pissing me off? Exactly. No reason. Then there are people who only know of our past or have seen us in our element in the past. These people, especially when under the influence of alcohol, love to bring up our past and insist on NOT using the 12 inch whisper rule, but are at megaphone status and screaming that information and trash for everyone to hear. One of my friends was the victim to this constant struggle of trying to burry her past and getting recognized and put on blast in front of hundreds of strangers. Absolutely entertaining, but oddly enough, not many of us our fans of losing face in public, but how fun is it to witness someone else being the victim of it!?!?! Although funny and humorous to my friends and I, immediate action was taken place to shut up the drunken accuser. That's what friends are for, to laugh at you for your misfortunes and embarrassments and then get pist and even with whoever made you embarrassed. It's a contradiction and a tornado of bipolar emotions, but instinct and complete normalcy to women. 

So getting to my point, it is so true that to every action there is a reaction. And we constantly are advertising who we are by our appearance, language, the people, situations and environments we use and put ourselves in. Our pasts are impossible to hide and our identity is exposed, sometimes at the most awkward of moments, for example the shitty concert. We do have choice to be who we are everyday, even if we can't burry what we were. I guess what I'm trying to say is people will throw us in categories because of our appearance and actions. The slightest thing about us that can be stereotyped is magnified and ends up defining who we are to the ignorant onlooker. So maybe we should do our hair differently, take out our piercing's, cover-up our tattoo's, stop talking like a sailor, change our style, make new friends or most importantly not go to club "Sound". Or maybe we should just sit back and laugh off false judgement or accusations. Life is too short to be embarrassed or worry about what other people think. Be "you". Unless "you" smell or have bad breath. Then you should be judged. Sorry.

Happy Ever After and Unavailable Men.

The past two weeks have been quite the journey. I started this blog, school has been crazy (especially since after four years of college I've started actually attending my classes, really helps your grades, it's not a myth, class is important.), and I've been to two wedding ceremonies. This isn't really a normal series of events for me. I'm mormon, so I'm usually not invited to the ceremony. Go ahead and make your assumptions why, but it's not because of any rad or rebellious reason. Some people find it ridiculous that mormon weddings aren't really general admission type events. I count it as a blessing. Why fight for the right to take more time effort out of your day, to celebrate someone else's happiness? I rather send them a card or something they'll end up re gifting a month later, then dress up, get patted down by security and have my rights read to me by my bishop a month or so prior to the hitching.

 Both weddings were completely unique in their own way and completely different from one another. I like the variety, because I have A.D.H.D.. And  One thing I can say they shared was the fact that real love is reached through friendship. I've had the opportunity to get to know both the bride and groom of the two weddings, they are not only in love, but they are best friends too. It's hard to understand love when you have never really felt it. I'm sort of a pessimist when it comes to love. The pure physical attraction, lust, the idea of love that is displayed through entertainment and the devaluing of sex, just doesn't seem to fit the requirements of what true love is after seeing these two couples. Sex and desires have consumed and molded our societies ideology of love.  The love shared between two friends is such a powerful thing and I was so happy I got to be part of their day when they made their vows. Way to prove me wrong ya'll. I don't admit that shit often so eat it up. 

One of the couples I mentioned has been through a long rough road of denying their feelings for the other, in the dating world we call it "playing games", and let's be honest that's the most exciting and entertaining part of most of our meaningless relationships. This road came to an abrupt stop when I started working with them this past year. The bride has been my friend for a couple of years and so reading her was pretty simple. She insisted she couldn't stand her future groom, I knew better and so I instigated and baited her to come to terms with her real feelings. How did I do this? Other than being very blunt and calling her names, I flirted and consistently tormented her with the idea that I was into her crush. So I began to flirt with this fella. This experiment to con my friend into going after her man actually turned me into "that girl". This became one of my favorite things to do, (oddly enough, because four months ago I was a magoo college basketball player that had no skills at all in the craft of flirting) cause flirting with the unavailable man is like practicing a sport, you work on your skills and attack strategies, but there is no way to really get rejected or fail cause practice has no final score or audience. It's a beautiful thing for the insecure girl to not have to worry about getting crushed by rejection. Then for instance, when you flirt with the available guy and there is the slightest chance of rejection or failure, then flirting is like reading in the car, it's good as long as the ride is smooth, but once you hit some bumps or twists and turns it is nauseating and makes you sick to your stomach. Absolutely awful feeling. I think doctors call it ANXIETY. I've noticed lately that I am "that girl", that girl that every girl hates, the girl that flirts with everyone. When I say everyone, I literally mean everyone. Professors, boss, co workers, classmates, boy, girl, man, woman, and even with myself via bathroom mirror every morning. Some say I lead people on, others say it's just my personality. I say, "I LOVE ATTENTION, PERIOD. END. PURE ATTENTION!" 

So seeing first hand that "love" might actually exist, makes flirting with unavailable men and even bigger defense mechanism. Why chance falling in love? Sound like a lot of work and stress to me. Hopefully one day someone will look at me that way when I walk down the aisle wearing a white dress, that should have been the down payment on our house or my black Lexus. But until then, unavailable men will reap my compliments, attention and affection. God bless the single life and lack of commitment. If you're emotionally unavailable... call me!

I Really Should Hang My "J's" up.

The magoo ref is SO on your team!

There are a few things we hate to admit as individuals. Things such as, when we are wrong, we are addicted to shitty reality T.V., we were Hansen super fans, and that God did in fact make the brand of our own farts tolerable out of mercy. Don't deny it, the jig is up. One thing I personally hate to admit is that I am playing recreational basketball. I swore to basketball God's that I would never convert to such chaos and violence. This sport should be in a category of its own, because there are only small similarities and glimpses of basketball within the sport of "recreational basketball". Pretty much the only similarity is the fact that they are both labeled "basketball".  

Getting back to my point, the entire setting is a nightmare. The gym is extremely hot and muggy, the smell, the people attracted and open to the idea of lacing up their "J's" and attempting to play again. It is just your average shit show. The most unbearable fact to admit about recreational basketball is that we are actually paying to have this experience. (Thank heaven's Kare bear, a.k.a. my mom, cut me a fat check to pay off my debts to Salt Lake City's Parks and Recreation cause home girl is broke) We are paying to go feel sorry about our skills that have diminished and died over the days, weeks, months and for the really misfortunate, even years! It is extremely frustrating and a shot to your ego to have a talent and then lose it. And by lose it I mean, never see that shit again. We are products that have lost their value to fun, independence, happiness, and snowboarding. :) No more coaches, suicides, discipline, physical and verbal harassment or diets! It's fantastic to give up something so time consuming to actually be fat and happy. Not everyone can see the plus side of being overweight like a college athlete. 

Now that I am done hating on the organized sport that is basketball. Let me tell you, the reader, about my recreational experience tonight. For those of you that know me, you know that I have always been a one side of the court kind of gal. Meaning that I only play offense and portions of defense, and I only play the "D" word when it is severely needed to win the ball game. Well tonight I played a little "D". To my surprise it was somewhat fulfilling and fun. The team we played tonight had some questionable souls suited up. Is it just me or are we going to have to change the rules and regulations for women's sports? Gender checks are becoming a MUST. I swear they were yelling "Jerry", not "Carrie". We might have to change the dress code to skirts so there is no questions asked. Anyways... "Jerry" or I mean, "Carrie" , the most questionable gal on their squad, ended up being my victim of the day. Since I decided to play a little defense, she unfortunately got a lot of shoves and elbows. Not knowing the strength of my own "shreik" like finger, I jammed it into her nose while attempting a routine swipe at the ball, hopefully hit you in your face maneuver. This move was taught at the ever so lovely Taylorsville High School. Go warriors! Holla! The whistle was blown, but to my amazement it wasn't for a foul, but for the fact that her face was bleeding excessively. DIRECT HIT! I sunk her battle ship. :) 

After a 5 to 10 minute break to stop her bleeding orifice, I decided there was probably a target on my back. I had hit at least 4 out of the 5 of their players and was not Miss Congeniality of the night, by any means. I felt bad for her... he seemed like a nice guy, I mean girl. 

We resumed play and to my surprise the victim of my facial didn't not attack me, but she closed lined my sis on a routine wide open left handed lay up. (Her favorite kind of lay up, she has a strange mental block and phobia of the right side. Odd, she's right handed) I ran to her side to protect her from a after shock kick to the face or maybe a slip of a cell phone number for an after party. Both equally painful and embarrassing. I picked my friend up and thanked her for taking the heat for my powerful pinky. SKADOOSH! Although I got out with no broken bones or bruises, another win under my belt, and the knowledge that my friend has got my back, even when a scary shim(she him) is flying at her like a squirrel, I still don't know if it's worth coming out of my comfortable and lazy retirement. Someone please sit me down and tell me to give it up! I'm old, abusive and don't stretch properly before games. Something bad is bound to happen via rec ball.

Pros and Cons to False Identification

Should I be offended or flattered?

Today has been an interesting day for me. After taking it upon myself to skip the gym yet again this morning (I've been avoiding it for probably two weeks), so I could force myself back to sleep at least seven times to avoid the start of a new day. I awoke, grabbed my ibook and checked my blog for new comments and/or commotion. Only to my surprise there were some new comments!!! Instantly my day was a success. My initial reaction to success is: take a nap or grab a coke. Both habits I am struggling to break. Pray for me. :) How pathetic, I know, that blog attention has consumed my opinion of my own self-worth. After chatting on the phone with 503 girl, (this activity is the usual morning routine these days), I called my favorite non-local friend to find out how we were going to spend her last full day in the city of salt. It's always an interesting conversation to listen in on when two completely indecisive people try to make plans for an afternoon. ANNOYING. I usually wouldn't consider myself indecisive, but when both parties are completely broke and annoyed, it's hard to get from point "A" to point "B". Finally, the one thing we both can agree on 365 days out of the year, FOOD. Lunch it is.

This lunch experience wasn't the first time I had been a victim to false identification. Most people would kill to be identified as something they are not. For example, getting past security at a bar or club with a fake I.D. that is clearly not you, being considered honest when a liar, having someone actually say you look like a celebrity (although while growing up my mom insisted on giving me this awful mushroom cut, I can still remember people saying I looked like Elijah Woods circa huckleberry Finn, gross), or receiving a label because of the friends you associate yourself with. We've all benefited and not benefited from these false assumptions. I'd like to invite you into my lunch experience and how I turned a slightly awkward and non-hopeful situation into a beneficial one.

Worm (my non-local friend) and I decide and agree on a place to eat. Our mutual friend claims this worthy establishment as her present work place. So... why not visit a friend and feed the beast all at the same time? Upon our surprise arrival, our waitress takes our drink orders and heads to the back to prepare Worm's ice tea and my Coca~Cola nectar. During this highly important lunch ritual of beverage preparation, our waitress proceeds to tell our mutual friend that she thinks we are of the tribe, homosexual. COMO?!?! What! Our friend has no idea this bi-curious co-worker of hers has tagged her dear friends with this label until she peeps her big blue eyes around the corner. WE'RE SPOTTED. Instant laughter. 

Knowing that this is not the first time this scenario has happened to me, (being that I have short hair and an athletic body that was formed during my nightmare I have named and filed as "college basketball") keep in mind I already know there are rules to this dance of sexual identification and the malfunction of the machine some claim to have installed in them called "gay-dare". The rules are usually one girl in the group gets the little red laser dot on her forehead. This girl is the butt of all jokes for the rest of the day amongst lunch friends. Today I was the prey to this game. It's simple really, a crush is formed and I have to react. Most crumble and panic at the thought of being labeled as something they are not. Questioning one's self and developing an insecurity is a natural reaction, but if one can set aside all social assumptions and judgments, a compliment is a compliment. Take it and run with it. Instead of playing a defensive position, why not play offensive. If college basketball taught me anything it is, Darwin is the smartest son of bitch out there and offense win's ball games. I instantly become an opportunist. I bat my hazel and mac decorated eyes at the woman carrying my endless cokes and free dessert. I say my please and thank you's. Why you might ask? Because, I CAN! Man or woman, free shit, is free shit. We can't always avoid or pick the trials or situations we are put in or given, the only thing we can control is how we react. My cup was never empty, my dessert was scrumptious. Why does free shit always taste better?  

Addictions, T.V. and pedicures.

The first step is admitting you have a problem.

 My latest and most recent addiction is Blogging. It's been two days and every thought, idea and encounter has been stored to my memory for my blogging enjoyment. You know you have a problem when you skip doing your summer school homework to figure out how to design and manage your blog. WTF? So not like me to skip homework these days because I actually love my classes this semester... but that's not the only consequence of my blogging addiction. I skipped class too! This being because of sleep deprivation. LONG NIGHT typing away and laughing by myself. Probably not the most sane way to spend a late night home alone. Hopefully with time I can learn to manage my life, school and thoughts, around my obsession with documenting my inner being and self through the miracle of blogging.

Today while talking with a certain friend via T-mobile, I mentioned her most recent fascination with my circle of friends. This is quite an awkward situation, being that she lives hundreds of miles away and hasn't talked to me consistently in about two years. One can't complain when they are reunited with a old friend (even when this friend and you have the most dominating and powerful personalities known to BYU and their basketball program). I mentioned to her that it's interesting that when people get bored they usually pick up a new hobby or sitcom, but SHE sticks her nose in my life and my friends lives. Why settle for make believe when you can get the real shit, right? I can't help that my friends lead an entertaining life can I? My only way of explaining how I pick friends is, you know the friends your parents, teachers, local D.A.R.E. officers and therapists tell you to stay away from? I SEEK THEM OUT. Why is this? There isn't enough room on the internet to explain the laws of attraction, and even if there was enough room, we'd never come up with a conclusion. All I can say is that I love my friends. All of them, everyone of them, no matter their shape or size. So I guess what I'm saying is, why get a fat ass watching T.V. when you have my life as a resource for pure entertainment. This goes out to my bored ass friend. You know who you are.

Pedicures can be a very enjoyable way to spend a afternoon with an interesting and racist friend. The fastest mathematician and observant person couldn't count the number of judgmental looks thrown between the two of us. After reading that you might think because I said "racist" we were judging our miracle workers fixing our talons and paws. This is not the case. We were judging ourselves. The embarrassment of an unkept paw can humble the most confident person. A few pointers for getting pedi's. One being, check the prices. They can be steep and non-worthy. Two, make a quick judgement on the channel they have selected for your viewing enjoyment. Three, Make sure you have clipped, cleaned and shaven your toes!

I don't know where to start...so naturally...I'll start with me.

So this is blogging. 

My sisters and friends will be happy I've finally conformed. Conforming is inevitable for me when there is attention involved. I've realized that there is one person that most insecure and boring people hate. That person is the person that talks about themselves. Over the past couple weeks I've been studying the concept of identity. During my studies I've found that...I'M THAT PERSON. For some reason I find my life so entertaining for others. I LOVE TO TALK ABOUT IT. I really started thinking about this self-centered person that is hated in society, a.k.a. the annoying person at dinner parties, the friend in the passenger seat during a traffic jam that won't zippy lippy, a head on collision with chatty kathy in a grocery store aisle, or hearing their ring tone go off right before you are laying your head down for the perfect nap. They just can't stop talking about themselves or all the shit that has happened to them. I find that blogging creates this person perfectly; and I intend on taking full advantage of this cyber stage. The beauty of this blog world is I don't have to be that person attacking you with stories and my drama because you have the freedom of choice. The click of the mouse either opens my mouth or doesn't. With that said... it's time to blog.

One of my favorite Sunday activities for the past couple summers has been tanning. While attending the poorly established college we Utahans call Dixie State, I laid out just about everyday. I looked like an expensive leather handbag... literally, being that those purses just keep getting more and more the size of a body bag then the standard clutch. Anyways... getting to my point. Last sunday while laying out I realized that this year has been quite the ass kicking. Always offending friends that I love dearly, offending people I don't care for, getting kicked off my college basketball team for having a mind and opinion of my own (which we all know my mouth was their scapegoat to get rid of me because they can't count my credit hours to save their lives. Damn having a personality and sharp tongue.), family drama, and well school is always a stress. So while laying out I was thinking about my 2008 run so far and feeling as though life had shit on me, I decided to focus on the positive things. My sis and I start talking about all the make believe happiness we try to convince ourselves we have and we hear a splat! Wouldn't you know the moment I start to think positively about not getting shit on by life, I literally get shit on! Right on my leathery thigh lands an unpleasant pearly poop. We have all always been told to think positively. Always look at the good and choose to be happy. Why doesn't anyone ever get props for being honest and realistic? Once you lie to yourself you get shit on. Lesson learned.