Now that a little more than a week has passed, I’m ready to share with the world the sh** show that was my life last Monday.  Bear in mind that this post is long, has no pictures, and involves animal excrement, as well as a trip into the insane world that is my mind.  Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Most of last Monday was a bit of a blur.  Alarm went off at 5:10am.  Up at 5:15.  Out of the house before 6:10 and in to work before 7.  Woooooork.  Drive to the city.  Workout.  Drive to Oakland.  Off to Michaels and Target.  Home at 7pm.

Take the dog out — nothing.  Back inside to start dinner.  Prepare and roast a chicken with carrots and potatoes.  This takes more effort than dinner usually does because I’ve only roasted a chicken twice before.  (One of those times I actually roasted the chicken upside down on accident.  I’m a genius.)

Take the dog out again — success!  #2.  (Sorry, I know it’s TMI, but it’s all part of the story.)  Back into the house, where she promptly pees in the kitchen, partially on the rug I’ve JUST washed the day before.  Clean that up, toss the rug downstairs for laundering.

Dishes, more dishes, Windexing countertops because I’m terrified of getting salmonella from the raw chicken.  Two trips downstairs and outside to take the garbage out because it’s garbage day.

Finally a moment to think.  Set up flowers purchased at Michaels around the house.  Try out some of the Target makeup I’ve purchased — the lipstick is hideous and makes me look like a clown.  Sigh.

Clean up the house a bit.  Feed the dog.  Feed the cat (she does not come down from her perch on our bed upstairs).  Fine.

9pm: Chicken’s done.  Dinner in front of the TV as Penny (the dog) whines at me through her crate.

9:30pm: text KC.  He’s working late, won’t be home til probably 11pm.  Pack up the leftovers from dinner.  Deglaze the roasting pan on the stove to make it easier to clean.  Do MORE dishes.  Set up coffee for tomorrow morning.

Finally, it’s time to get ready for bed.  Crate the pup again, she whines.  Set up the dishwasher to run overnight (since it’s portable and hooks up to the kitchen sink.)  Trudge upstairs and hop in the shower.

All showered, I put on PJ’s, plug in my phone, then remember the dishwasher.  Back downstairs to turn it on.  Back upstairs.

10:30pm: “Good for me,” I think, “getting to bed before 11pm.  I’ll get at least 6 hours of sleep tonight.”  I climb into bed.

Not one second after climbing into bed, I realize the sheets are… wet.  I jump out of bed in horror and start peeling back blankets.  Sure enough — CAT PEE.  EVERYWHERE.

Seuss (our cat), who is both pissed at and terrified of the new puppy, has decided to turn our bed into her personal litterbox to express her displeasure at KC and I adopting our newest family member.  OH.  MY.  GOD.  I grab my phone and call KC in a panic.  He’s somewhat sympathetic, but is on his way home from a 15 hour workday in Menlo Park.  There’s nothing he can do; he won’t be home for close to an hour.

Our house is cold at night, so we’ve got sheets, 3 quilts, a comforter, and a top blanket on the bed.  I rip the top blanket and comforter off first — they’ve probably had the worst of it.  I gather the three heavy quilts and take three trips running them down to the basement laundry room, cursing because I JUST washed them.  They only fit one at a time in our washer, so in goes the first one, along with a healthy dose of bleach.  Back upstairs, I pull off the sheets and ball them up.  They’re new, but they’ve started pilling, so whatever, I’ll just toss them.

I feel around on the mattress pad to see if this mess has soaked through.  It has, but just barely.  I rotate the entire mattress pad (it’s made of memory foam and quite heavy, so frankly, it’s a feat for someone of my size), so the offending area is near the bottom of the bed.  Then it’s back down to the basement to retrieve a rag soaked in bleach — I use this to blot the area on the mattress pad in the hopes that whatever insane chemicals make up bleach will kill any memory of what has happened here tonight.

It’s now time to assess the damage.  The comforter is probably salvageable; but it was cheap and it’s not worth cleaning, so I decide it needs to be thrown out.  I can’t tell if the top blanket was affected yet, because it doesn’t cover the whole bed — ugh, yes, it was.  I grab it to take down to the trash, but somehow manage to grab it right in the wrong spot.  Suddenly I’m aware that the side of my hand is touching something that’s… not cat pee.  OMGSHESHITONOURBED.

Cut to me screaming obscenities followed by enough hand washing that I could probably have performed surgery afterward.  Another call to KC to scream about how Seuss has sh** all over our life.  (I’m super calm and rational when I’m pissed.  Clearly.)  He’s still driving, but do I want him to stop and pick up a new comforter on his way home?  Looking back, I see that this is a very nice gesture, given the circumstances.  In the moment, however, it just pushes me further into my cat pee-induced rage.  My head is spinning, “Where the $%#& does he think he’s going to get a comforter at 11 o’clock at night on a Monday?  Is he INSANE?!”

I scream into the phone, “No!  Just get home!  I gotta go deal with this!” and hang up.  (How awesome does being married to me sound right now?  Super awesome.)

I storm back into the bedroom, where I carefully fold up the offending blanket and cart it downstairs and outside to the trash.

“Omgomgomg this is so disgusting.  Thank God we do not have kids yet because I CANNOT deal with anymore sh** tonight!”  <– literally the only thing going through my head besides an unending string of curse words.

Back upstairs to gather the stupid pee comforter.  Back downstairs and outside to the trash.  Back upstairs to gather the sheets now.  “How many times have I been up and down these stairs since I got home?” I think.  “Too godd@#$ many.”  Back downstairs again, sheets in hand, I open the basement door to the outside to find… a giant skunk in our backyard, not 10 feet away.

I slam the door (I mean, obviously), and then wonder momentarily if it will cause the skunk to spray the house.

“That’s JUST WHAT I F$%&ING NEED RIGHT NOW!”

Fine, leave the sheets to be taken out later.  Whatever.  The house already smells like cat pee.  Who cares.

Into the living room to retrieve a set of sheets I had just washed and folded (thank goodness I was at least on top of that).  This, of course, riles up the puppy whose been crated for the night and was calm before this.  Awesome.

Back upstairs to put the sheets on the bed.  A single set of sheets isn’t going to keep us warm, obviously, which means I need to go scrounging for whatever blankets we have around the house.

Back downstairs to the living room — the puppy is whining with fervor now and pawing at her crate, desperate to be a part of what must look like a tornado of fun to her, rather than a sh**storm of anger.  I ignore her and go through the trunks — an old twin quilt with flowers on it, a small Christmas blanket, a small brown blanket, a full-size matelasse quilt — none of it will really fit our queen-size bed, but it’ll have to do.  I rip the Costco blanket off the couch for good measure.

Back upstairs with my haul, it’s like a puzzle, laying out these mini-blankets to ensure we’ll be covered for the night.  After some strategic layering, I throw the pillows on the bed and stand back to take in my handiwork.

11:30pm.  Not a moment after I’ve finally finished cleaning up the pee fiasco, KC walks in.  He can’t understand why I’m so worked up — it’s over now, isn’t it?  I’m regaling him with the story of the last hour, but he’s tired.  He can’t understand why I’m so mad still, and he’s clearly exhausted from his 15 hour day.  “Why don’t you just go to sleep?” he offers.

“I’M NOT MAD AT YOU, OK?!  AND I DON’T NEED YOU TO TELL ME WHAT I SHOULD DO RIGHT NOW, I JUST NEED YOU TO LISTEN BECAUSE CLEANING UP CAT PEE AT 11 O’CLOCK AT NIGHT IS BULLSH**!!!” I screech at him.

There’s something about screaming, “I’M NOT MAD AT YOU!” at someone that just doesn’t really translate the way you want it to, y’know?

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And that’s how my Monday went.

(First of all, congrats to me on coming up with the weirdest title for this post.  Really out-doing myself in 2013.)

Dear Ribcage,

Let’s talk.  Not too forcefully though, since you’re broken and it’s really affecting our relationship.  After 7 years of being in tip-top health, we got the flu at the beginning of 2013.  I think we both knew it was coming.  The last 6 months took a toll, and I think we were both anticipating that this part of our life together would be topped off with some sort of infectious plague. 

And so it was.  You and I were bosom-buddies for a week — shivering and sweating through a 3-day fever, having body aches so bad our fingers hurt, and commiserating over coughing fits that felt like we must be suffering from Consumption.  We tried everything — meds, tea, long hot showers, even extra-spicy Indian food (by the way, lesson learned: when you tell an Indian restaurant you want it spicy, they don’t mess around).  But the flu held on.

Finally, by the end of the third day, the fever abated and was promptly replaced by a searing headache that even Advil couldn’t tackle.  The cough continued.  The thought that we might have to spend our days shut up in an old-timey hospital ward for TB patients passed through our mind more than once.  But alas, after 6 full days, we seemed to be on the mend.  We tentatively made a trip to IKEA on day 7.  We were rewarded for our efforts by nearly passing out in the section with the dining chairs and tables.  The store was extra-crowded and I’m sure we looked cool, curled up at one of the display tables with our head on our knees, as all the blood drained from our face.

But, we survived.  Sunday was even a bit normal.  The cough and headache remained, but we had energy.  Energy!  Then came Monday.  The alarm went off absurdly early, as usual, at 5:10am.  I rolled over to push myself up, only to be met with a searing pain in my left side.  It was too much — you had given out.  All the trauma our lungs had gone through, and you’d had it — you snapped.  Literally.  I could hardly breathe without pain, much less deal with the cough that still lingered.  A sneeze almost brought me to my knees.

So I coddled you.  No working out, no reaching for things.  (You know how difficult it is not to reach for things when you’re 5’2?)  But it’s been 3 1/2 weeks now, and you’re still there — a pain in my side.  An ache in the morning and a pain that builds throughout the day.  How long are we really going to do this?  I get that you’re mad — that cough was not a joke for either of us.  But enough already.  It’s bad enough to get the flu; dragging things out like this is just uncalled for.  It seems like you’re just mad for the sake of being mad at this point. 

So, consider this letter your notice.  I’ve had it, and it’s time to get your act together.  Like, literally together.  Enough is enough.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Sincerely,

Chelsea

Remember when I was all, “I made new year’s resolutions!  I’m gonna blog more!”  ← Lies.  (Clearly.)  Because it’s been 3.5 months and it’s been crickets on here (that means silence).  Argh.  To be fair though, I have been doing my best to stick to my whole “say yes more” plan for this year.  So way to go me.  (Not so much way to go on the whole keeping up with the blog thing…)

Moving right along…  Let’s get caught up, shall we?  What’s happened in the past 3.5 months?  Any news to share?  (I’m not pregnant.  Now that I’m married I feel the need to share this fact all the time.  Not that my constant consumption of alcohol doesn’t do this for me; but, y’know, people seem to have expectations when you tie the knot.)

Well, since I’ve been the worst blogger on the planet, here’s how I’ve actually kept up with my other resolution.  Here’s what I said yes to in the last 105-ish days:

1. A new job!  Whoop!
2. A new car! (to go along with my new 75-mile-a-day commute)  Because my 2000 Honda Civic was going to blow off the San Mateo bridge one day, I was sure of it.
3. A big fancy trip to Europe with KC.  ← We’ve been talking about going forever (he’s never been!) and have always found some excuse not to plan it.  Well, last week we bit the bullet and booked that sh#@ on miles (hooray for credit cards!)
4. Not having everything figured out for the future.  (Yes, I said “yes” to ambiguity.  It was really hard.)  Those of you who know me well, know how much I love a plan (give me a path to follow, a list to check off, and it’s on like Donkey Kong.  ← I grew up in the 90’s so leave me alone.)  However, after many a stressful conversation trying to figure out just what to do with that damn thing called “the future,” KC and I finally agreed to just take things as they come for awhile.  That’s not to say that we’re not taking steps to prepare for the future, (Hi, law school loans, so nice to be paying you off in massive increments every month.  No it’s not.) we’re just not planning to have everything figured out and be all grown-up and settled in the next year or two.  Because why be a grown-up and get yourself tied down with a mortgage and stuff when you can rent a 400 sq ft apartment in a dicey part of Oakland?  My point exactly.
5. A (non-scholastic) book club.  Basically, that’s a nice way of saying that some friends and I started a trashy book club.  Because why read Wuthering Heights when you can read 50 Shades of Grey?  First of all, I spent 4 years of college reading all kinds of fancy books (Uncle Tom’s Cabin, I have some words for you), and another 3 years reading legal texts (shootmeintheface).  So y’know what?  I’m embracing the trash.  I realize that the writing is terrible, (I swear, if I see the word “beguiling” one more time, EL James…) but for some reason I just can’t tear myself away.  It’s like watching the Kardashians — there’s absolutely no redeeming quality to it, and no reason you should like it, and yet, there I am, injecting it straight into my brain via my eyeballs whenever KC isn’t home.  (That sounded like drugs, didn’t it?  Mom: I don’t do drugs.  Just horrifyingly awful TV and novels on occasion.  And coffee.)

Alright, I’m sure there’s some other things I’ve said yes to which I haven’t included, but I’m getting a little blind staring at this screen right now.  (Anyone know how to get rid of an eye twitch?  I’ve had one for DAYS now that won’t go away.  Does ice cream help?  Please say yes.)

I’ve got some recipes I’d like to share with y’all, I just need to get my act (and camera) together to post them.  Also, I have some massive post-wedding posting coming up, I’m just waiting on our final batch of pictures to come.

My sincerest apologies for disappearing again.  It’s like we have this really dysfunctional on-and-off-again relationship, hmm? I didn’t mean it.  I can’t live without you.  Let’s never fight again.

On an unrelated note, I was wearing my glasses the other day (y’know, because of the whole eye-twitching thing) and KC came home and told me I looked “nerdy.”  After a long pause (and a completely charming look from me, obviously) he goes, “…but like a hot nerd.”

The honeymoon’s over, people.

(P.S. Sorry I have zero pictures for this post.  I am the boringest.)

image

I have a love/hate relationship with New Year’s Resolutions.  (Ahem, hence the 30-day challenge theme this blog started as.  Just for purposes of clarification, 30 < 365.)  I love the idea of committing to bettering yourself somehow in the new year, but 12 months seems like a loooong time to really stick to those goals that I was so gung-ho about on January 2nd.  Despite this, I’ve made a few resolutions for this year.  Whether or not they stick for the next 11 1/2 months, remains to be seen.  The list is short, but sweet; I at least attempted to try to keep my resolutions somewhat attainable in the hopes that, come December, I’d be ringing the victory bell (what, you guys don’t have one of those in your house?  Weird.)

1. In 2012, I will attempt to blog more.  Given that I posted about 1.5 times in 2010 2011 ← holy F what year is it? (give or take 3.5), I’m hoping this will be pretty easy to fulfill.  Ok, ok, really it’s to make more of a commitment to this little page my thoughts occasionally call home.

2. Make some changes.  Some things changed in 2011 (yes, I got married.  More on that later.**), some things stayed the same.  I’m going to go ahead and keep this one intentionally vague because there are a lot of things which could potentially change in 2012.  I mean, the world is supposed to end this year isn’t it?  Why not shake things up a bit while you have the chance?

3. I’d like to try something new every month.  Yes, you’re correct in thinking, “Um, wasn’t that the original point of this blog?”  Well, in case you haven’t noticed, once I started working full-time, my 30-day challenges sort of fizzled into oblivion (cue that descending whistling sound they use in movies right before something blows up).  So, I haven’t committed to 12 30-day challenges for 2012 (sorry, kids), but I have decided to try something new every month, whether it be breaking in a new appliance we got as a wedding gift, or trying a new restaurant.  I’m trying to keep the rules a little soft here so that I can hopefully actually stick to this.  This month’s endeavor started today; but, again, more on that in a later post.

Ok, that’s my list for now!  I’ll have a post coming up about my current “try something new” for January.  Stay tuned!

**I did attempt to write a bit about our wedding yesterday, but just couldn’t get the words out the way I wanted.  I think things are still a little fresh and personal for me to be ready to share with the world, so for now I’ll post our first official wedding photo and will plan to post more thoughts on the wedding/getting married at a later date.  Bear (bare?  No wait, that’s something different…) with me please! 🙂

image courtesy of Iris and Light

So what am I doing this weekend?

Tonight KC and I are going to the Giants game.  Free tickets!  I love free (and the garlic fries they serve at the Park.)

Tomorrow, I am throwing KC a very grown-up birthday party for his 27th year — a pool party at his parent’s house (yes, his mom is even providing most of the food).

When I was younger, I thought I would be so grown-up at the age of 26.  Here I am though, stuck somewhere between 5 and 50, with no clue of what it means to be a real adult.

Here’s a timeline of growing up:

1988 (age 4) I make a deal with my dad that I won’t date until I’m 30 in exchange for a pack of gum at the supermarket.  Childhood +5

1992 (age 8 ) A boy sends me a note in class asking me to be his girlfriend.  I write him an entire page of “No’s” and then go home sick for the day.  Childhood +3

1995 (age 11) I have a boyfriend for 3 months of 5th grade (ironically, the same one who asked me out in that note 3 years earlier).  Adulthood +3

1995 (age 11) My relationship with said boyfriend consists of only sitting next to each other and talking on the phone after school.  Childhood +2

2000 (age 16) Got my driver’s license and a checking account.  Adulthood +4

2000 (age 16) I get my first job, working for Starbucks Coffee.  Adulthood +3

2000 (age 16) I claim to “love coffee” and “go to Starbucks all the time” in my job interview.  In reality, I hate coffee and had only set foot in Starbucks to pick up an application.  Childhood +2

2001 (age 17) I fight with my parents incessantly about my absurdly early curfew the summer before senior year.  I use the argument of “everyone else gets to…” a lot.  Childhood +1

2002 (age 18) I attend college full-time while working 30-35 hours a week at work.  Adulthood +4

2002 (age 18) I have my first real boyfriend.  Adulthood +3

2002 (age 18) We’re not right together, but stay together for multiple years anyway.  Childhood +2

2003 (age 19) I tell my parents I’m considering dropping out of college to work at Starbucks full-time and move up the corporate ladder.  Childhood +3

2004 (age 20) I meet KC but pay no attention to him.  I think he’s lame because while I’m out partying on Thursday night, he’s studying with my roommate in our dorm.  Childhood +2

2004 (age 20) I still work for Starbucks, but actually like and drink coffee.  Adulthood +2

2004 (age 20) I start dating KC after he makes me laugh at the dining hall.  Adulthood +3

2004 (age 20) Much of the beginning of our relationship is spent conversing over AIM.  Childhood +1

2006 (age 22) I graduate college.  Adulthood +2

2006 (age 22) I start attending law school. Adulthood +3

2007 (age 23) Much of mine and Alexis’ time in law school is spend watching bad movies on HBO and eating Boboli pizza.  Childhood +3

2008 (age 24) I get carded trying to buy lotto scratchers because the gas station attendant doesn’t believe I’m 18.  Childhood +2

2009 (age 25) I graduate law school.  Adulthood +4

2009 (age 25) I study for, take, and pass the Bar exam.  Adulthood +2

2009 (age 25) Much of the two months of study consist of me spontaneously bursting into tears and asking KC to bring me a Happy Meal.  Childhood +5

2010 (age 26) I get a real job at a real law firm.  Adulthood +3

2010 (age 26) I get carded trying to buy alcohol because, as the cashier puts it, I “look 12.”  Childhood +3

2010 (age 26) As I’m leaving work, a 17 year old tells me, “I think I love you” while riding circles around me on his bike.  Childhood +2

2010 (age 26) I have business cards and my very own office.  Adulthood +5

2010 (age 26) I throw a pool party for KC’s birthday at his parent’s house that’s catered by his mom.  Childhood +4

_____________________________________________________

I think the jury’s still out on this one.