tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32270592011-04-21T16:37:53.250-07:00funky shui.Chelseynoreply@blogger.comBlogger6921100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1138306506994002422006-01-26T13:11:00.000-07:002006-01-27T13:01:26.296-07:00

In honor of my birthday, which is a week and two days away (that's February 4, for all you non-algebraic types), I'm giving you the opportunity to see what I want!Aren't you SO lucky?No, mostly I just want to show off the cutest, ugliest dolls I have ever seen-- Uglydolls! And I want them all!And to pimp wists.com. I love it so incredibly much; it's so simple and fun and fantastic. Check it out!

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1136362792716847352006-01-04T01:18:00.000-07:002006-01-04T01:19:52.736-07:00

You can’t get into a relationship without thinking about marriage. Okay, qualifier: you can’t get into a relationship without thinking about marriage if you’re me.I don’t do it on purpose. I don’t sight someone across the room and immediately size them up as a future and eternal companion. I really do not want to get married right now; it's completely the wrong time of my life for this kind of

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1132178086344495062005-11-16T14:37:00.000-07:002005-11-16T14:54:46.390-07:00

Sometimes I wish that I could be like other people. You know, those kinds of people out there who are practical and well-adjusted and have good and healthy kinds of things going on because they know about perspective and objectivity. They like themselves better because of it.Perspective! Objectivity! A concept is born!Me, not so much. See, the thing is that I'm not a very clear-headed kind of

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1130997662881972042005-11-02T22:59:00.000-07:002005-11-02T23:01:02.893-07:00

I hope y'all had a happy Halloween; mine was FANTASTIC.Here's a little proof:

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1130712626087496702005-10-30T15:45:00.000-07:002005-10-30T15:50:26.103-07:00

I just wanted to throw out an entry to let you all know that I was cast as Tansy in The Nerd at Hale Center Theater West Valley.For those of you not from Utah, that's... a pretty big deal. I'm reeling. The unbelievability factor of this, on a scale from one to ten, rates ... a fifteen, here, for me. HCTWV has been such a source of intimidation and fear in my acting life over the past few years...

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1129965623939974422005-10-22T00:11:00.000-07:002005-10-22T00:20:23.950-07:00

Sometimes life gets hard and intensely personal. Sometimes you just don't have the guts or even the desire anymore to share it so openly.Nothing funny is happening. Nothing that will make you laugh, or make you smile. Maybe I lost my touch somewhere and I don't see things the same way anymore. Maybe I just need a rest, a regrouping.Beautiful things are happening. Hard things. Things I have to

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1124836383917023022005-08-23T15:29:00.000-07:002005-08-23T15:33:03.926-07:00

The past few days I've really been listening to this song. It's so beautiful it hurts.The Special TwoMissy HigginsI've hardly been outside my room in days,'Cause I don't feel that I deserve the sunshine's rays.The darkness helped until the whiskey wore away,And it was then I realized that conscience never fades.When you're young you have this image of your life:That you'll be scrupulous and one

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1124307686171797862005-08-17T12:39:00.000-07:002005-08-17T12:41:26.183-07:00

Stylish Laureate: Nice. Dr. Chels.Iess than jane: I seriously ought to be a psychologist, wtf.Stylish Laureate: Don't become bald, grow a moustache and talk with an oddly charming southern twang.Iess than jane: I won't! I'll just develop an English accent, take up pipe-smoking, and wear a lot of tweed.Stylish Laureate: See, I can respect that.

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1124304670848211262005-08-17T11:49:00.000-07:002005-08-17T11:51:10.856-07:00

I feel like an angel, all air and smiles.

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1124184335073412762005-08-16T02:17:00.000-07:002005-08-16T02:27:34.246-07:00

It's so easy to care for someone that turns it neatly around, hands it back. It's nourishing and reconnecting and amazing.It's scary, though, to sometimes wonder who in my vicinity is an emotional vampire. To wonder who, when I need them the most, will jump ship with my heart between their teeth and swim ashore.Heart-strings tug, but they can be broken. Miles of ocean are separating me from so

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1124183868227146052005-08-16T02:09:00.000-07:002005-08-16T02:17:48.233-07:00

to hide inside someone; vanish into them, become one. twisted up together like the gnarled roots of an old tree, deep in the dark earth, where sometimes we're remembered and sometimes we're forgotten.in your own little world back there......and we're in ours down here.

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1123832871115947192005-08-12T00:46:00.000-07:002005-08-12T00:47:51.126-07:00

I'm disappointing everyone. I feel like such a big, fat letdown.My life is changing and going in all these different directions. My acting is starting to take off, wherever it goes... I don't know if I'm good enough to make it go someplace. It hurts when I voice the dream, barely above a whisper, that maybe I want to go to L.A.... and feel that chill settle over the conversation. The panic of oh

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1123569100011304302005-08-08T23:15:00.000-07:002005-08-08T23:31:40.020-07:00

To everyone I love:I'm sorry, but I can't take care of you.I know that I've been doing that... taking care of you, or at least giving it my best shot, for a long time now. And it's not that I'm going to stop trying, but I think I've drained my last resource and I have nothing left to give.I don't really need you to give back. In fact, it would probably make me feel like less of a charity case if

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1123538921409471862005-08-08T15:01:00.000-07:002005-08-08T23:12:40.900-07:00

written 7.26.05movement at the speed of red light turning to green-- running away without leaving the suburbs, hands frozen to the steering wheel by an artificially icy blast from the vents in the dashboard. inside the metal and glass, you forget the night is perfect and balmy and the windows should be put down.squeak and scrape and stop, another light, reflecting like crimson flame in the

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1122065456919851372005-07-22T13:34:00.000-07:002005-07-22T13:50:56.926-07:00

Today I feel sort of hazy and drifting, like I can't pin myself down to one thing or thought for longer than a few seconds. I keep listening to Anna Nalick and Joseph Arthur and Josh Ritter, and not hearing the phone on the first ring, and not thinking about anything in particular.I love the full moon. I feel a strong affiliation with anything lunar; I'm fascinated by and even a little frightened

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1121973572961066482005-07-21T12:19:00.000-07:002005-07-25T15:14:22.246-07:00

Am baffled by this concept. Was of the belief (foolish, I know) that spies are able to choose their own aliases and code names. Was v. much hoping for an alias like “Anastasia Beaverhousen” or at the v. least a code name like “Phoenix” or “Feather Duster”. Perhaps am ignorant of how code names are actually acquired, but should like to think that self has at least penultimate knowledge of spywork

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1121797956386789242005-07-19T11:02:00.000-07:002005-07-19T11:32:36.430-07:00

I know that I've been an ultimate slacker when it comes to this blog. I really love it. I do. So I thought I'd give you an up-to-date list of things that I'm doing right now, and then go from there, because a few things have changed. Just a tiny bit.1.) I'm doing three shows at once. How, you ask? Well. I'm performing Play It Again, Sam on weekends (Fridays and Saturdays), and I'm doing a staged

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1118341446282358972005-06-09T11:15:00.000-07:002005-06-09T11:24:06.290-07:00

A while ago, I posted about my favorite show.Today, we purchased seven tickets to see an advance screening of the movie on June 23 at ten o'clock in the P.M. in Salt Lake City.I know some of you are Firefly fans, and rightly so. Salt Lake City is still not sold out yet; Fandango has been acting a little strange, and it'll try to tell you it's sold out, but it's lying. We got tickets. Check out

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1116617639614696432005-05-20T11:59:00.000-07:002005-05-20T12:35:05.936-07:00

Whose big idea was it to put ginormous steel doors on Super-Secret Spy Sanctum™?! Am fairly certain that giant steel door that guards entrace to bathroom is entirely unnecessary.Giant Steel Door tried to take off my toe on Tuesday. Am v. disgruntled about this particular incident, as am positive that toe will systematically turn black, shrivel up, and drop off. Spies need balance and agility!

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1116357251032235942005-05-17T11:38:00.000-07:002005-05-17T12:14:11.080-07:00

Bloody great windstorm last night.Listen. I hate the wind. I know that it is a ridiculous and irrational fear, and I can't even remotely justify it. No way. I'm not even going to try. It's called anemophobia and people think I'm crazy, but I hate going out in the wind. Well, maybe it's not quite a phobia, but it's close enough to make me look like an idiot.I remember one time, probably a couple

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1115922715808220942005-05-12T11:31:00.000-07:002005-05-12T11:31:55.826-07:00

Check this out.Runtime is nine minutes; it loads in Windows Media Player, and if you're on dial-up, it'll probably take a while.But it is so, so worth it.

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1115068082592157422005-05-02T14:06:00.000-07:002005-05-02T14:08:23.456-07:00

I talk a lot. A lot. Things spill out of my mouth and there is a running monologue that keeps telling me to shut up shut up let someone else talk. I promise that I am always aware of this, and if someone would just tell me to reign it in a little, I’d be better. I know how much I talk and how little I say. I do.Especially lately, because there is just something inside me that wants to get out and

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1115065791814802752005-05-02T13:11:00.000-07:002005-05-02T14:02:55.796-07:00

It's amazing lately, how little I feel.I'm trying so hard to even care that I don't care, but it's not happening. I'm dying, I think. I wonder if it's even scarier to know that you're dying inside than to know that you're dying physically, because if you die inside you have to keep living and faking people out so they think you feel, so they think you're okay, because it's even worse to make

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1115001346716722402005-05-01T19:35:00.000-07:002005-05-01T19:35:46.716-07:00

When I was little, in Mrs. Blackham’s first grade class, I remember that Adam had a big huge Mason jar, the kind I could barely get my little arms around (and I was taller and longer-limbed than a lot of the kids, although I didn’t realize things like that back then). I guess Adam brought it in for a science project or for show-and-tell or something. It was filled up to the brim with this

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1114815347175974392005-04-29T15:50:00.000-07:002005-04-29T15:58:27.030-07:00

This song is beautiful.Honey and the MoonJoseph ArthurDon't know why I'm still afraidIf you weren't real I would make you upnowI wish that I could follow throughI know that your love is trueand deep as the seaBut right noweverything you want is wrong,and right nowall your dreams are waking up,and right nowI wish I could follow youto the shores of freedom,where no one lives.Remember when we first

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1114814542785866282005-04-29T15:36:00.000-07:002005-04-29T15:42:22.786-07:00

I don't know what to tell you. Or even what I want to tell you. It's like these important things are happening or not happening, and I want to tell you EVERYTHING about them, but I can't because I just can't put my finger on what is so great or so terrible or just so important. That's the word. Important.You. I always say "you", don't I? It sounds kind of facetious, like the Royal We. Like I'm

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1114727826042288572005-04-28T15:35:00.000-07:002005-04-28T15:37:06.043-07:00

Megan: Artists are always hot. ALWAYS. Even sans ears. I'm sure. I wasn't there, but I'm sure.

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1114636373025560352005-04-27T13:44:00.000-07:002005-05-04T11:03:03.183-07:00

I am not good at book-buying.When I buy clothing, I can generally talk myself down. I already have a white button-down shirt, I don't need one with French cuffs. I already have a black skirt, I don't need a black skirt with a little more swish. Things like that.But when it comes to books, I absolutely can't do that. My hands take on minds of their own, my eyes voraciously scanning book jackets.

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1114549558773592062005-04-26T13:49:00.000-07:002005-04-26T14:05:58.776-07:00

I have a favorite show. You probably don't know it or anything, because not very many people do. It's called Firefly. You might remember my mentioning it before: you helped me decide to go as Kaylee for Halloween. I'm not going to sit here and pitch it to you and tell you all the plot details and how perfect the characters are, because I don't need to. If you saw ten minutes of it, you'd be

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1113590775892918452005-04-15T11:36:00.000-07:002005-04-15T11:47:46.396-07:00

Excerpts from a letter to Jory (as of yet unmailed, dated 11 April 2005):I. The theater is always cold. Sub-zero Arctic temperatures and only being close to the make-up mirrors and their blazing lights can make it seem any warmer. They can't afford heating but there are three giant LoveSacs lounging in the green room like fat, content sumo wrestlers. We sit together, all of us, the sumo and the

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1113343026846679222005-04-12T14:52:00.000-07:002005-04-12T14:57:06.846-07:00

Dear Anonymous Commenter,I know who you are. Did you think I was that stupid, really? I'm sure you did. I tried to give you a little more credit than assuming you were some anonymous troll, but again, you failed to fulfill even that small measure of expectancy and maturity.I have a few items of business for you.1. Grow up.2. Get over it.3. Get a life-- offline.Thanks for visiting.

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1113258205005604812005-04-11T15:17:00.000-07:002005-04-11T15:30:12.730-07:00

You have to wonder, sometimes, about loving people, and how easy it is.People that have short, tousled haircuts that tumble when they speak too emphatically. People that decorate their rooms in dragons. People that could be famous. People that eat left-handed and bump your elbow. People that have girlfriends. People that have boyfriends. People that do all their checking online. People that never

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1113175451493538762005-04-10T16:23:00.000-07:002005-04-10T16:24:11.493-07:00

when he smiles, I'm a wreck.

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1112399798222249622005-04-01T16:54:00.000-07:002005-04-01T16:56:38.226-07:00

Are you kidding me. How incredibly lame is this?So, in support of Sarah's hilarious (and deservedly sharp) response, I post this here, and on my sidebar: Rita Scott Steals Websites.Seriously. I am rotten at the whole designing concept, so I just steal from Blogger. What's YOUR excuse?

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1112398256927654132005-04-01T16:24:00.000-07:002005-04-01T16:30:56.933-07:00

1. Crying at work is an incredibly overrated activity and burns no calories. I'm positive of this. And yet I kind of keep doing it.2. When I am feeling oversensitive, as per the previous entry, it is a very bad idea (in fact, an inexpressibly bad idea) to read over old e-mails from Jory and Kyle. Of Jory and I fighting, all of it documented-- bam-- right there in the words, and how things just

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1112389005031334932005-04-01T13:55:00.000-07:002005-04-01T13:57:57.326-07:00

I’ve always been a pretty sensitive person. And not selectively sensitive, either. If something is orchestrated to push my buttons, pull my strings, or eke a reaction, at least six times out of ten I will give that reaction (especially if said orchestration involves tears of joy or sadness). I cried at David Copperfield when they played the theme from Dragonheart. The Ring made me want to die (

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1111437790216348112005-03-21T13:39:00.000-07:002005-03-21T13:43:10.216-07:00

I realized last Thursday... that possibly the worst thing in the world is to be Irish and Mormon.My St. Patrick's Day was pitifully dry, save for the shot of iced orange juice I downed before going out with Justin.Yeah. Just orange juice.

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1110225638076779002005-03-07T12:27:00.000-07:002005-03-07T13:02:49.850-07:00

A few months ago, a bunch of us were in a car wreck. (A bunch of us consisting of me, my brother, my mother, Erin, Milla, and Nikki.) Ever since then, I have had a lot of back problems.This weekend I must have slept funny or something, because when I woke up on Saturday, I could barely roll out of bed. I managed to get to the couch downstairs, where I dosed myself on painkillers and slept most of

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1109743984710892862005-03-01T23:12:00.000-07:002005-03-01T23:13:26.686-07:00

Badly Drawn Girl says:Hi loser! xDYafrigginraxinfraxincockin!! says:Yo.Badly Drawn Girl says:We're totally on the phone right now.Badly Drawn Girl says:And talking online.Badly Drawn Girl says:This is so gay.Badly Drawn Girl says:Hold on a sec.Yafrigginraxinfraxincockin!! says:Does this mean that we can hang up now?Badly Drawn Girl says:Do ya wanta?Yafrigginraxinfraxincockin!! says:Yeah,

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1109020260957417822005-02-21T14:10:00.000-07:002005-02-21T14:11:00.956-07:00

I miss you.

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1108629743940047772005-02-17T01:35:00.000-07:002005-02-17T01:42:23.943-07:00

A very cowardly reader left the following comment on one of my entries.yeah you're a snob but that is probably the worst of your problems. go loose some weight off that fat ass and stop going around acting like you're better than everyone else. you have a stupid job. you're not a spy, dumbass. you're in your twenties and you act like a teeny bopper. it's pathetic. no wonder noone wants you. by

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1108595641084534352005-02-16T16:11:00.000-07:002005-02-16T16:14:01.086-07:00

It does not inspire fear and respect when the Boss zips around the office on his motorized scooter.Instead, it inspires childlike feelings of jealousy and I-want-one-of-those.Thou shalt not covet another spy's belongings.

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1108511032489141782005-02-15T16:38:00.000-07:002005-02-15T16:43:52.493-07:00

I have recently realized at least one thing about myself.I am an unbearable snob.I really am. This isn't one of those things where I want you to tell me that I'm not a snob, that really, how could I think that about myself? I'm being very serious here.Don't call me, because I rarely return phone calls. If you e-mail me, there's a solid chance that I won't be e-mailing you back anytime soon. If

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1108332936280702262005-02-13T14:42:00.000-07:002005-02-13T15:15:36.283-07:00

I know I didn't say anything about this, but I forgot. I don't know how I forgot, but I did. I'm playing Lady Macduff in a production of Macbeth up in Salt Lake. Rehearsals started yesterday. It's a small part, but it's important, and for some reason, Lady Macduff absolutely fascinates me. So I am thrilled.Even more thrilled when I am informed that instead of placing the production in medieval

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1107818241231600352005-02-07T16:15:00.000-07:002005-02-07T16:24:50.813-07:00

My eye looks awful. It's all swollen and bizarre, all deceptively smooth and pink. I guess maybe to an outsider it doesn't look that bad, but when I look in the mirror every morning and see my normal face and then wake up to this-- it's madness. I tell you. Badly Drawn Girl says: Dude, you should see my face. Phoenix Dove says: lol, why? Badly Drawn Girl says: My eye is like... I don't know why,

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1107385975172615792005-02-02T16:11:00.000-07:002005-02-02T16:15:17.450-07:00

Dear Executive Angel in Charge of Birthdays: My birthday is on Friday. I'm just telling you that, even if you already know. A reminder never hurt anybody. I also have a very large supply of napalm. It's out in my garage. If my birthday sucks, please notify God that the world is forfeit. Thanks for all your help! Yours Sincerely, Chelsey

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1107291756689226032005-02-01T14:01:00.000-07:002005-02-01T14:02:36.690-07:00

Dear Xiao- I know very few sister missionaries. Please advise as to which you refer to, so as not to get my hopes up too high, because there is one in particular that I miss and that I just bought Napoleon Dynamite postcards for. Thank you for your compliance on this matter. Yours Sincerely, Chelsey

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1107206602213021252005-01-31T14:20:00.000-07:002005-01-31T14:23:22.213-07:00

Spies must have enemies. It is the oldest rule in the book; every spy, every superhero, must have a nemesis. Normally these evil geniuses have minions (or at the very least, henchmen) to do their dirty work for them, but some evil geniuses are not so fortunate. Some are not even evil geniuses. My nemesis is not an evil genius, as far as my fellow spies and I have been able to uncover. However!

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1106777391787152522005-01-26T14:32:00.000-07:002005-01-26T15:09:51.786-07:00

I have two of the most amazing friends in the world, and I don't see them often enough. Today, they made me feel like a silver-blue sky on a summer day, and I can't thank them enough for just being themselves. Hard times hit, and I forget things. Even things that I wrote, just recently. I still have the option to be okay instead of be angry, and I still know that... I am amazing. The way I fit

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1106245459878966932005-01-20T11:09:00.000-07:002005-01-20T11:24:19.876-07:00

I can't express how much I love Neil Gaiman. I think he's a genius. Look for yourself. These are things that he wrote for Tori Amos's Strange Little Girls album: New Age She seems so cool, so focused, so quiet, yet her eyes remain fixed upon the horizon. You think you know all there is to know about her immediately upon meeting her, but everything you think you know is wrong. Passion flows

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1105726205317389712005-01-14T10:59:00.000-07:002005-01-14T11:21:35.626-07:00

Sometimes... I think it is very, very difficult not to hate God. You're thinking that's a terrible thing for me to say, and I don't blame you. It is a terrible thing to say. But you know that it's true. Sometimes, it's just hard. I don't understand, and I've never been okay with feeling stupid. I don't understand how God can let people go so much. I know that it's free agency and all that, but

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1105574759329849742005-01-12T17:03:00.000-07:002005-01-12T17:05:59.330-07:00

Did not realize that part of being spy was to suffer through Swedish death metal after the Boss has left Super-Secret Spy Sanctum™. V. interesting.

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1105574506975773002005-01-12T16:51:00.000-07:002005-01-12T17:01:46.976-07:00

To: Nick Bantock From: Chelsey Richardson Re: the Griffin and Sabine series, The Museum at Purgatory Dear Mr. Bantock, Firstly, I would like to thank you for sharing your beautiful artwork with the world at large. It is simply phenomenal. Secondly, I would like to address something that is a little awkward. I do not know if anyone has brought this to your attention, and if so, please disregard

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1105496219934269062005-01-11T19:16:00.000-07:002005-01-11T19:27:40.350-07:00

I think that maybe it's a problem with environment, really, when it comes to my workplaces. Horrible twitchy fluorescent lighting, dilapidated tables and endless linoleum. I don't handle it well at all, sadly enough. Two weeks, three weeks, maybe a month-- and I am out of there, grimy glass doors slamming in my wake. This, though. This is gold. I am on my second day as a receptionist for

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1104801760632447752005-01-03T18:21:00.000-07:002005-01-03T18:22:40.633-07:00

ChillyMortal: Silly people. They should just. . . chill. Seriously. Drama stops when you turn. . . say, 30, knthnx. Boxed Up Beauty: plzdrivethru ChillyMortal: duntpassgo Boxed Up Beauty: duntcolekt200dollarz. ChillyMortal: ngotojail!!!11

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1104488424819646762004-12-31T03:18:00.000-07:002004-12-31T03:20:24.820-07:00

Being a drifter isn't as bad as you'd think. It's only other people that make you feel badly about it. Really. I mean... as long as you have money to pay your bills and keep food on the table, what's so horrible about changing jobs? New scenery is nice. Or maybe I'm trying to justify walking away again. But this time-- it wasn't my fault. We'll talk later.

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1104278036672086382004-12-28T16:52:00.000-07:002004-12-28T16:53:56.673-07:00

Do you think being sucked into a hell dimension (let's just say Pylea, to give it a name) would be a viable excuse for me calling in sick to work? You wouldn't believe it either? Yeah. Didn't think so.

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1102988387907223052004-12-13T17:17:00.000-07:002004-12-13T18:39:47.906-07:00

I think men are nice people in general... really. I have no problem with men at all. I'm cautious about them, granted, but I think a girl has to be in this day and age. I am so getting off-topic. Today I my truck wouldn't start. (I say "my truck" in the loosest sense of the word. The behemoth bastard tried to kill me my senior year of high school. I'm serious. It had nothing to do with the

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1100684879275523822004-11-17T02:39:00.000-07:002004-11-17T02:47:59.276-07:00

Almost two years ago, I did a show called The Way We're Wired. Some of you might remember, some of you might not... that's really okay. I was nineteen. I played a thirty-six-year-old named April. Playing April was almost like a birth process... it hurt. It hurt a lot. She hit very, very close to home for me, and I can say, honestly and truly, that she is my favorite character I have ever played

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1099944171354659452004-11-08T13:02:00.000-07:002004-11-08T13:02:51.353-07:00

So. I have a new job. How do you like them apples, People Who Fired Me? Taste a little rotten? Oh. AND I'm working full time. AND I'm making more money. Rotten indeed.

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1099883931134769312004-11-07T20:12:00.000-07:002004-11-07T20:20:36.640-07:00

It was colder than I had expected it to be, and the gauzy new sweater I’d bought was hardly keeping me warm. Nicole noticed and handed over her jacket… the suede was heavy and unfamiliar, but welcome. I’d never been to the theater before, a place chock-full of independent films and opinions and new views, a place I was sure to love. Salt Lake is strange to me, an unfamiliar place where I belong

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1099675996409371842004-11-05T10:29:00.000-07:002004-11-05T10:33:16.410-07:00

They let me go. More correctly, I was fired. With no warnings or no attempt to work things out. Apparently, I am not dedicated to my job or to the children I work with. Bullshit. I am so angry right now. There are angry tears. Fine. I'll go find another job. Preferably one where I get ridiculously over-paid to sit in my shiny corporate office and laugh at everyone. I have another job

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1099355410188084882004-11-01T17:03:00.000-07:002004-11-05T10:41:23.250-07:00

Late at night in an unfamiliar bed, with the light of an unfamiliar clock bright on my closed eyelids, I started thinking too much. With the sounds of unfamiliar voices downstairs and a song I'd heard before beating through the sub-woofer, I started turning it over in my heart again. With the letter in my red binder, waiting to be folded up and dispatched, I couldn't think of anything but what I

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1099097188540876572004-10-29T17:44:00.000-07:002004-10-29T17:46:28.540-07:00

A big thanks to my wonderful readers for helping me decide what to be for Halloween. I know, it's pretty shameless and pretty pointless, but you guys are great. Final verdict? Kaylee, from Firefly. Costume nearly complete. I am wearing the wig as we speak, and oh-how-cool-do-I-feel.

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1098988232588645672004-10-28T12:27:00.000-07:002004-10-28T11:30:32.590-07:00

All right. I am quite stuck on what to go as for Halloween, so help me out here. 1.) Just be a random very cool person, complete with pink pageboy wig and babydoll lashes. 2.) A gypsy-pirate hybrid. 3.) Obscure character reference! We discussed going as our favorite Joss Whedon characters. My choice was Kaylee from Firefly. Greased-up jumpsuit, long brown hair, girly shirt. Nobody would know who

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1098072982246760872004-10-17T21:15:00.000-07:002004-10-17T21:16:22.246-07:00

When Ryland gets excited, his breathing escalates and he grins, and he has to hold onto something tight-tight-tight until he can’t hold any more tightly, until he’s just a tangle of skinny arms and legs sitting on my lap, hugging my neck. I feel like that sometimes. That everything here is something I have to hold onto with an iron grip, that I can’t afford to lose anything that I have. Things

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1095371953793202772004-09-16T14:51:00.000-07:002004-09-16T14:59:13.793-07:00

1. I hate it when people write barbed entries in their journals and don't specify who they're about. That's not what a journal is for. Honestly. 2. I hate it when people say that they are open-minded, but have developed such a strong personality and are so set in their ways that it overshadows any open-mindedness they claim to have. Stubbornness and open-mindedness do not make good bedfellows.

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1095305146788408222004-09-15T20:25:00.000-07:002004-09-15T20:27:50.896-07:00

I found this in my folder earlier today. I must have written it after the gigantic, Hollywood-worthy thunderstorm that we had in July. So here it is now. It was a beautiful thunderstorm, the way it roiled in without anyone really noticing... and then broke with a crack that shook the walls. The thunder rumbled, so loud I could hear its echo through Nicole's end of the line. It was surreal. "

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1095304314253428162004-09-15T20:11:00.000-07:002004-09-15T20:11:54.253-07:00

I think that Anne Hathaway is totally riding my karma. You know? Just because she got famous off of looking like me, just because she's not as successful as I am... seriously. I mean, it's like... this is my wave. Get off it. Stop riding the Chelsey wave, Anne Hathaway.

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1095199844516789732004-09-14T15:08:00.000-07:002004-09-14T15:12:35.876-07:00

It's hard to define when my day took a header, really... was it this morning when I woke up to a head that felt like it was filled with cotton, or was it this afternoon when Thacia ran headlong, face-first, full-body into a tree? Only the Shadow knows.

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1095113153478590832004-09-13T14:53:00.000-07:002004-09-13T15:05:53.476-07:00

I apologize in advance for the negative tone of this entry... but it's something that has been on my mind. Being a best friend has got to be one of the most misunderstood, thankless, and tentative jobs of all time. It doesn't have anything to do with the nature of friendship. It doesn't have to do with evolving environments or outgrowing one another. Rather, being a best friend is knowing and

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1095112361660385742004-09-13T14:49:00.000-07:002004-09-13T14:52:41.660-07:00

The other day I was asked what my greatest fear was. The questioner wanted a primal, unreasonable answer; none of the standard "being alone, being unloved" pop-psychology stuff. So I confessed. I think I must be the only person in the world who consciously fears this; I've never heard of it from anyone else. Proof positive that my imagination is too big for its boots. I often go to bed late at

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1095031861561841642004-09-12T16:30:00.000-07:002004-09-12T16:31:01.560-07:00

An excerpt from an e-mail to Rob: My life feels really empty right now. I love my family and I love my friends, but I don't feel fulfilled. I have an aching, horrible fear that nobody is ever going to love me just as much as I love them. I get very attached to people, and I care too much. Stepping back and away from it never did me any good, and so I've stopped trying to distance myself from it.

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1093996340274951802004-08-31T16:27:00.000-07:002004-08-31T17:03:41.913-07:00

I started my new job yesterday. I am a teacher's aide for four blind children of approximately kindergarten age. I'm cutting you off right there. I don't want anyone thinking I'm a bleeding-heart do-gooder or anything like that, because it couldn't be further from the truth. I just want you to know that I took this job because I needed one, and because I like kids. I had no idea I would fall in

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1093558804029011122004-08-26T15:18:00.000-07:002004-08-26T15:32:02.616-07:00

Sometimes I wonder just what exactly would happen if you were a hero with me as your girl Friday but I know just how it would turn out with you on a yacht somewhere in the Caribbean oblivious to the fact that your mother and father are being dangled over a tank of electric eels or ravenous piranhas with your arch-nemesis laughing like a rabid hyena or oblivious to the fact that the world was

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1092986177092345772004-08-20T00:15:00.000-07:002004-08-20T00:16:17.093-07:00

A while back, a friend asked on his blog... what we see when we see ourselves through our own eyes. What our dreams are... who our true selves are, what we would do if we could do anything. This is what I said. To stand on a stage in front of a crowd of people. To make them laugh until they roll in the aisles, then sober them in a moment of well-placed silence. To bring a perfect nuance, a

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1092907990167048162004-08-19T02:32:00.000-07:002004-08-19T02:39:14.436-07:00

Wicked... is the best show ever. On my bedroom mirror:

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1092559849500369602004-08-15T01:50:00.000-07:002004-08-15T02:10:39.553-07:00

Good or bad best week ever? You go on and decide. Good: -I learned the entire themesong from The Muppet Show. -I went to an amazing local concert by a charming fellow (http://www.colbystead.com) with Brenda, whom I have not seen in forever and a day. -At said concert (which took place on Friday the 13th), I walked away from a makeshift raffle with Silence of the Lambs on VHS and It by Stephen

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1092359236148329602004-08-12T18:06:00.000-07:002004-08-12T18:07:16.146-07:00

It hurts to lose before you ever had a chance to win; it's painful to watch somebody slip through your grasp before you ever really stretched out your hand.

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1091899276027537082004-08-07T10:18:00.000-07:002004-08-07T10:21:16.026-07:00

I am completely addicted to this song right now, which is sad, because I only ever hear it on VH1. It gets jammed tight into my head and never gets out again. I'm all at sea Where no-one can bother me Forgot my roots If only for a day Just me and my thoughts sailing far away Like a warm drink it seeps into my soul Please just leave me right here on my own Later on you could spend some time

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1091682005161833702004-08-04T21:59:00.000-07:002004-08-04T22:00:05.160-07:00

I seriously want to know why carrots taste like soap sometimes.

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-109153583060105772004-08-03T05:17:00.000-07:002004-08-03T05:26:21.080-07:00

don't leave me hanging/ in a city so dead/held up so high/ on such a breakable thread if I give up on you/ I give up on me this is where I say I've had enough/ and no one should ever feel the way that I feel now tonight I'm tangled in my blanket of clouds/ dreaming aloud/ I cannot be without you/ matter of fact I've seen your flag on the marble arch/ love is not a victory march/ it's a

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1091535380163119862004-08-03T05:15:00.000-07:002004-08-03T05:16:20.163-07:00

I hate when life just collapses. For no honest to goodness reason, it just breaks a hipbone and falls flat on its face-- and it's only twenty-one years old. Today was a broken-hip day. No real reason, honestly... there just isn't one. I tried everything to cheer myself up; I talked with Wade and Carli, I bantered with Erin, I cried a little to Nikki, I baked cookies, I made mix CDs, I slept

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1091533366301319892004-08-03T04:40:00.000-07:002004-08-03T04:43:45.613-07:00

I hate being awake at six o'clock in the morning. It's so cold. I hate being as angry as I am about such stupid, irrelevant things. I hate thoughtless people. I hate thinking as much as I do. But I have my Post-It notes scrawled over in Mandarin Chinese (Anglicized for easier digestion!)... and really, who wouldn't be cheered up?

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1091517009234199822004-08-03T00:08:00.000-07:002004-08-03T04:45:03.520-07:00

I have a really hard time telling my dog to quiet down at night. It's not because he's a disobedient dog. Generally he listens, comes back into the garage and tilts his head at me, cocking his floppy ears until he's been properly scolded and then managing to look humble until I give in and scratch his head for a bit. Nor is it because I think animals will be animals, and it's impossible to

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1090634366658877642004-07-23T18:58:00.000-07:002004-07-23T18:59:26.656-07:00

I've been so incredibly lazy with redesigning my own template and getting it back up, but I like this one that Blogger offers-- very clean and simple. The links are back up, and if there's one that's missing and you'd like to see it back, just leave a comment!

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1090382834136486592004-07-20T21:06:00.000-07:002004-07-20T21:07:14.136-07:00

I forgot how insanely fun bonding experiences with Nicole are.

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1089931682101027562004-07-15T15:29:00.000-07:002004-07-15T15:48:25.703-07:00

"You're rusty," she says, taking her hands from the piano keys. "I know," I reply. "I've forgotten the words." I study the music over her shoulder. It's a song that I never wanted to be familiar; a song that never struck chords inside me until I needed it the least. It has become my feelings; it has nestled inside me. A song about someone turning into a completely different person... and leaving

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1089337309109737622004-07-08T18:36:00.000-07:002004-07-08T18:41:49.110-07:00

The minute we got into the car, I couldn't help the tears. "You're going, baby," I said, and she nodded a little numbly. Then I really started to cry. She looked at me... and then she started to cry, too, big tears that rolled down her cheeks and left her eyelashes spiky. "I don't even know what's in Arkansas," she wailed as we came to a stop sign, quickly lifting her hands to wipe at her

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1087651694691774592004-06-19T06:27:00.000-07:002004-06-19T06:28:14.690-07:00

"I've never noticed them before," he said, as if naming them would make them more real. He touched my arm, the faint pink-purple lines, with one guitar-string-calloused finger. "They're not very obvious," I said. We were sitting on the front steps together, him waiting for his new girl, me waiting for Milla. I was looking for pictures of Giselle Bundchen for him in last September's Vogue. "

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1086811231153028572004-06-09T12:59:00.000-07:002004-06-09T13:00:31.153-07:00

This job-hunt... is getting absolutely ridiculous. So! I am putting in a call-to-arms. If anyone's workplace is hiring-- and I mean ABSOLUTELY ANYONE'S (save maybe Milla's)-- please drop me a line. I'm not kidding.

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1086732628015251582004-06-08T15:08:00.001-07:002004-06-08T15:10:28.016-07:00

Do you know how amazing it feels to discover that you're good at something? Something you've been toiling away at for years and years, something you had nearly given up on... and in a night of amazing friendship and a few tears, you realize that you're actually good at something? Thank you Rob, Tasha, and Nikki. Thank you so much. You'll never, ever know how much what you did last night means to

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1086633555287240422004-06-07T11:29:00.000-07:002004-06-07T11:39:15.286-07:00

I've seen Prisoner of Azkaban twice now... I know, I'm a total nerd (third time coming with Lindsay in a couple days). I liked it better the second time, as I tend to do with most movies anyway. Spoiler-ish things contained in the post, so if you don't want to read them... well... don't. Dementors and werewolf? VERY cool. That was the scariest werewolf I have ever seen, and my heart was

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1085958576097816452004-05-30T15:56:00.000-07:002004-05-30T16:09:36.096-07:00

There is a theory floating around somewhere out there that indicates that the movies I watched as a child have left a permanent fingerprint on my adult psyche. I thought this theory was absolute bunk until I borrowed Labyrinth from Jory a little over a week ago. I've seen it four times since, and every single time I just can't get over how insanely hot David Bowie is. Lindsay and I hashed and

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1085259479573787602004-05-22T13:30:00.000-07:002004-05-22T13:57:59.573-07:00

At Jory's apartment last night, it just smacked me in the face. Tiffany was on the phone with Nancy in the other room, and Jory was kneeling in front of his sister's computer putting together a mix CD. I was sitting on the couch, listening to the songs as Jory went through them. My two best friends in the whole entire world are leaving at the end of the summer. Every single thing in my life

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1084832790847708542004-05-17T15:25:00.001-07:002004-05-17T15:26:30.846-07:00

This is just a sort of lazy, transitory kind of state for me... and I didn't like my new layout. So I realize I don't have links up yet, and I realize that I'm incredibly lazylike, but I promise I'll get everything back in working order soon.

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1084830737703886742004-05-17T14:48:00.000-07:002004-05-17T14:52:17.703-07:00

Sometimes the pure cruelty and thoughtlessness of people astounds me. I have learned over the course of my twenty-one years that if I say something bad about someone, it's bound to get back to them. I have a big mouth, and I often say things that I don't mean and instantly regret them. I have learned from experience not to speak ill of others, and I've done my level best-- especially lately--

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1084420313476577792004-05-12T20:51:00.000-07:002004-05-12T20:56:56.203-07:00

You think that I go home at night Take off my clothes, turn out the lights But I burn letters that I write To you, to make you love me Yeah, I drive naked through the park And run the stop sign in the dark Stand in the street, yell out my heart To make, to make you love me I am extraordinary, if you'd ever get to know me I am extraordinary, I am just your ordinary Average everyday sane psycho

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1084396127356516402004-05-12T14:05:00.000-07:002004-05-12T14:08:47.356-07:00

I just applied for a job at the Daily Herald. Through e-mail, which is hard for me to do, because I know that if I could only talk to the person, I could make them understand just how much I want to be their employee and how much I want their job. "The Daily Herald is seeking a Part-Time Clerk to contribute to its weekend entertainment section, UV. Duties may include data entry and writing CD

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3227059.post-1084231159646499352004-05-10T16:18:00.000-07:002004-05-10T16:19:19.646-07:00

New layout. There are a lot of bugs to be worked out of it yet... i.e., why my comments refuse to work. But hey. I can't complain.

Chelseynoreply@blogger.com0