True Little Miss Attitude

My teacher's adorable 2 year-old grandaughter came in today to just hang out with her Dad and Grandma, as she does often on Saturdays.
She's incredibly shy, but everyone thinks she's so cute and will talk directly to her. She'll turn away or talk to Grandma instead. (Its so funny.) The only time I ever see her kind of open up is when she's sitting in a chair getting her hair braided. She gets to hold the comb, all eyes are on her, she loves it.
Frances had been helping her out all afternoon, just talking with her and trying to get her to open up. Towards the end of her visit, Grandma decided Frances needed a tip, and gave the money to little Jocelyn (grandaughter) to give to Frances. Grandma waited on the other side of the room, in eyesight, and sent her to Frances.
What does any girl do with a dollar of her own? Go shopping. Jocelyn starts off to the vending machine for chocolate. She gets cut off by Frances (who doesn't know the money is supposed to be hers).
Frances: "Where are you going? Do you want to buy something? I'll help you." (Reaches out hand)
Jocelyn: ".... No THANK you..." Immediately runs to Dad.
Her face said what she was thinking. Don't let her take my money!

Hobbits had it right.

Breakfast... second breakfasts... elevensies... Can we come up with cool names for our naps too!?

Saturday, after a full and peaceful night's sleep, I made breakfast, took a nap, did some stuff, took a nap, got trick-or-treater candy (that eventually ended up as our candy stash, a.k.a. bribes!) and went to bed relatively early for me on a Saturday.

2 real night's sleep and 2 naps?! That, my dear children, is called LUCKY.

Transformers...

"...Meets the eeeeeyyyeeeeeee."

"MORE than meets the eye, Nick."

"That's not how it goes! 'Transformer! Meets the eeeyyyeeeeeeeeeeee.'"

Where oh where did my musical genius go? :(

Happy Halloween

Halloween is such a depressing holiday.
For diabetics.

We had a bag of 105 pieces of chocolate (HEAVEN!!!) and we actually had to hide it from ourselves. The boys weren't even home!

It was that bad.

I think my blood sugar is still high.
Back to bed I go. Dad, you've got breakfast.

I met a woman named Pandy today.

Yup, short for Pandora. Pretty freakin sweet.

Whale Wars

I know, long time. Things will change.

One thing I wish would change: whaling. Won't get all protesty on ya, I'm sure you know my platform.

We were watching Whale Wars this evening. The show was nearly over, but we were enjoying it. Chris, Christopher and I were chowing down and delighting ourselves with the theatrics of enviromentalists. Nickolas was playing Tiny Robots. (Its the game where you have to shoot the tiny robots at your feet...? You've never played!?)

All of a sudden, Nick turns around and looks at the screen. "Hey!" he squeals. "The world is a bad guy... duh-duh-duh..." I look at him incrediously.
"What was that, Nick?" I nearly drop my pizza in pleasant surprise.
"That's the song, right?" He wanders away and continues his vendetta against the miniature cyborgs.

Holy musical genius Batman. Not the first time it's happened.

Oh Cathie, what have you done?

I was going through my purse in the car today.

I found Chris's diabetic tester.

I asked if he knew I had it. But no, not in my normal voice.

I accidentally asked as if I were Oliver Twist.

"Did you knew I hahd your testah?"

Bahahaha.

News.

I'm changing the title of my blog.

I mean, every once and a while I'll have a story from school, but I don't really enjoy talking about it. It mostly has to do with angry stuff, which I need to avoid now.

(Stress meltdown is the equivalent of a mental heart attack. All my plans for health have changed.)

So, I will, instead, focus on what makes me happy/ is my goal for my new "20th year". Basically, I want to achieve a lot before I turn 21.
I want to go green and organic.

Yeah.
It's a process.

I'm having troubles deciding between two names though.

The Pretty Hippie

Or

Clean Green Hippie Machine

Or I could go with one of my stepkids suggestions. I'm sure it'd have something to do with "Hippie Hippo".
... Because the words sound alike, not because I'm big. Jeeze.



So, yeah. I'm thinking.

Organically Frustrated

Two things:
1) I got so upset when Chris and Nick opened their Easter baskets from Grandma Karen. PLASTIC eggs?! FULL OF CANDY? Another freakin' Batman toy!? When am I EVER going to use a plush basket in the shape of a car that makes noise!?
Come on Grandma! We need books, not sugar! Your son is flippin' diabetic, and you're now making your grandchildren diabetic!!

2) We watch Deadliest Warrior at our house. It's applied History around these parts.
But apparently, girls can watch, and enjoy these shows, but heaven knows we females can't have opinions, or even facts to bring to the table when we debate about it.

I don't think I can stand being silent any longer.

Ettiquette Schmettiquette!

I'm super pissed off about something that I should be super elated for.

Part of me wishes the person involved dies. A horrible, gruesome death.

And this is family.

Officially

I'm officially sick of being sick. Today's my 5 day off from school because I just can't hack it.

I cried today. At school. I hate it.
Every moment I think I'm doing better, I fall in a hole and it gets worse. I just want to curl up, sleep and cry for an hour, and wake up with everything all better.
It's creepier because, I know HOW I'm sick. This is all familiar. But it's in new strange ways that confuse the hell out of me, and nearly blind-sights me.

I just want continuity and progression. I want to move forward. I want to feel as if I'm accomplishing something.
But no. That has to wait for years.
I'm in a foreign country without a passport and the embassy isn't so worried quite yet. There are more important things for them to do. What am I supposed to do until then?


Curl up, sleep and cry, and hope that when I wake up, everything's all better.

10 Things I Love Today.

1. How I managed to push 3 wrong buttons before "New Post". Even though it's a huge and noticable button.

2. When I walk through book stores, and become compelled to write only a million short stories.

3. When shabby, housewifey women walk in to said bookstore, and head for the romance sections; i.e. everyone has their vice.

4. When Chris sings along with the Disco Sirius station.

5. When I laugh so hard, my voice goes squeaky and it gets hard to breath/control my saliva (sounds gross, but it means somethings really funny).

6. When I pattern hunt, see something that I love, and realize I already have that pattern.

7. Marilyn's squealy voice in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. Sooo enjoyable.

8. When Chris and I accidentally develop an inside joke.

9. Chris told someone else that I'm his best friend.

10. That I get to think up more of these fun lists everyday because I have my man. <3



(*Edit. 11. 14 days until my birthday! Two weeks!)

Well, twist my arm, baby boy.

I stayed home sick today.
I woke up about 11:30. The boys always wake up at like... the dawn of time. Every morning they're here.
So Chris woke up with them.

When I finally got out of bed, I went to say hello to all the men in my living room. The 2 oldest were naturally playing video games, Dad and his Call of Duty 4, Christopher and his Banjo Kazooie. Nickolas was riding around on a monster truck like it was a horse.
"Chelsea!" Nick squealed.
"Yes, Sir Nickolas?" I was oh so groggy.
"Eat breakfast, then give Daddy a big hug and kiss!"

.... Well, if I must, I must. :)

Nature and/or Nurture

Today the boys and Big Chris came over to my parents for pizza night. (My favorite tradition!) On the way over, Nicky, the three year old, said something along the lines of "Mommy being dead" and "spending more time with Daddy". Big Chris was sure to say that he should love his mom, and shouldn't say mean things about her.

But on my inside, I was doing a little triumph dance. We don't need to persuade the boys to want to be with us, they'll make that decision on their own. They love their dad, and they're most like him (except when they think they can lie to get out of things). They'll just automatically be drawn to us because its in their nature.

BTW, a roommate barged into the living room while the kids were TRYING to fall asleep. His excuse? "I thought they were awake." I asked him what time it was. "Ten thir-- oh." He tip-toed outta here.
That's right people. Past my bedtime, too!

17, almost 16 days until my birthday!!

Sweet Genius

I guess it's been long enough to start posting again.
Like a little daydreaming vacation. But who honestly needs a vacation from day dreaming?
Us idealistic people, that's 'ooh.

I wonder what it's like to have a brain defect that keeps you from doing things. Where your brain works fine, but when converting that thought to a word or action, something goes wrong.

I must have some mutated form of that because when I close my eyes, I see this well put-togethered household, everything clean and organized and esthetically pleasing. But when I open my eyes and start moving my hands and thinking of the process to adjust the reality to the imaginary, something always goes awry.

I have two small tables in my dining room, neither strong enough, shaped-well enough, or large enough for any of us to eat at.

I have a big vinyl sectional with TWO reclining sections, and a fold-out bed. But it's bad beige, like dirty grey carpet coloured, and almost half the cushions are torn in half. Not to mention it smells like urine from at least two species.

I share a king sized bed with a big BIG man. (Yay!) But our blanket is only really big enough for just him, or two of me (maybe more like one and a half). But the two of us together ends up being a battle; seeing as he can't sleep on my side, and I not on his. I have a memory foam pillow top (*drool*) and it hurts his back, thus our bed being split straight down the midddle. He gets sweaty but likes being covered, I get cold and cannot sleep with anything over my head; I suffocate.

I know the solutions to these (the solutions that are simply one sentence answers) but the grey area between the problem and the answer is so freakin hard to decifer.



I guess to put it simply, I don't do well with this poor stuff. I'm not saying I'm high maintenence, because I most certainly am not. But when I start thinking that if I skip meals, I'll be less of a burden on my boyfriend financially, it gets scary.

I've thought about taking a large LOA (leave of absence) from school and just work, but I've yet to even get a job. It scares me so bad that it gives me nightmares. I used to dream of monsters or death or even embarrassing moments, but now... now it's the shame of saying "We just couldn't afford life. We couldn't even cover our basic needs. We failed."
I don't give up. I'll kick and scream and cry all the way to the finish line, but damnit I ain't quittin'.
I just hope I don't kick and scream and cry us into the poorhouse or into debt.

When will we finally be humbled enough to find the answer that's been handed to us?
When will we finally realize the help that is available?
How can we be strong and admit defeat before the game is won?

I just wish we had an answer that we can take. Our situation is so awkward, so different that finding the sensible soloution will be tricky.

Maybe one day we will just fall back to our jokes; kidnap the kids, change our names and run away to Canada.

I like the snow.

Mu-ah-ah-ah

I win.

Nicky, the three year old, loves shopping online with me.
For furniture. For our home... when we buy one.

*Insert evil laugh here*

So angry I'm about to POP!

Chris's ex is moving this weekend. To be closer to her family. The got the boys new beds. Either she or her "fiance" drives an Infiniti. They get to make any and all decisions when it comes to the boys, and I doubt either of them even have a clue what they're doing.

Meanwhile we're $200 behind on rent, living in Mesa when our families live in Gilbert. I drive a car whom I need to beg to stay running somedays. We live with people who's last names we don't even know, and we're supposed to sleep soundly at night.


HOW IS THIS FAIR!!???

Little boys can be super dirty or super cute.

Example of super cute: Apparently when Christopher was younger, he called pants "a hat for your butt."

Cuuuuuuuute.

I Love the Loud and Occassionaly Obscene

( I hope I spelled that right.)

Why do you ask? Well I'll tell you.

This past Sunday, I did a little bleaching myself, and tried to get a lot of my pink out. I must say, I did pretty darn well for only having a couple mirrors in my bathroom.

When I walked in and sat down in theory today, one student started commentating on my pink hair, as if it was a horse race.
She turned to a notoriously opinionated and loud friend (I could have sworn she was gonna make bets with her about my hair) to ask her opinion. I'm not sure whether or not this friend had seen or heard me cry last week, but her response was superb: "I'm not gonna sit here and criticize her hair! All I'm gonna say is 'Good morning, Chelsea!'"

The first student (and SEVERAL others with potential) shut right up.


Thank you, thank you very much.

EVERYONE and His Horse

... had to tell me their opinions on Friday at school.

Allow me to explain. I was red. SUPER RED. This all follwers know.

Well, being the barely-guided beauty student, when the proposition of being blonde came up, I went with it.

BOY HOWDY, what an experience we had with this adventure.

Surely, the only person who knows your hair best is!? ... No, NOT your hairdresser! It's yourself. Your hairdresser only sees it once every (hopefully) 6 weeks, and at that, they're changing it more than they're studying it. It's you who has to repair it on bad hair days, who has to watch the colour you spent an entire paycheck on drizzle right down the drain.

Knowing this wisdom (which I hope everyone will learn and live by), my day was FRUSTRATING. I wanted to out and out bleach the freaking colour out of my head. I knew it was the only way possible, and I wanted it BLONDE. Not a light brown. That's my natural colour, and if I wanted it my natural colour, I'd stop colouring it!

Every single person who heard me say "bleach" HAD to interrupt.
"Are you sure? A colour remover would be a lot less harmful to your hair.."
"Morgan had that same hair colour, and it's STILL pulling red."
"Noooo! Don't bleach it! Your hair will be DAMAGED."

For anyone who knows the Gifford kids, we are notorious for being oily. Oily scalp, oily skin, oily schemes. (Okay, kinda kidding on that last one. Kinda.) I wanted my hair dry and damaged from the bleach. I was blonde in high school and loved it. My hair obeyed! It was ... normal!
Allow me to demonstrate:


... I would demonstrate, but it seems my computer has misplaced my pictures. I'll look harder when I'm not so sleepy. Or angry.

Anywho. I mixed the lightener myself, and told my friends to "just put it on already".
Ohhhh... Look who was right, all along. My hair was neither damaged, nor falling off.

I will admit it: I cried at one point. It was overwhelming to hear absolutely everyone's opinion and advice, when it wasn't even helpful. At one point, my teacher took over and said at any available interval, "Everyone needs to mind their own damn business. Chelsea's hair is in such good condition, it could take another three or four heavy bleaches. She's fine; leave her alone."

Albeit that the opinions didn't stop, the amount of attention I gave them surely decreased.
Everyone told me I'd have pink hair until it grew out.

I'm proud to announce, my hair is getting considerably less and less pink as the days pass.


So HA.