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.

Ooohhhh Sooooo Embarrased

Well, as we all know, I'm a vibrant redhead. But as most don't know, I sing AND dance in the car along with my iPod. I was waiting at a red light, and was singing along with a really upbeat and fun song. I was having a blast; I had just got off work, and was excited to go home.

Amongst my little disco, I saw a face in a car a couple rows over. I stop dancing and look at the man, who had apparently been watching me the whole time! I was so embarrased, I put my head on my steering wheel and start cracking up. I looked back up to see if he was still watching, and he was laughing too! My face was BRIGHT red...

When the light turned green, and I turned left, I reminded myself, "Um, I kind of have bright red hair now... I should be more careful. I guess I'm gonna be getting a lot of attention now!"

Whether it be good attention or bad attention, it's still gonna be wicked fun.