Floatin.

Saturday morning we drove up to the north side of Indy to do a little river tubing. 

In all honesty, rivers gross me out. Most lakes do as well. I have minimal appreciation for bodies of water that aren't clear enough to see my feet.... And that lack sand.... And no one even brings you fruity little drinks with umbrellas... 

Anyways we threw down $15 a person to get a big, fancy, backrest-included tube, and hopped aboard a tiny party bus with approximately 79 other people who had the same idea as us. 

It was somewhere around 1pm when we dropped in the river, for an anticipated 2-3 hour float downstream. 

 

The funny thing is, 4 1/2 hours later, we were still floating. Clearly the current realized we needed a little more time to chill and decided to be nonexistent that day. It was all fun and games until about that 3 hour mark when we realized not only were we well on our way to drunk, but we were also well on our way to starving.

On the plus side, Indy is in the middle of a polar vortex of some sort, so what would normally be a 90somethin, full sun July afternoon was only about a high70somethin overcast day and we were all spared of lobster bellies and extreme dehydration. 

I'd chalk it up as another successful Saturday in the books. 

English as a second language.

Saturday night a few girlfriends and I were sitting on the patio of one of our favorite bars having a couple drinks people watching. We lucked into a prime real estate facing the sidewalk, and were enjoying the sights and sounds of the stragglers the Pride parade earlier that day had left behind. 

The only problem was that one of our newly single girlfriends kept getting confused between "people watching" and "people staying", and we kept ending up with, well lets just call them 'new friends' who hung around to chat. 

A few of these happened to be from Peru. With the promise of salsa dancing lessons, I exchanged numbers with one of them and forgot about it. Three days later I was awoken to my phone vibrating with texts... 

At first I couldn't figure out if it was a drunk friend or a foreigner.  Once I did I cringed at the fact we had exchanged numbers, and went back to bed.

The struggle is real, my friends. I think I'll chalk that up as a "whoopsy daisy", and rely on Arthur Murray to learn how to Cha Cha instead. 

Coasting for Kids

Pulling off exit 24 Olivia started squealing about the coasters in the distance. 

The last time I had taken that exit I had a car full of friends and we were still sporting our prom updo's and sleepy eyes. It was our high school's tradition - EVERYONE went to King's Island the day after prom. This time I was in a car with a 4 year old, a 9 month old, and my brother in sister in law. The giggles and gossip were a bit different than they had been on the trip 9 years earlier (Whoa. 9 years since high school. Whoa)

Back to the story at hand... we headed down early Saturday morning to hang around the waterpark and ensure we were back at the KI gates at 8am Sunday for the Coasting For Kids check-in.

More than 100 of us traipsed around the park all day in our purple shirts, riding coasters and spreading the word about GKTW. At lunch they told us we raised over $20,000 for Give Kids the World Village, which is SO AWESOME! 

It was a great day. My sister-in-law, mom and I were easily the daredevils of the trip.... often leaving my brother sitting with the kiddos while we rode coaster after coaster. Olivia tackled every kids ride she could, eagerly eyeing the "big kid" coasters for when she grew a few more inches.

In making sure the littlest skittle got the most out of her very first King's Island experience, I introduced her to Dippin Dots, she was instantly hooked!

There were 3 main coasters that we got to ride unlimited on, the Banshee, the Diamondback and the Racer. It was pretty cool seeing the carts full of purple shirts, and realizing what it stood for.

Coasting for Kids and Kings Island provided us lunch, during which they announced the Top Fundraisers and handed out prizes, I'm happy to announce that with the help of all of my awesome family & friends I was the Top Fundraiser from the Kings Island group!

Despite a misty rain off and on all day, we didn't let it dampen our spirits. It was a great time logging a few theme park hours with my family and my inner adrenaline junkie self had a BLAST on all the coasters. I think the funniest moment of the day was when my mom & I decided to ride the Banshee front row, and it started raining. Let me tell you how painful rain drops are when you're flying through the air 70some mph. OUCH!

I can't wait to participate in this event again next year. Give Kids the World is such an awesome organization, and after seeing what they did for Liv and my brother and sis-in-law I want to help them raise every dime I can for these kiddos!

 

myth vs reality.

Every year in Indy we host an event that causes hundreds of women to flock to our city center, perked, plumped & ready to mingle....

The Firefighters Convention. 

Thousands of firefighters venture to our great city for a weekend of... well, really, hell if I know... conventioning. 

I know what you're thinking... 

(image source)

So my girlfriends and I headed downtown on Friday night for tapas, cocktails, and debauchery. After a homeless man hobbled into the restaurant, plopped himself down on a barstool right next to our table and passed out/died (? who really knows), we weren't sure how the rest of the night was going to unfold. However a few of the paramedics who rushed to his aid weren't bad eye-candy so we couldn't be all that mad. 

Sadly, as the night progressed we realized there was not a single oiled up man in sight. No eight-packs, no bare chests, no shirtless, suspendered men saving kittens.

All we got was a group of hicks from North Carolina who swarmed our patio table telling us they "saw all us ladies long hairs and just had to stop and say hi" in the slowest southern drawl I've ever heard. 

You win some, you lose some. 

In avoidance of becoming the crazy cat woman.

I remember reading in a magazine once that you should always have at least one living thing in every room of your home.

13 cats seemed a little extravagant (closets not counted), and we all know I'm not ready to board the baby train to Duggar-ville, so plant life seemed like the most logical (and sane) alternative.

They also suggested fish, but I prefer my finned friends in the pescetarian sense.

All that aside, over the years I've slowly started flexing my green thumb. Most of the time, the green turns brown and eventually makes it way to a landfill, but I've managed to keep a whopping seven plants living thus far, and just acquired at least 5 more this weekend that I daintily moved into their new terra cotta homes. And by daintily I mean I dropped and shattered one pot, and repeatedly cussed out the cactus as I attempted to transplant it. I'm such a delicate ladylike specimen.

One day I'll have a blossoming home so glorious it'll join the ranks of these beauties. And maybe even a few still-living potted plants outside as well. Set your goals high, my friends.

An ode to couples that don't suck.

If you want me to be completely honest here, some couples suck.

Maybe that's harsh, but it's the truth. There are some couples who, when you log a few hours with them, they just absolutely suck the life out of you. Whether it's because they're constantly bickering, or wayyy too affectionate, or only into each other, whatever. They just suck. And when you finally wrangle free of their grasp it's like the heavens open up and you're all THANKTHELUCKYSTARSIMSINGLESTILL.

Where am I going with this? Well a few weeks ago a small group of us began planning a trip down to Louisville. Specifically for bridesmaid dress shopping, less specifically for Thunder Over Louisville and shenanigans. 

When I realized this 'small group' would consist of two engaged couples, myself, and one of my best girlfriends, I was slightly hesitant. Was I signing myself up for a weekend of pre-wedded-bliss torture? 

Fast forward (rewind then fast forward?) through this past weekend, I remember making it a point to tell them on the ride home how glad I was that they didn't suck as a couple.

We chatted, we shopped, we ate, we drank, we ooh'ed and ahh'ed over airplanes and fireworks, we laughed until our abs burned and tears were streaming down our face, and then we ate and drank some more.

Truth be told, there was more than one occasion where watching them together warmed my icy heart up a little. Maybe ALL relationships aren't absolutely dreadful. Maybe.

In closing, congrats (and thank you) on not sucking, Courtney & Legends, and Amelia & Andy. I want to be you one day when I grow up.

Blip.

It's weird nowadays to not immediately be connected to someone. And not that hypothetical connection, but social media connection. How many times do you go out on the weekends, meet someone new, and within the hour have instagrammed photos with their twitter handle and snapchat name all in your phone?

I was flying home from Vegas on Southwest a few weeks back. I did what every single (or not so faithful person) does, hopped down in an empty row, holding out hope that the next attractive person who steps in the cabin chooses seat 14b.

And he did. And after he slid his bag under the seat he rubbed his temples and sighed the loudest sigh I've ever heard for a Sunday evening flight. I tossed my phone into my lap and decided to pry. 1591 miles is a long trip, might as well strike up conversation. When I asked him about his rough weekend, the adorable southern twang that replied was the last thing I expected.

Three hours later I literally knew more about him than any first, second and third date I had ever been on. He actually works in my industry, for my competitor a few states away. I learned about his family, his friends, the bachelor party they had, his dog, how he spends his holidays, his trips to Costa Rica, his absence of a girlfriend, his hatred for Texas. Literally.... everything.

And when we touched down in Indy and deplaned, he waited for me at the end of the gate and the conversation kept flowing all the way through the terminal and down to baggage claim.  When I headed toward carousel 3, he smirked and thanked me for entertaining him the flight back. And like that we parted ways with a "have a good one!"

And it was the weirdest thing. Not that I necessarily wanted to keep in touch, but I guess it was just caught me off guard that he didn't even try? (yes, I realize how conceited that sounds, but I'm just being honest).

Looking back though, I like it. It makes me smile. He was just this blip that popped up on my radar, made me laugh for a few hours, and then faded off into the distance.

Fifty hours of Vegas

Middle of July I snuck off to see my best friend in Vegas for a not-long-at-all weekend.

No, literally.

I spent a mere 50 hours total in Vegas.

  



I can sum up fifty hours in three words: eat. drink. gamble.

 

Behind the wall.

Despite my rendezvouses with the porcelain bowl lately, life's been far from doom & gloom.

I checked another gem off my hypothetical nonexistent bucket list and watched a NASCAR race from the pits.

Friend of a friend (the best kind of stories always start this way, no?) owns a team and invited us along for a weekend of up close and personal racing fun. Well, twist my arm.

Needless to say, as I was sitting in the ER Saturday afternoon, a tiny (huge) part of me was hoping they would release me so I could still go to the race Sunday.

The ER doc heard my wishes and Sunday morning I walked through these pearly gates. It was a pretty cool experience all around. I've been in the garages and pits, but always returned to the grandstands for the actual race.

Never have I gotten to listen to the national anthem or watch the flyover while standing on the track.

Never have I been able to watch the green flag drop while in the pit lane wall.

Never have I witnessed a pit stop from 6 feet away while leaning up against a stack of tires. I've also never had that much fun at the Brickyard. Anyone who has been knows it's a pretty boring race, so seeing it from a different point of view in the pits spiced it up a bit.

I'd also like to think our driver had the best tuxedo racing suit I've ever seen, hands down!



 

My home away from home

In true Chelsea fashion, I ended up at my home away from home yet again this past weekend.

You see, for the better part of last week I wanted to die every time I ate. My stomach would just go wack and hurt so.damn.bad. Naturally, I threw back some tums and sucked it up. As I'd be clutching a pillow to my gut, tightly curled up in the fetal position.

On Friday I thought maybe it was alcohol causing it, so I decided not to drink all weekend. And I still wanted to die. But the pain would fade every time, and being the stubborn little lady I am - I kept on truckin' without much of a second thought.

Saturday morning my friend picked me up and we headed out to the track to enjoy a little pre-Brickyard fun. We grabbed breakfast on the way, and walked over to the track. Stupid Move #1: I ducked into the gas station to grab some pills because my stomach hurt so bad I was struggling to walk. I figured if I took some antacids it would ease up.

We proceeded to get our pit passes, and head into the track. As we're standing there talking to a car owner I'm eyeing my surroundings trying to spot the nearest restroom. I duck out, nearly at a run, and start dry heaving as soon as I lock myself into the stall.

A good thirty or so minutes later, after I've puked every ounce of ANYTHING out of my body, I still have the most excruciating pain in my abdomen. I regain as much composure as I can, and go back to find my friend. It doesn't take long before he tells me he's taking me home and we trek back to his truck.

The thing is, I couldn't even walk. I literally sat on a curb and waited for him to go get the truck come pick me up.

I got home and resumed the fetal position on my couch. Except it wasn't easing up, if anything it was getting worse. I finally threw the white flag and called my dad and asked him to come get me. And he ushered me off to those all too familiar emergency room doors at the nearest hospital.

An IV, some pain meds, a bazillion labs later, they tell me that the only thing that didn't look normal were my slightly elevated white blood cell levels. They tried to toss it aside as nothing, really, handed me three prescriptions (for nausea, an antacid, and a pain pill) and sent me on my way.

Something just doesn't quite add up for me, and some friends have given insight. Fingers are being pointed at ulcers, gallbladders and pancreases. I really don't know... I do know, however, that I'm hoping that was the last time I don that gown this year.

(Updated:  Lo & behold... glug goes the ol' gallbladder )