So I went to a wedding. It's a long one people.

Last weekend one of my good friends from work, Andi, got married in Greer, AZ. And I got to go. And in classic Chelsie style, it wasn't that simple.

I was supposed to pack and get ready on Thursday night, because I was supposed to leave from work on Friday. However, I needed to make 3 fabric flowers for Andi's flower girls. I've never made fabric flowers before, but figured they looked rather simple. And they are - unless you are attempting to talk on the phone, watch The Office, and make fabric flowers at the same time. Instead of actually looking up instructions, I figured I could wing it and just started cutting random circle-ish pieces of fabric. I then attempted to sew the pieces of fabric together and then attach the buttons - which, by the way I had to paint brown because I couldn't find brown buttons. I ended up breaking 2 of the 3 buttons in the process (because I'm talented) and ended up ripping replacement buttons off my own shirts hanging in the closet. (That's dedication, folks.) Then I had to go to the task of burning the edges - because apparently a fabric flower is not cute unless it looks like it survived a house fire. I finished burning the edges without much incident. Then I realized that these flowers were kinda huge, and when I started cutting I didn't even think about what size I was making them. They were about 2x the size I really needed. So instead of doing the practical thing and cutting off the excess, I figured I would just keep burning the edges. Well that amounted to A LOT of burning fabric which amounted to A LOT of floating ash flying around the room. And the smell wasn't pleasant. It seems that whenever I do anything crafty, it never looks organized and dainty like other women. Instead, it looks more like someone accidentally left the craft box out and a 6 year destroyed it and then started throwing things. For the amount of work they took, I don't really care for them, but I brought them anyway.

Well, because those dang flowers took so long to make, I didn't have time to pack and organize for the trip. I figured I'd just have to race home and pack quickly. I got off work at 1 and was able to pack relatively quickly - too quickly. I had to stop at the store though first, so I didn't actually get on the road until 2. It takes 4 hours to get there and I needed to be there around 6:30 for the rehearsal dinner. I figured I had just enough time. Then, before I even got out of town, a semi kicked a rock up and cracked my windshield. Which isn't a big deal except it kept getting bigger. And then I remembered someone telling me that you should really take care of cracks quick because a big enough crack could cause the windshield to collapse, and if you're going fast enough, the shards of glass would come flying at you. (When I got back, my Dad told me this isn't possible. But I tend to be the exception to the rule.) So this crack freaked me right out. I kept trying to decide how I could protect myself against shards of glass - I was tense the entire time.

THEN - (because my drive wasn't exciting enough) - I got pulled over. And of course, when I saw the sirens I realized I had no room to pull over - it was a very narrow road and there was only one lane, with no shoulder to stop in. But I had watched too many movies and was sure that if I just kept driving the cop would decide he would have to start shooting at me until I got the point (probably not what would happen, but that's my thought process). So I just stopped. In the road. Then the cop got on his little speaker phone thing and told me to keep driving. So I kept going which seemed like forever and then we came to an abandoned store on the side of the road, so I pulled in to the empty parking lot. If I was watching a scary movie, this would be where the main character gets killed by the serial killer disguising themselves as a cop. Anyway, I got pulled over because my tags were expired (I paid them, I just never got the tags!) - and was mostly just relieved I wasn't getting pulled over for speeding, because that would be my 3rd speeding ticket and traffic school aint fun. He let me go with a warning - but he took so dang long that by the time I could get on the road the sun was pretty much gone. I kept going for about 30 minutes and then my phone (which has a GPS on it) suddenly announced to me that I had arrived at my destination. Which was a lie - I was on a random mountain road with no lodge in sight. I figured it's not a problem, I'd just call some of my friends already there and they can tell me how to get there. Which is when I saw that I had no cell service.

By this point it was close to 7pm - I had been in the car for about 5 hours. I hadn't eaten anything the entire day and was planning on eating at the rehearsal dinner - that I was missing. And I desperately needed to use the restroom. By this point it was dark and the only thing I figured I could do was drive around looking for someone that might know where Greer Lodge was. So I drove and came across a couple cabins. A couple people I asked said they think the Lodge is close - but they didn't know where. The next person I saw looked a little creepy . . . . then I finally came across 2 women who actually had a better idea where it was. It was about 6 miles off from where my phone said it was. I finally - after 40ish minutes - found the Lodge office and asked if they knew where my group was or if they had the keys to the cabin I would be in. They said the keys had already been taken and they didn't know where the group was. I then found my way to the cabin I was going to be staying in (I only knew which one because I helped Andi organize who goes where). When I got there, there was no one around. I knew she had several of the surrounding cabins, but no one appeared to be in them.

There were some people walking around - but I only knew a couple of Andi's friends and family and I wasn't in the mood to approach every random stranger and ask them if they knew where everyone was. So I sat outside for about 30 minutes before I got so desperate that I thought to see if there was a way I could get into the cabin.

Finally something went right and the cabin had been left unlocked. I was able to get in and finally relax a little. Andi came back within an hour of me getting into the cabin and her friends all came over for a fun night. It was a nice ending to a crappy day. The cabin was BEAUTIFUL too.

The next morning I realized that I had done a crappy job packing. I had brought 2 left sneakers, I didn't bring a brush, and I didn't bring my top for the wedding ceremony. Good times. I helped setup the reception hall - which was a feat in itself. It was exhausting and nerve-wracking. However, the ceremony itself was absolutely gorgeous. That night I had several . . . obstacles in getting to sleep and I was exhausted. I ended up getting around 2 hours of sleep and waking up around 5am. I finally left close to 6 and don't remember much of the drive home. And I'm 90% sure I didn't get lost or pulled over on the way home. But I can't be sure . . . .

So someone needs to please explain the metaphor. Because I'm not getting it.

Recently I discovered the song, "9 Crimes" by Damien Rice. It is a hauntingly beautiful song that I can listen to over and over. Well, I didn't really understand what the song was actually about - I knew the song had symbolism and several layers of meanings. I decided that the song was about the torment of moving on from a relationship and the inner struggle of guilt and not being able to let go. I had a fantastic idea to pull up the music video for the song, because generally an artist will have the music video show the audience the meaning behind the song. So, I did that.

And apparently the song is about a guy that has a chick's head floating like a balloon that sings to him.

That cleared that right up.

So - I'm confused.

So the other day I had a close call while cooking dinner. This isn't very surprising, because, well let's face it - even making toast is like a near death experience when I'm involved.

Whenever I see smoke coming from whatever appliance I'm using (toaster, stove, vacuum, disposal, etc) I start thinking about what I would do if things really did catch on fire.

So I've discovered that I have a fire extinguisher right outside my front door. (I think someone in my family called the apartments and forewarned them before I moved in).

Here's the thing. The fire extinguisher is covered in GLASS. Who's bright idea was this? So someone is supposed to shatter the glass in the heat of the moment with their . . . . hand? head? small child? While in the process probably injuring themselves so badly they would be incapable of actually operating the fire extinguisher. You have to decide to either lose a thumb or save your home. It's like Sophie's Choice!

Knowing how I tend to injure myself while doing normal things like standing or sneezing, I probably wouldn't risk breaking through the glass with my hand. I'd probably try to crack it with rocks. I could just see myself now . . . standing 5 feet away from the fire extinguisher throwing pebbles at the case while the entire apartment complex goes up in flames around me.

Typical.

So this week is a week to be thankful. Even though it doesn't seem like it.

• This week I am thankful to my sister Jarica who (is it whom? I never know . . . ) shared her cold with me. Without which I would have not have remembered how nice it is to be able to breathe in and out completely, and would not have pondered how long a nose can run without running out of reserves.
• This week I am thankful to Costco for providing me with Kleenex. Well, they didn't really provide it because I had to pay . . . more like I'm thankful they forced me to stock up on enough Kleenex to keep me prepared until I am 75, or through a bad cold - whichever comes first.
• I'm thankful to vicodin for keeping me from scratching out my eyeballs when the WORST migraine ever hit Monday night . . . .right before I was getting ready to sleep.
• I'm thankful that I do not have any roommates so I didn't have to apologize for loudly throwing up at 2am Wednesday night from what was apparently food poisoning. That's what I get for cooking for myself.
• I'm thankful that on Thursday people at work don't automatically jump to the conclusion that I'm going through withdrawals when they see me alternating between shivering and sweating at work, while I continually ran fevers. (I'm told that withdrawals was at least 3rd on the list of possible explanations. Followed closely by The Plague.)
• I'm NOT thankful for my Flinstones vitamins. Because I eat at least 15 of those things a day and I'm still sick. Rip-off.

So I should maybe pay attention more . . .

So I caught 'The Patriot' on TV today. I wasn't really a fan of it in the past because the first (and only) other time I saw it, I thought the movie was pretty disturbing. Not because of the deaths and war violence, but because I thought Mel Gibson's character fell for his sister. Incest isn't cute in my book, people. However, I may not have been paying very close attention to the movie, but I just assumed it was his sister because all the kids called her 'aunt'. This time around I figured out it was his sister-in-law. That small detail changes everything.

It's kinda like how all growing up I thought the second verse of the song 'I am a Child of God' started as, "I am a Child of God, and so my knees are grey," which led to several daydreams during primary where I imagined why someone's knees would be grey. Were they dirty? Was it because she was wearing tights? Was she playing with markers? Hence, I was never able to remember the rest of that verse because I was too busy wondering why someone would color their knees grey. Several years later I figured out the song is actually, "I am a Child of God, and so my needs are great."

I wonder how many movies I need to re-watch to make sure I actually hate them.