So Spammers are not cool. And also not the smartest.

So apparently my email was hacked. And I only found out because my sister texted me that she's gotten a couple weird emails from me. So I finally went in to check it and didn't see anything odd in the 'sent' folder. And I was thinking, wow either the emails she's talking about are totally legitimate and I should be offended, or these spammers are getting pretty savvy. And then I found THIS in my inbox.

Yeah, the spammers sent ME an email from myself with their little spam link. Way to not alert the email owner, Mr. Spammer. Now the other thing is - this email I got had pretty much every single email address in my contacts included. So I know that pretty much everyone I know has been receiving a bunch of these spam emails and hasn't mentioned anything to me. I'm come to the conclusion that this can only be because of the following reasons:

1) They don't ever read my emails anyway.

2) They opened it, saw something completely random/possibly illegal and decided it really came from me - because I'm THAT weird.

3) They opened it, clicked on the link, unleashed a horrible virus and broke their computer and now can't email me to tell me my email is hacked, because, well, they now have bigger problems.

So, if I broke your computer, I'm sorry. Oh, and to top it all off my car broke AGAIN today. I think I'm just going to have my paycheck deposited directly into the mechanic's bank account from now on. You know, cut out the middle man.

So whoever created Styrofoam needs to be slapped. Or at least put in time-out.

This week has not been fun. My car broke AGAIN. It ended up costing me a AAA membership, a couple hundred dollars, and my sanity. Always fun. And money and I haven't been working out so well even before my shifter threw a temper tantrum and went on strike. So it's been a little stressful. The other night I had this dream that I was robbing a bank and as I was trying to get away cops kept pulling me over. And instead of arresting me, they issued me an 'insufficient funds' fee. (You know, the fun little surprise banks throw at you when you're money is gone. It's their cute way of saying, "You thought having -$2 was bad? HOW ABOUT -$37??!? Huh?! That's what I thought.) So I kept screaming at the cops that I didn't have $35.

Good times. So I woke up and was ticked when I realized that I didn't actually rob a bank. Because I was kinda liking the whole idea of burlap sacks full of cash. So the rest of the day I kept trying to rationalize to myself that robbing a bank isn't so bad.

Anyway, so on Thursday I decided to make this wall art thingy instead of robbing a bank. Because if I make a craft the possibility of being incarcerated is marginally smaller. I decided on this particular craft because all these crafty blogs were bragging about just how easy it was to make. Most bloggers in fact claimed they were able to make the craft, be in labor, and give themselves a pedicure all at the same time. So I figured I might be able to handle making it. You basically just attach scrapbook paper to a square foot of something - and it makes a cool looking design.

I went to Michael's because my awesome cousin Katy got me a gift card there (which came in handy because I had no money.) I thought using styrofoam to use as the base for the designs would be a good idea, because it is pretty light, and relatively cheap. It was pretty much the worst decision I've ever made. When I was buying the styrofoam there was some styrofoam glue next to it. I thought that was just a silly suggestion because isn't all glue the same in the end? (Spoiler alert: . . . . .um, no.) So I got some double sided tape and called it good. I had gotten 3 long pieces of styrofoam that had to be cut into threes so they could be used for the design.

The sound of cutting styrofoam is a shudder inducing squeal that grates on your ears. Whoever created styrofoam must've hated people, I'm sure of it. Then I slowly positioned all the double sided tape on the styrofoam pieces.

Jarica came over to help me. Her enthusiasm over the project was overwhelming. After finally taping all the pieces, I realized they weren't sticking. I decided that we could use paint (because honestly it was the closest thing to me that I considered sticky,) so I went through each piece and squirted a little paint under each scrapbook paper. Then I realized that wasn't doing the trick. So I used some glue. Which also didn't work. Then I used some crazy glue. That didn't work - and at this point I realized that whatever I was doing had actually started eating away at the styrofoam - it just caused little holes. Finally I got frustrated and just used hot glue. Because everything can be fixed with hot glue, right? This thing was so frustrating - and I haven't decided if I even like it yet.

After I had completed it, I mentioned to my sister Chantel about how frustrating the styrofoam was. And she asked me why I didn't just use wood, because apparently Home Depot practically gives away wood. And apparently I should've known this. Which means the paper would have stuck to it MUCH faster and I wouldn't have cried nearly as much. I don't like it when my sisters keep secrets about cheap deals from me. Not cool, Chantel. Not cool at all.

So I've got a headache

I tend to get into habits of saying the same phrases over and over. It normally comes from a show I've watched or one of my friends. And for whatever reason a couple years ago I got in the habit of saying that I'll punch whoever I'm talking to in the face if they don't (insert random task here). I think it came from 'The Office' where Michael tells Dwight he better listen or he was gonna punch him in the face. Apparently I thought it was hilarious and it stuck with me. It is by far the stupidest saying I've ever used. The phase of me saying it didn't last very long because anytime I would say it, (Ex. "We better hang out soon or I'm gonna punch you in the face.") I would instantly wonder why the heck I would say that - it doesn't make any sense, is a little violent, and slightly offensive. So I stopped saying it and forgot all about it until today.

I've had a ridiculous headache since yesterday - which I thought I got rid of this morning and then it crept up all sneaky-like and smashed my brain with a frying pan while simultaneously run it's nails across my eye balls for good measure. I've lost my tolerance for this headache yesterday. So just now I said aloud to my co-worker that this headache better go away or I'm going to punch myself in the face. Now, I have no idea where that came from - but it is one example of how your past can come back to haunt you.

And I'm pretty sure punching myself in the face probably won't help my headache. But it sure would be funny to watch.

So I'm sure you can relate.

Not too long ago I woke up to 2 flat tires on my car. Yes, two. I then spent close to $200 buying new tires because the tire guy decided that because of the way I drive the cheap tires would be worn out within a week. (I love how he completely judged me because I had apparently worn down the sides of my tires based on the fact that I run into sidewalks a lot. Doesn't everyone? Aren't they meant to be like the bumpers in the bowling alley?) Then the next week my car's battery died costing me $120.
I've yet to recover from the damage this has done to my budget which means I have to make my own food because it's supposedly cheaper. Which kinda explains the several bouts of food poisoning and loss of the bulk of my dishes as of late.
Here's the thing: food tastes better when I'm not the one making it. And it has nothing to do with the actual taste or quality . . . . I just can't stop thinking about all the ingredients.

Case in point - several months I coerced my little sister Jarica into making Chicken Carbonara with me from scratch. I tend to force people into helping me cook for the same reason I would bring someone with me down a dark alley - if they're the only one that makes it to the other side, they could at least witness to investigators where I got lost. I liked the Lean Cuisine version of Chicken Carbonara and had yet to try the real thing - and if the Lean Cuisine version was good then just IMAGINE how good the real thing is. The possibilities!

So we went about making this dish - which took close to 2 hours. We sat down to eat and both of us were surprised that it tasted pretty dang good. Jarica enthusiastically ate and even went to get seconds while I sat there slowly picking at it. Because you know what I was thinking about? All the ingredients. I kept thinking that I could actually taste the flour we used to make the sauce, the chicken stock, the eggs, etc. I've always had a problem putting ingredients in that I didn't like eating individually . . . and when I make food, I always taste the individual ingredients. Just because I know they're there. And then I remember the dishes waiting to be cleaned. Oh, the dishes. I can't tell you how many times I've stood staring at a dish mentally calculating how long it would take me to clean it and ended up convincing myself that the right thing to do for the world is to throw them away and buy new dishes. Because of course I'm sure these dishes are made in China or something, so I'm contributing to their job security, which is a very generous and charitable act. But of course no good deed goes unpunished, and I end up spending way too much money replacing those dishes. Which is why I now only have paper plates and bowls and up until last week didn't even have real silverware. And I've now decided that it's actually cheaper to pay someone to cook for me. It's in every one's best interest really.
Except China's.

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.