Reasons Why I Am A Bad Person

What is the defining line between a good person and a bad person? Is it the amount of bad things we do? Or maybe it’s the severity of the bad things we do. I don’t know. What I do know though, is that normal people are made up of all the good and bad things they’ve done. I like to think I am normal, therefore I’ve done some bad things. I am keeping this list as PG as possible. Here are some of the PG things I’ve done that makes me a shitty human being…

-One time, I was in Seattle with my friend Laura and we decided to go to the Cheesecake Factory for dinner. This was my first time eating here and I was overwhelmed. The large food portions made me more moist than the cheesecake itself. I had some sort of a salad; yes, I know me ordering a salad is rare but don’t worry it had a bunch of meats and sour cream and other fatty treats on top. I’m not even sure if it had lettuce to be honest. Anyway, we finished our meals and got some cheesecake to take back to the hotel. Well, on our walk back a man came up to us, stopped us and recited a lengthy poem about how beautiful we are or some shit like that. After his heart warming performance he went on to tell us he is a struggling artist and needs money or food. We honestly did not have any money on us so he asked for our cheesecake. We looked at each other in despair, looked back at the poor guy and said “no, sorry.”

-One time I was having a secret romance with a friend. I gave him a hickey one time (so grade school, I know, but it was around the Twilight era so sucking and biting was cool again for a brief moment in time). I remember the night after I had given it to him, a group of us friends were hanging out and they were questioning him about it but he denied that it was a hickey. They were teasing him about it saying stuff like “its probably from a guy!” I just laughed along with them. Haha.

-One night in high school, a bunch of us girls were hanging out at a friend’s house. We had just recently discovered that our older siblings were cool with buying us alcohol. So, we were all wasted off our half of a mickey of Malibu when we decided to go streaking. The hostesses Dad was sitting on the porch watching us the whole time. Oops.

-One time, I was babysitting with my friend Erica. Kids love me but I have little patience. Erica got an important phone call and left me alone with the child thingy. I didn’t really know what to do with it so I put it in the dog cage.

-When I was at a club in Cancun, I had to pee but the line was MASSIVE. I pretended I was on the verve of throwing up, so nobody wanted me standing behind them in line. They all let me pass them. I got into the bathroom right away, peed, and was back to dancing on the bar in 5 minutes.

-I once peed in a sink because I feared the toilet wouldn’t flush.

-I once wrote “Fuck” all over a school playground.

-The time my manfriend at the time and I did the nasty on our friends toilet and broke it. We didn’t tell him. (By “did the nasty” I mean sex, not going to the bathroom)

-Whenever I would leave my house for a late-night booty call and my Dad would ask where I was going I just told him I was going to the 24-hour Golden Griddle for pancakes.

-My friend and I used to spend our nights “creeping.” She would pick me up, we would go get some Starbucks and then drive by the houses of all the guys we had crushes on. This involved some highly skilled investigating and a phone book.

-I was once abandoned downtown Windsor in a rainstorm. This wasn’t just a normal rainstorm, the streets were actually flooded and there was a tornado in Leamington. None of the bars were letting people in and I had to pee so very bad. I ran to Burger King which has closed due to the storm. Rain was coming down in buckets and I was wearing a skirt so I just decided to stand up and pee down my leg.

-In Grade 6, there was a popular boy who had a crush on me. One day, he made me an engagement ring out of red pipe cleaner and proposed to me in class. I told him I didn’t like him. I secretly had a massive crush on him, but I was hideous and socially awkward so I didn’t go for it.

-When parents aren’t looking, I snarl at their children.

-I used to make fun of people who work at Starbucks because they seem too happy to be at work and I felt like they judged me if I didn’t know how to order a drink. Now that I work there, I hate anyone that doesn’t know how to order properly.  

-When I was younger, I had a PennySaver paper route. When it was time to deliver the papers, I’d deliver to all the people who tipped me and then I would dump the rest of the papers in an alley. An old lady caught me doing this in the alley behind her house and she chased me for a block. I lied to her and said that the ink on the papers were all wet and were bleeding so I was just leaving them there till I could walk home to grab a garbage back to put them in.

       -If someone in my house can’t find something and I know where it is. I won’t tell them right away.

-I was once a volunteer for Alzheimer patients. I would pretend I had an itch on my back so they would scratch it. It felt so nice! Softest touch.

- In grade school, my friend and I baked Valentine’s Day cookies for all the teachers in the school. We wrote random things on them like, “Danny Tanner.” We didn’t really care for our teacher we had that year so we put dog hair and fluff in her cookie and watched her eat it.

 

Here is the letter we wrote the next day to the Father who witnessed us streaking.

Chip Crumbs

Lots of different things go into different people’s mouths, some are intentional; food, gum, drinks, tongues, the genitals of a loved one, etc. Some things go into people’s mouths on accident; hair, flies, hairspray, the genitals of someone else’s loved one, etc. I am going to share a story about an incident when something uninvited entered my mouth; and with my love of food there are very few things out there that fall under this category.

Well I was spending some good quality hag time with the main man in my world, Mark. Our big plan for the night was to watch The Help in his bed. We avoid being seen in public at all costs due to the amount of effort it takes for us to put on clothes and shoes and stuff. I decided to bring a little something to munch on; 3 big bags of chips…

 SIDE NOTE: What is up with the flavors of chips these days? Grilled cheese? Caesar salad? What’s next, a fricken party mix with turkey, mashed potato, gravy, and stuffing flavours all combined? If so, they better make a Pepto Bismol flavor too. Give it up chip companies. You don’t need all these fancy flavored chips to try and boost sales; chips sell themselves. I think I speak for the majority of people when I say I’d always go for a traditional chip flavor like dill or sour cream over shit like Extra Super Deluxe Loaded Chicken Fried Steak Supreme. Their slogan is, “betchya can’t eat just one” yeah right, I eat one of those and I shit myself for days. 

…so back to the story. We are in Marks bed watching this moving film, eating chips. Mark was pretty into the movie and I had purchased the kettle cooked chips which are the crunchiest, noisiest things to eat. I was carefully placing them into my mouth, letting them moisten with my saliva before I bit into them. Halfway during the movie I stopped caring and was crunching on those things like I was an obese fat camp escapee stumbling across a pile of peanut brittle. At one sad point in the movie, Mark turns to me bawling his eyes out “OH GOD. WHY? WHY DID THIS HAVE TO HAPPEN?  SON OF A BITCH” while tears streamed down his face. I just laughed and continued eating my chips. I soon discovered I had made a huge fucking mess. I can’t eat anything without making a mess. I had a spaghetti night bib until I was 18 and I only got rid of it because my tits were too big to wear it. As the movie was ending, I quickly moistened my finger which easily allowed me to pick up all the crumbs and shove them into my mouth. I picked up what I thought was a crumb, put it into my meat hole and started chewing. I noticed it was very chewy and not breaking down. What the hell? I spit in out into my hand and realized it wasn’t a chip…I knew what it was but I didn’t want to believe it…

“Umm…Mark…what is this?” I put the “crumb” in his hand “I thought it was a chip and was chewing on it…”

“Chels, that would be my toenail”

OH GAAADDDD. GROSS. MOTHER FLIPPIN’ GROSS. 

We of course died laughing but every time I hear that story told, I get the willies. I always thought Mark would be my only guy friend to never get inside me. Wrong.

Haircut Nightmare

Disaster has struck my life. I’ve been inconsolable for over a week now. I’m not sure how much longer I can hide the scars. The stares, points, and laughs I get aren’t getting any less traumatic; most of them from my family and friends. What happened you ask? I…I got…my…BANGS TRIMMED. 

How hard can trimming bangs be? Apparently it is a rare and lost art. It was a dark, dreary night and I was scheduled to work until 8pm. It was only a few days before I was leaving on vacation and I noticed my lustrous, bull bodied bangs were dangling in my eyes. I decided just to stop at the Last Choice Haircutters (it’s really called First Choice Haircutters but after my experience I would choose Michael J. Fox blindfolded as a first choice before this horrendous establishment for my next cut) because it was on the way home from work and I was in a hurry. I thought, it’s a bang trim, it can’t be screwed up. I could not be more in the wrong, even if I took up a job as a retirement home stripper. When I got to the salon, I told her exactly what I wanted and then closed my eyes so the tiny hairs wouldn’t get in them or so she wouldn’t accidently cut off my eyelashes or anything like that. She was doing a lot more scissoring than any previous bang-cutters of mine so I was mildly concerned but out of the goodness of my heart, I trusted her. Well, when I opened my eyes that good heart of mine almost stopped…

“what…the…FUCK…did you do to my hair you crazy bitch!” as I rip the hair-catching cape off in a fit of rage, throw it on the ground and smush it with my foot like a used cigarette. I then grabbed her by her head and shove her face into the comb cleaning solution, grab her scissors out of her hand and chop the shit of BEAUTIFUL hair all the while cackling like a fat witch. This is what I felt like doing. Of course in real life I told her it was fine, paid the five dollars and went to my car to cry. It was and still is a nightmare. It looks like the end of an old broom! It looks like a scarecrows asshole! It looks like the part of a tape roll that cuts the tape! It looks like barbed wire fence! It looks like fucking shit! When I got home I tried EVERYTHING to fix it. I washed it, a straightened it, I gelled it…nothing could tame this beast. There was a whole damn chunk missing from one side! My only hope at this point was a hat.

I NEVER should have trusted this bitch. I hate her with every strand of hair that she brutally dismembered from my head. Was she fucking blind? Did she have a hand tremor? Did I sleep with her husband? I don’t know but whoever let her cut hair should be punished, hard. Since this happened, I’ve been fantasizing about her in dangerous situations. When you lose something so near and dear to your face, it’s hard to recover without feeling anger and pain at first. They were my selling point. When I groomed them, I could really pull off straight across bangs which is hard for most women, but I could do it, me, Chelsea! They exist now, only in my memory (old lady from Titanic voice).

I really hope they don’t take very long to grow back because when I was up in the morning, they stick up vertically from my head. But for now, I will have to put on a brave (and ugly) face until they slowly grow back into some sort of publicly acceptable haircut. 

 

Trying on Clothes

Is trying on clothes an equally terrible experience for everybody, or is it just me? On diet commercials, you see women in store change rooms, trying on clothes while they smile and spin around in the mirror. Well, I’ve been dieting for weeks and looking in the mirror and spinning around just makes me feel out of breath. I wish I was one of those girls who could walk into a store, buy anything without trying it on, and it would look great. I tried doing this once. I bought a one-size-only flowy striped top without trying it on; I figured I couldn’t go wrong. Well the first time I put it on, I realized there was nothing right about it. Seeing as one of my titties is a whole cup size larger than the other, the supposed-to-be horizontal strips were more of an awkward 45 degree diagonal pattern. Whatever cheap material it was made out of clung to my body, revealing every fat roll. It looked like a ham covered in a saran wrap. It was also one of those shirts that really show off your pit stains. Maybe I should spend more than five bucks on a sweater next time.

Anyways, back to the trying on of clothes. Everything about the process bothers me:

Lighting

Okay, there are two types of lighting one may encounter in a changing room situation; brutally honest lighting or dirty trickery lighting. The brutally honest lighting makes me insta-sad. It is often fluorescent and reveals every cellulite divot, vein, rash, mole, hickey, bruise, hair, scratch, and stretch mark; and I’m just referring to my leg, I haven’t even gotten my shirt off yet and only myself and only a couple… dozen… handfuls…of men…and women…know what lurks under there. When I’m under that type of light I feel like my body is in one of those interrogation rooms on cop shows and its being questioned as to why it looks so bad…like a raw chicken or a dog’s shaved belly. Then you have the dirty trickery lighting; it’s dim and soft and highlights your positive features (or for those who don’t have any, it just makes you look less ugly). Under this light, I look at myself and think “wow, I don’t look half bad! I could almost pass as a lady. I could see myself leaving my house in this.” So, I buy it only to experience delayed disappointment. Once I get home and try it on, I realize it accents that third chin I’ve been working on, it accentuates that bat wing of an arm that delicately jiggles in the wind, and really draws attention to my back fat rolls that look like a pack of hot dogs.

The Employees

“Are you doing okay in there?”…No, I’m not okay. I am having a nervous breakdown because not even black can slim this ass down. Can you maybe grab me a dry cloth to dab the sweat and tears pouring from my face from the pressure of figuring out how to work these zippers, buttons, and Velcro on this contraption.

“Do you need a different size?” Yea, can you grab me size “maternity even though I’m not pregnant.”

It doesn’t matter how shitty you look, they’re going to tell you that you look fabulous; they work on commission. Most of the time I want to be like “ARE YOU FUCKING BLIND? Do you not see my nipples hanging about? Did you not catch the fact that my ass crack, muffin-top combo is NOT fitting inside these impossibly small jeans?”

“How did you do today!?”  says the size zero associate with her midriff sticking out. **Throws a 46 pound pile of reject clothes at her while keeping eye contact and a straight face while I walk away, without saying a word.

The Rooms

“You can only bring 6 articles of clothing in with you at a time!” Yea, not a problem I can barely fit my own fat-ass in there let alone 6 pieces of clothing. They are so damn small. I already feel panicked by claustrophobia but on top of that is the downright terrifying fear of someone accidently walking in on you while you have your head in a shirt, your tits flopped out and your gut exposed. The worst is a room with no mirror. Having to leave the “comfort” of the dressing room to look in the communal mirror is a terrible experience. You carefully peak through the crack of the door to make sure nobody is there to see you, in case what you’re trying on makes you look like a fat kid caught in a net. Of course, even if you spot nobody and quickly run to the mirror to take a quick peak, the associate comes running around the corner… “oh my goooshh…you look soo goo…” “NO.”

The Clothes

The clothes themselves these days are impossible to figure out. I wish they came with instructions. There is just so much damn leather, netting, buttons, straps, snaps, tassels, ties, bows, velour, elastic, and holes. Half the time I am probably putting that shit on wrong, which is why it probably never fits. On several occasions I’ve found myself getting stuck in clothing items and had to rip out of them, Hulk style. Just the other day, I tried on a dress and it was a little bit challenging getting it on, but I could not for the life of my get it off. Between my tits and my hips, there was nowhere for this dress to go. I began to panic and sweat, which I think acted as a lubricant which helped me eventually get it off.

Here is a picture of my stuck in that dress…

Check Out Girl Checks Out More Then Groceries

Have you ever had a stranger's junk in your face? I feel confident in saying that for many of you the answer is yes, but I'm referring to a particular situation, one not involving alcohol mixed with bad decisions. Here is a non-fictional tale that I like to call “Checkout Girl Checks Out More Than Groceries.”

It was a dark, stormy Friday (it could of been a sunny Tuesday, I can't remember, I was trying to add a dramatic effect) and I was at my job working hard...hardly working*...stupid auto correct. My job consists of standing behind a counter with a giant freezer full of delicious food behind me. Customers come in, tell me what they want and I grab it for them. It sounds like a pretty uneventful environment doesn't it? WELL IT'S NOT!

I do most of my human observations at my job, and I rarely come home without an interesting story. This one in particular really stands out in my mind. Anyway, this is the type of store where we get a lot of regulars and the majority of the time people know what they are coming in for; in and out. On this particular day, a customer I did not recognize came into the store. He was a bigger man, bald with terrifying tattoos up and down his arms. I greeted him in the upbeat way I usually greet customers and then went about my business while he looked at our sale flyer. His mannerisms were different of a regular customer, which caught my attention. For example, he kept pacing, scratching the back of his neck, looking through the one paged flyer more times than necessary, etc. At this point, I thought maybe he is just having a tough time deciding what to purchase for dinner, it IS quite a crucial choice. So, I walk in front of him, with the counter separating us of course and say “may I grab something for you?” WELL, at this very moment I discovered EXACTLY what he wanted me to grab! I looked down and my heart dropped to the floor. Let's just say the Oktoberfest behind me weren't the only sausages in the store. He was completely exposed! My eyes widened and I drew back startled. I quickly composed myself and shot my eyes back up in the direction of his head (the one on his shoulders). He listed a few items he wanted to purchase and I grabbed them for him as fast as I could. As he is choosing his groceries, two elderly women walk in. I couldn't have them seeing this! I don't know CPR and I'm quite certain these innocent little ladies would have a heart attack if they saw what I was looking at. I had to get this guy out of here as soon as possible. His junk was like a terrible car accident; you're not sure why but you can stop looking at it. I had to constantly remind myself to keep my eyes elsewhere. Finally it was time to check him out (his groceries) and so many things kept rushing through my head; “how can he not feel that breeze? Is he doing this on purpose? Is it looking at me? What should I have for lunch?” (I was hungry).

Soon my fear subsided and I realized how funny this was. As I was ringing up his total, it took all my strength not to laugh. I had to pretend I was having a coughing fit just to suppress my laughter. Of course he decides he wants to pay debit which is exactly level with his penis. I had to type in his total on the debit machine, insert his card and spin the machine in his direction, all with my hand less than a foot away from his package. I packed his groceries, handing him his receipt and he was gone. Thankfully the elderly ladies never noticed.

Last time I checked, I was supposed to show CUSTOMERS our meat, not the other way around. I really do think he did that on purpose and if the expected end result was to turn me on, he in no way, shape, or form succeeded. The only turning on his act of disgustingness did was turn me on to women.

At least it was an eventful day at work and I have a story to tell the Bun Guy (I should probably know his name by now but I feel Bun Guy will suffice)

Thank you for reading!

Picture of the Day 

This is me on vacation in Chicago, enjoying a beer and deep dish pizza. MMM.