Abuse Report

I've recently been noticing that people abuse their ability to update their statuses (stati?) on Facebook. Really, there are all kinds of abuses that could be reported:

• People who update their status 500 times each day.
• People who write nothing but menial things of little to no value.
• People who write nothing but inspirational quotes.
• People who write nothing but inside jokes.

Here's the one that worries me the most:

People who write only about how they are depressed. For example:

• "Tryin real hard to keep it all together.... truely hoping to come out ontop of this."
• "I cant take this.... I cant do this...."
• "I really wish you werent so selfish all the time. I came home for you. I am still home for you. This is dumb."
• "Maybe someday you'll see everything I am.... see everything I have...."

First of all, if this person was just blowing off steam, I might suggest a less public form of therapy. Like a journal or something. Second, I must ask: does this person actually require aid of some sort? Which brings into question the legitimacy of our Facebook friendship. Is it my responsibility to provide that aid? I mean, technically we are friends, but are we really friends? This snowballs into a huge paradoxical crucible - the kind that leaves you more confused than before you had started thinking about it and you have to stop thinking about it because your brain is beginning to hurt. Ok, maybe not. But it is because of this reason, or perhaps a less exaggerated form of this reason, that I leave these, my quasi friends, to the care of their other Facebook friends.

And then I write about it on my blog.

The Winning Catch

Last weekend I went to California with some friends from High School. We went to the US Open of Surf, Coastal Carnage (skateboarding and BMX competitions), and a Weezer concert on the beach for free! It was totally awesome. While at the Weezer concert people were throwing water bottles across the crowd, as they usually do. This is not one of my favorite aspects of a concert, but whatever. As I was rocking out, I noticed a Gatorade bottle hurling towards my head. Here's where it gets intense:

I raised my hand in the air to catch it.

It spins around so that it Gatorade splashes in my face

I am forced to close my eyes.

My hand closed around the bottle, right-side up.

People cheered for me and I raised the bottle up victoriously and the crowd went wild. I'm surprised the camera man didn't get it on tape. But luckily I had my friend, Brian, take this picture with me and the infamous Gatorade bottle.

S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y Night!

I was just on Facebook and I decided to see if there was anyone I wanted to speak with on chat. (Unfortunately it seems I try to avoid more people than I try to talk to.) After clicking on the little box on the bottom of the screen, I was informed that there were only three people online. I thought, "How can there only be three people online?!"

Then I realized it is Saturday night. Most people do things other than Facebook on Saturday night.

Most people...

The Best Decision Ever Made.

Lately I've been feeling old. I woke up this morning with my leg hurting to high heaven (I've never used this expression before, so I hope I did it correctly). In addition to this, I have been getting sleepy earlier and earlier. For example, it is now 9:41 and I plan on going to bed as soon as I write this. So, to remedy this small life crisis, I did a little therapeutic shopping. You may be wondering what exactly I bought. Don't worry, this did not include a trip to Nordstrom or anywhere near the mall, really. I went to Smith's. Partially because I needed groceries; partially because I wanted this:

Let me tell you a little story about Cocoa Puffs and me. When I was little I always asked if we could buy them and I was always answered with, "No one likes them but you." I always had to wait for a camping trip or some other event that would require my family to buy this. Then, and only then, could I taste the wonderfully sugar-high educing, chocolate milk making, sorry excuse for a food item that is Cocoa Puffs. After growing up with a Cocoa Puff-deprived childhood one of my first purchases as an independent college student was a box of Cocoa Puffs. That was one of the best decisions I've ever made.

As I drove home in my car eating the Cocoa Puffs that I had just bought, from the box that I had savagely opened while walking out of the store, I felt again the satisfaction of having made a good decision. One of the best, in fact.

Work

Today I am at work. In the soils lab. I've decided that our slogan should be:

The BYU Soils Lab: where we grow grass and weed and grind all day.

Just throwing it out there...

A Brush With Death

My horse's name is Abigail. She is part thoroughbred, part quarter horse, and part Satan. Her redeeming quality is that she is fast. Very fast. On the opposite side of the spectrum, Mr. T, the horse my mom usually rides, is the sweetest most kind horse ever to exist; but he's still pretty young and not as seasoned as Abby. When I came home for summer, my mom and I decided to switch horses since she had been riding Abby and since I was only going to be there a short while, it would be more enjoyable to ride Mr. T..

We entered a barrel racing competition one weekend and I drew last. They had watered the indoor arena down so it wouldn't be super dusty, but they watered it too much which made the ground hard to run on and by the time it was my turn to go, the ground was looking pretty bad. I ran to the first barrel and right before I turned Mr. T tripped. I could feel his feet fighting to gain back balance but it never came. I was hurling forward towards the ground and I thought, " He's not coming out of this. I need to bail... now." I was almost level to the ground when I let go of the reins and put my hands out to catch myself. Praying that my feet would come out of the stirrups, I landed on all fours and crawled to the fence, afraid that in his attempt to get up I would get kicked in the head. I looked back and could see his body folded over his neck and I gave up hope of him being alive by the time I stood up. But he was. As I rose and turned around he had just gotten up and was shaking his head. I could hear Amy, the announcer, ask if I was okay and I nodded towards the stand. I slowly made my way to him, clasped the reins, and stroked his neck. By the time I stood up, my dad had jumped the fence into the arena, ran across, and was by my side when I got to Mr. T., my mom following right behind him. After making sure I was alright, my parents made turned their attention to Mr. T., just standing there quietly. He seemed okay, so we all walked out of the arena together among applause from the crowd. At the trailer we gave him some Bute, a rub down with cool pack, and walked him around outside for a while. He acted as if nothing happened. Friends and a lot of people we didn't know came over to see if we were okay and to congratulate me on being alive. A fact that I was grateful for. My favorite quote from my mother during this whole ordeal: "...and you didn't even cry!"

Here's a link to the first barrel photo. We haven't decided yet if we want to buy one.

My Name Is Chelsea, And I'm A Mac

Today is the day I became a Mac. That's right. In case you didn't notice in the little bulleted list of things I did during my absence, my computer broke but I never bought a new one. Until today. And what did I buy? A MacBook Pro. It is fantastic. Granted, I've only had it for half of a day, but still. I love it. It's so sleek and cool and even better: it makes me sleek and cool, too! I don't know how it does it.

Anyways, that is all.