Who Is Chelsea?

I will attest to being a unique breed of womanhood. I have no idea why or how this has happened but it's the reality of my life. I don't do anything out of the ordinary. Yet, I garner the attention of men everywhere. Looks? HA! I have mousy brown hair speckled with gray and dark brown eyes. Not in the least what you would call attractive. Definitely not in the same category with Julia Roberts or, who's the latest cover of Maxim? Megan Fox. I could only wish I had her youth! Instead, I'm approaching my mid-30's with gusto. Could I have her body too? Anything would be better than the elephant trunks I have attached to my hips and the shelf that is where my ass should be. Does that suffice for a mental picture of me?

On my good days, I'll throw on some makeup. The average woman spends two to three hours in front of a mirror, primping and preening to face the day. It doesn't matter if they are stay-at-home mommies or boss-of-the-year, the average woman has to wear makeup, style their hair, and make sure their socks match. Me? I spend 5 minutes on hair and makeup. Five minutes max. As a teenager, my mother drove me nuts about wearing makeup. I wasn't allowed to leave the house without an inch of that gunk on. It didn't matter that it was 3:30 in the morning and I was on my way to swim practice. Who in the world was going to care about makeup at that ungodly hour? Especially in a pool with other girls? Now, I could care less about wearing makeup. The most I have on my face is lip gloss. Grandma used to say that a woman was only fully dressed when she had lipstick on. Go Grandma! She was my biggest cheerleader in combating my mother's idealistic fantasies about girlhood.

My mother was the Prom Queen. She participated in beauty pageants. She was voted “most popular” in high school and married her high school sweetheart, my father. Dear old Dad was not one to tell my mother no in any fashion. What she wanted, she got. She wanted two children, one of each. Got it. She wanted a nice house in the suburbs. Got it. She didn't want to work. She didn't. She spent her days hanging with her girlfriends, shopping, lunching, and who knows what else. Dad busted his ass to give her everything she wanted. It wore him down. It killed him. Dad died shortly after I graduated college the first time. I guess he felt that I could take care of myself so he let go. I knew he was staying because of us kids. At my graduation, I told him it was okay to move on and that he didn't have to stay. I had gotten pretty good about taking care of myself by then. My brother was still a child. There was 10 years between us, so he was only 12 when Dad died.

I couldn't go home. I was free. My dreams involved the west coast and pure sunshine. Florida would have sufficed too. Anywhere but the Midwest. I hated the snow and cold. The gloomy dreariness of it all. Being around my mother for the days before and after the funeral was just awful. People attended Dad's funeral to say goodbye and to celebrate his life. He was very loved by the community. Neighbors could count on him to help when needed. He even led my brother's Boy Scout troop and helped the Girl Scouts set up their campsites at the yearly Jamboree. I don't remember him missing a single swim meet, whether I was swimming or not. Dad was always there for us kids. It's what I remember most about him.

His death was the end of a cycle. I knew then I could do what I wanted, without having to fight my mother. My mother wanted me to live at home while going to school. I choose a school out of state. Liberty University was still not far enough away. She called me every day. To make sure I was dressed properly with makeup on. To inquire if I was getting enough to eat and if I was coming home for the holidays. To know about the boys I've met and if I was dating. My social life was the most important thing to her. She even had the audacity to ask if I was having sex. My mother said she would send me some condoms if I needed them. CONDOMS!!! At a CHRISTIAN university!!!!! Holy jeepers! What in the world was she thinking? Don't answer that. I'll tell you what she was thinking. She was hoping I wouldn't have children. That would make her a grandmother and she didn't want to get older. I wasn't a virgin by any means but that doesn't mean I wasn't behaving myself. I liked Liberty and didn't want to risk getting kicked out of a conservative university.

My decision to attend Liberty stemmed from the one person who has been a constant figure in my life – my 6th grade Sunday school teacher, Mrs. Dean. She was the one person I could trust with everything in my life and knew I would never have to face judgment. I needed direction in my life and she provided it. Mrs. Dean was there when my mother wasn't. She was the substitute mom that I desperately wanted. For the most part, I stayed on the straight-and-narrow. I didn't drink. I didn't do drugs. At least not at that point. I had 4 years of celibacy. It was the longest and most difficult period of my life. I was a total bitch during that time. I had no idea why.

My weakness is men. I liked freedom and men. I still like freedom and men.

Like a sailor, I have a guy in every port. Okay, so maybe the male sailors have a girl in every port. I'll get to that bit. This is about me. You need to know who I am before you can figure out the rest. I feel like Samantha from Sex and the City most days. That was Kim Cattrall's character. She does it so well. My attitude can be very cavalier when it comes to men. I expect certain things. One of my girlfriends, Jessica, sums it up well. She likes to say, “Treat me like a queen in public but a whore in the bedroom.” Isn't that a delicious thought? I want a guy's respect in the morning. If I don't get it, I get bored and he gets discarded like yesterday's trash. Makes for a lot of one-night stands.

Men use women so why can’t I use a man?

I’m sitting here at my desk, listening to “Nickajack Cave” by Gary Allen. Such a mellow song by an incredibly sexy man. I’m just finalizing some paperwork in order to get paid. I’ve never worked for a company that did so much paperwork. I have to fill out a form just to sneeze. It’s ridiculous. What can I say? I work for a bunch of politicians who believe in the chain of command. I love my job. I’m in a different place every month. What do I do? I’m a computer analyst for the Department of Defense. That’s all I can say about my job. Wait, I can say a little bit more. I get to travel extensively; to places people would never think of going. I have spent time on ships at sea. I have an apartment I see once every 4 to 6 months. I haven’t talked to my mother in years and the last time I saw my brother was when he graduated high school. I talk to my best friend at least once a week, otherwise I’d go stir crazy.

Hannah is married and living the good life in California. She’s been my best friend and confidant for as long as I can remember. She’s a straight-shooter. She tells me when I’m making a mess of things. In that same breath, Hannah will tell me that I need to find a decent guy and settle down. I can’t help but laugh. Husbands and babies are not for everyone.

"You shouldn’t be alone so much.”
"Hi Hannah. How are you?” is my reply.

Never a hello, hi, or what’s up from Hannah. It’s normal for her to start a conversation without a greeting or where we left off previously.

"They want to know when auntie is coming to visit.”
"Let me look. I have it marked on the calendar… May.”

May, she tells the kids. I can hear them cheering in the background.
"Have plans changed? Do they still want to go to Disneyland? Or someplace else?”
"We took them at Christmas. It was a zoo. You have anywhere else in mind?”
"Hawaii, Seattle, Bahamas… Do you know where their passports are?”

I take the girls on vacation with me every year. If only to give Hannah and her husband a break. The girls loved it. They are 13 and 10 and call me “Auntie Chels”. I bought them passports one year so we could vacation in Mexico. It was a great time.

This is an advantage of my job. I make a lot of money and have no one to spend it on. Except for the girls. We never stay in my apartment either. We always go somewhere different each year. Last year was Florida, the year before was a Caribbean cruise.

"Katie wants to go to Washington. She’s on a Twilight kick,” Hannah sighs. “Wait, now she’s saying Italy.”
"Okay, tell them they have 2 days to decide then I’ll make the arrangements.”
"Sure thing!” she laughs, knowing that the girls will change their minds like 10 million times before then.
"I have to run, I’m being paged,” was all I could say.
"Wait, where are you?”

I didn’t bother to answer. She knows better than to ask that question.

There was a time when I was selective about the men in my life. The badder the boy was, the more I wanted him. I wanted the men I couldn’t have. Or could I? The problem was I didn’t believe I could. I lacked self-confidence and had an “I don’t give a crap” attitude. Since I didn’t think I could get the guy I wanted, I settled for the bottom of the barrel. Whoa! I just classified men!

I’ll say it again. I am ordinary. I’ve gotten fearless in my wise old age but I am nothing special. Men do not look at me and go, “WOW! I have to get her number!” No, no. Men look at me and keep walking. That doesn’t mean I haven’t had my fair share of men. It’s not difficult to pick up a drunk guy in a bar. Or the sleazy jackhole who is bored with his wife. Oh yes. I’ve had a few of those.

I like men. All of them. I’m selfish enough to say that I want them all. The world is my smorgasbord. Now, I am picky enough to say that I have a high standard of hygiene. If a man hasn’t bathed in the last 24 hours, it’s a complete pass and I won’t waste my time. So, he must be clean from head to toe. That includes not wearing any clothes from the hamper because he conveniently “forgot” to do laundry. Please, dude, have some class.

If he’s a fall-down-drunk, I’ll pass on that too. I’m nobody’s mom and I refuse to clean anyone up if they get sick. Men can be such big babies when they’re sick. That’s what I like best about living alone. I’m not responsible for anyone else. I don’t have to clean up after anyone. I don’t have to deal with anyone’s drama. I can come and go as I please. Is it lonely? Sure but I have learned how to entertain myself.

Oh, he absolutely must have a job. I don’t know what it is but if he’s not working, I’m not interested. Dealing drugs is not a job. He must have gainful, legal employment. If I wanted to be a sugar momma, I would be Kelly Lynch’s character in Curly Sue. I’d pluck some homeless guy off the street and pay to clean him up. No thanks!

The last thing I want is a mooch who sits on his ass all day watching ESPN, Versus, or FSN while I’m busting my butt. That would not bode well with me considering how much I travel. Might explain why I’ve never had a relationship last longer than six months. It gives a man too many opportunities to cheat. Completely not my style.

I’ve got no qualms about sitting in front of a television on a Sunday afternoon watching football, hockey, or baseball. I’ll even have the loudest mouth in the stadium. Nothing gets my blood pumping more than an adrenaline-filled day watching a hockey game. Taking me to see my favorite hockey team play is a guarantee a guy is going to get laid. Football, maybe not so much.

When there is a sporting event on and I’m the only female in the room, I get treated like one of the guys. That is never a problem. Most of the guys in my life talk to me about their women problems. Women are rarely a problem. It’s that guys have no clue how to deal with them. There are no instruction manuals when it comes to the fairer sex. Men are much easier to read.