Nails, Weather, and Weddings

First of all, I'm currently wearing a nail polish color called Wham, Bam, Glam.  I thoroughly enjoy this fact.

Secondly, I'm loving this Fall weather -- even though I'm a little scared that we're either heading for another hot spell or instant Winter.  But right now?  Perfect.  So I'm choosing to live for right now.

And finally, the real point of this post.  A few of my old students have recently become engaged, and it's so crazy to me that we're all going through this experience at the same time.  It's just so interesting to me the way that life works out -- I never, ever could have imagined getting married before this point in my life.  I've experienced enough to fill a lifetime:  had two successful careers, lived on two coasts, traveled & worked abroad, and on and on.  But that's not the interesting part.  The interesting part is that in their lives, this is the right time for my students as well, and whatever experiences they've had up to this point have left them feeling prepared and ready to take this next step.

I don't think I'm being quite as eloquent as I could be here, but what I mean to say is this:  Life has a way of putting you where you need to be when you need to be there, if you're living right.  All of my love and congrats go out to my sweet students for this exciting time, and I'm so glad that we're all right where we need to be.

xoxo

www.lovelyindeed.com

Lovely Indeed

Here's the new blog!  It's really what's inspiring me right now, so head on over and take a look if you're into it.  But I'll still be over here now and again as well, whenever something is too crazy not to share!

xoxo

Up in the Air

I’m on a flight. Again. And I have a few things to say.

1. I can’t sleep on planes. And it’s not because I can’t get comfortable. It’s because anytime there’s even the slightest bump or bit of turbulence, I am absolutely positive that we’re in dire peril. This is a recent occurrence. I used to love to fly.

2. A pushy lady boarded late, saw that there was an insufficient amount of overhead storage space left, and immediately became incensed. She turned to a flight attendant and said, “I need SPACE.” …Honey, we all need space.

3. Club soda with lime is my new in-flight drink of choice.

4. I just spilled half a glass of club soda with lime down my front.

xoxo

Rings on Her Fingers and Bells on Her Toes.

Soooo....  I'm engaged.  And it's kind of awesome.  I've been hesitant to blog about it, because it seems kind of personal, and I'm a little bashful.  And while it seems like I divulge a lot of personal information on my blog, if you read some backposts, you'll realize that it's not exactly information.  It's more like...  opinion.  Or musings.  Or rantings.  But never really personal stuff.  So there you go.

However!  That having been said, my engagement has been a completely inspirational thing in my life!  I've been all over the internet and I've come across some really beautiful style, design, event, and do-it-yourself blogs that have totally blown my mind.  So I made the decision to chronicle our engagement in another blog, vis-a-vis all of the DIY projects that I'm planning to include in our wedding.  My hope is that even after the wedding, the blog will continue and I can keep posting projects and creative, inspirational-type stuff!

So long story short:  keep coming here to get into my head (all 14 of you that are subscribers...), and keep an eye out for a new blog if you're interested in the rest of it!  Be assured that I'll let you know when it's up and running.

xoxo

Closings, Planes, and Good Sounds.

So here I am, in Denver, on my second layover of the day, almost home to California.  I will have been in four states by 1 p.m. today; that may not be a personal record, but it's pretty darn close.  Cowgirls closed last night, and, I have to say, it was kind of the perfect little package of a show.  Open long enough to explore some things with some amazing actors, and closed soon enough that no one got bored or went crazy.  Mostly.  It's an experience for which I'm extremely thankful.

Anyhoo, that's why I am on this crazy Montgomery-to-Memphis-to-Denver-to-Sacramento journey; because the show closed, and I'm headed home to have some family time.  And it was on the Memphis to Denver leg that something magical happened.  I had just gotten out my MacBook and turned it on, when, at the same serendipitous moment, the flight attendant asked for my drink order.  I got a Diet Coke and he offered me the whole can.  Then, at the exact same second, my computer chimed its lovely "start-up" chord, and the flight attendant flipped open the pop-top on the Diet Coke.  And I realized that those two sounds make me feel really good.

They just sounded like good things.  You know?  Those sounds that evoke an almost physical reaction because you know they mean something wonderful is coming?  A Diet Coke can opening is one of my favorites.  (And, yes, it sounds different if it's regular Coke.  Not as snappy or fizzy.)  Some of my others:  a tinny-sounding overture on any Original Cast Recording of a musical written and recorded before 1970.  My mom and dad's "hello" when they pick up the phone.  A longboard hitting the pavement when you drop it just before a ride.  Hearing my students sing a chord that would suddenly lock into tune.  My bestie's voice saying she forgot to tell me something huge.  A '57 Chevy starting up.

So, I wanna know -- what are your sounds?  Betcha we have some of the same.

xoxo

Hindsight

Ever have something happen that didn't even register at the moment, and then later got under your skin?

The other day I told someone I was a dance swing in a certain show, and the reply was, "Oh, well that explains it.  You're a dancer." 

Excuse me?

xoxo

Little Voice

I don't have a big voice.  I learned that in junior high, when I started singing in choir like it was my job.  In high school and college, it got stronger, but no bigger.  Then when I became a teacher it gained an authoritative quality, but it still stayed the same size.  Got to NYC, more training, more depth, but still small.  I'm okay with all this.

During Cowgirls rehearsal, this became the note that I received the most.  Can't hear you, push volume, louder louder louder...  And so I did, and it got better.  But I got to thinking one day, that my literally small voice also is a little figurative. 

I've never been the girl shouting opinions.  When I'm around folks who like to talk, I prefer to listen, rather than try to get a word in edgewise.  I don't like to yell to be heard.  And I fully subscribe to the notion that just because you're screaming, doesn't mean anyone is listening.  So I save my ideas and my voice for the times when there's constructive communication happening. 

Do I have opinions?  You betcha.  Are they strong?  Stronger than you'd think, if you're judging my book by its cover.  But I think that opinions can be valid, whether they're shouted from a rooftop or softly voiced from across the table.

xoxo

Geographical Kindness

Truth be told, there's never a day that I don't miss California.  And when I'm not in New York, ditto for the city.  But I have to admit, it's been a little bit nice to spend some time in a part of the country where the specialty is being cordial.  Life in Montgomery may settle somewhere a little quieter and slower than I tend to like it, but every single person I've come across here has seemed genuinely kind.  And that's not something you can say for every place you visit. 

There's a sweet elderly man at the gym, who I worked out next to every morning while we were in rehearsals.  After a few days of elliptical training next to each other, he turned to me and said, "You're getting to be a regular here," and smiled.  And went on about his business.  A few days later, when I brought a new book to read, he noticed and commented.  No fuss, no muss, no lengthy chatter.  Just a kind acknowledgment of another person's existence.  Which is nice. 

In the city, people thrive on anonymity.  If you meet someone's eye, you're expected to look away immediately.  And heaven forbid you actually let the corners of your mouth creep up into a smile;  you'll instantly be labeled as either crazy or dangerous. 

But in a place like this, it's nice to settle into a routine of recognizing the people around you and honoring their presence with a simple hello.

xoxo

Magic People

Editor's (AKA Yours Truly) Note:  This entry previously existed on my Tumblr account.  Bailed from Tumblr.  Didn't want to lose the entry.  Sorry if it's a repeat for some of ya'll.
Have you ever come across one of those people who seems to be magic?  And they live their lives with such passion and love and total abandon that you just get willingly sucked right into their whirlwind of joy?  And they make you feel like you can do it too, and some of their joy gets rubbed off on you, and for a while, you are invincible -- you are kinder, happier, luckier, more peaceful in who you are, find the good in more things, walk with a bounce in your step, and on and on.  And then maybe you don't see them for a while and it fades, but you know that it's there somewhere, if you can just try to find it again.
The thing is, I want to be my own magic person.  I want to be able to find that feeling, and help other people feel it, and make the world better by spreading it all around.  I feel it, right at the end of my fingertips, vibrating like it's tempting me to come and get it.  It sparks up sometimes, and I feel all my feelings and I live in them, and I sing, and I pray (which sometimes are the same thing), and it's the best feeling ever.
And I think everyone is secretly a magic person.  I think it's just a matter of realizing it, and that actually takes practice.  Practice!  Huh.
So that's one of my new goals.  Practice joy.  Cultivate love.  Be magic.
xoxo

Calculators.

So we're here in Alabama, doing Cowgirls.  And there's a part in the show where I'm in an office for an extended period of time, allegedly working on a breakdown of some numbers, and using a calculator to do so.  Tonight, I was going through the motions, and I was punching in the number 7,493.21.  And for some reason, my finger reached for some unknown button after the 7, trying to find a comma.  And immediately, I was catapulted back in my mind, to my Dad teaching me to use a calculator.  I had always assumed, before I used one, that there would be a button for a comma.  Because how else would you tell the calculator that the number you were about to type in would be more than 999?  My little 8-year-old self was shocked and amazed to learn that calculators put the commas in for you.

And this is what I was thinking about while I was supposed to be acting.

xoxo

She's Here!

Last night, June 8, 2010, at ll:43 p.m., Blueberry decided to make her entrance!  What a sneaky little kiddo -- four days early, and upside-down.  But momma and baby are happy, healthy, and already surrounded by lots of love and family.  I wish more than anything I could be there.

Funny how powerful babies are -- they make sisters into aunts, dads into grandpas, moms into grammies, and two regular people into mama and daddy.  Our lives flipped upside down last night, in quite possibly the best way imaginable.

Paige Camille Baker.  7 lbs, 15 oz of wonderfulness and love.

xoxo

...Never Mind...

Okay, so I gave Tumblr a shot. I mean, i invested.  I posted pictures.  I posted links.  I posted videos.  I blogged.  I did everything a girl could do, and somehow, it just isn't doing it for me.  So I humbly return to my blogspot, apology note in hand, ready to stick around and be at home here.  Forgive me, blogspot.  I've seen the error of my ways.

xoxo

Moving On.

So while I'm super grateful for my little Blogspot over the last couple of years, I feel like it's time to switch it up a bit. No disrespect, Blogspot, but you can now find me at http://chelseacosta.tumblr.com/.

xoxo!

Sudoku Champ

Scene: A Train. 125th Street Station. 9:30 p.m.

I'm standing, today's AM New York sudoku in left hand, click-pen in right hand, which is also holding onto the subway pole for balance. Passengers get on, one business-y type girl comes and shares the pole. She looks down at what I'm doing, opens her bag, gets out the same sudoku, and clicks open her own pen.

Naturally, I take this as a challenge.

I write a number. She writes two. I write two. She writes three. (Okay, I had a head start, but she was wearing glasses and carrying a briefcase -- so I'm calling it even.) Two seats open up. I take one. She takes the other. I sneak a peek at her puzzle. She's not even close. HA! Then she starts gaining... I actually feel panic, because I'm stuck and I have to win. HAVE TO. Because that's how I am.

I finally get a break and write down a flurry of numbers.  Just then, at 175th Street, she gets up and leaves.  I recognize this as an obvious forfeit.

Between 175th and 181st -- my stop -- I finish.  And by the power vested in me, I proclaim myself tonight's A Train Sudoku Champion.

xoxo

Today in a Nutshell

Here's an abridged list of some of the feelings I had today.

hopeful scared proud deflated inspired inspiring bummed angry disgusted embarrassed confused false true authentic humbled pious peaceful content disappointed frustrated surprised happy in-charge floaty loving loved pissed annoyed stressed bored boring plain fancy worshipful comfortable open alive joyous nerveous uncomfortable pleased

It's kind of nice to notice your feelings and just kind of be in them. Try it. What do you feel?

xoxo

Brotherhood of Man?

I walked out of Chelsea Studios after an audition today, and here's what I saw: Busy street, bunches of people walking fast. A raggedy, (I'm assuming) homeless, African American man, who had scored a half-smoked cigarette off of the ground. He had no way to light it. A white man in an expensive suit walked by, yapping loudly and importantly on an iPhone, with a lit cigarette in his hand. The first guy flagged the second guy down by waving the used cigarette in the air (with some desperation, I might add). The second guy didn't hesitate for a second, pulled over, got his lighter, lit the cigarette (shouting into his phone the whole time), and walked away. They both went back to their business, like it never happened. No words were exchanged.

I didn't know whether my heart should feel full or empty.

xoxo

Reunited, and it Feels So Good

Reunited with who, you ask? Well, darlings, it's not so much a who as a what.  And what it is is a toe ring.

I know, I know, a bunch of you are those people who hate feet and all things feet-related.  And to you fine folks, I say:  stop reading now.  Go google something.  To the rest of you who don't mind foot-type situations, maybe you can hear me out.

In high school, I bought a toe ring in Santa Cruz on a trip with my best girlfriends.  It was perfect.  It was a string-thin silver hoop that tied in a knot around itself.  I put it on my toe.  It stayed there for three years.  Then it broke.  I was never ever able to find another one that I could commit to!  I mean, I don't plan on taking a toe ring off and on and blah blah blah, so it better be good enough to be around long term.  Not too loose, not too tight, nothing flashy, something I can feel on my toes but doesn't pinch, no studs or sparkles or razz-matazz.  Just a toe ring.

Well dears, I found it.  My sis and I were getting mani-pedis in honor of her baby shower (which I'll blog about soon!) the other day, and while drying our tootsies, we found ourselves smack in front of a case of toe rings, with the perfect one inside.  We asked to buy it, they called over a lady who sized my toe (3 1/2, thank you very much), slipped it right on there, and went on her merry way.  My sis even bought it for me, which makes it that much nicer.  :)

And I find now that the feeling of it wiggling between my toes is a comfort somehow.  A comfort!!!  Isn't that weird?  There were a few moments of stress with the baby shower, and each time, I wiggled my toes and felt it there and for some reason remembered that I am still me, and everything is cool.  Like it's my own personal little rebellion or statement or whatever, and I like that it's there.

And so, I'll leave you with this:  what is your thing?  Your thing that may be little, or silly, or unexplainable, or misunderstood by others, or whatever -- but you like it and it makes you feel good, and so it's sticking around.  I wanna know.

xoxo

For the Record.

Dear You Know Who You Are,

Sincerely,
Chelsea

xoxo

I Would Like to Announce...

...that my darling, brilliant, talented, wonderful boyfriend doesn't know what a peach is. 

Knowing that I'm currently on a fruit and veggie rampage (Spring does it to me every time.  In California, right about now is when the produce frenzy begins.), he took it upon himself to bring me some bananas and some "peaches" home from running errands, because I had been talking about them.  I opened the bag and definitely found bananas, and some weird nectarine hybrid. 

So we had a little chat about the fact that peaches have fuzz, nectarines are a little more red with no fuzz, and plums are... well...  a plum color.  Because he said he didn't know the difference.  And then I hugged him because he's so adorable.

I guess I take being a farmer's daughter for granted sometimes.  Oh, and the nectarine hybrid is delicious anyway.

xoxo

Tales from a Dominican Gym: The Cast

In the midst of my workout today, I had the sudden urge to introduce you to the cast of characters at Jay's Big Gym.  I identify these folks by their outstanding characteristics, hence their descriptive names.  Please note that some of the practices about to be described would be grounds for expulsion from any normal gym; fortunately for us, Jay's doesn't hold itself to any standards of health, sanitation, or normalcy.  Here are our players:

Little Big Legs.  A greasy, roided-up Latino gent, whose calves are about the size of my forearms, and whose quads are about the size of my torso.  I can't stop looking at them.  Also, whenever he talks, he looks like he's screaming.  Sometimes known in my head as Senor Napoleon.

Chiquita Banana.  Works out in full makeup, with long, beautiful, black curls down and perfectly done.  Only walks on the treadmill, and eats fruit while doing it.  Then leaves peels and pitts on the machines.  Once, was eating a banana while flirting with a guy on the next treadmill;  the banana flew out of her mouth mid-sentence.

I'm-a-Boxer.  "Teaches" boxing, although I'm not sure of his credentials.  Today I saw him studying from the Personal Training Manual, which means that he's not certified yet.  Every time I am at the gym, he is there.  Every single time.  All day.  Every day.  Mostly just hanging out.

Mr. Massage.  A trainer at the gym, who massages his clients on the workout mats in the middle of the gym.  With lotion.  For women, he lifts their shirts up and unclips their bras.  The mats don't get wiped down after.  I do not use mats at my gym.

Shoeless Jose.  Prefers to run on the treadmills barefoot.  No one seems to care. 

The Other White Girl.  Self explanatory.

Now, please keep in mind that these are just the leads.  We have an entire ensemble, made up of men who only go to the gym to try to do more pull ups than the other men, and women who only go to the gym to yell across the gym at other women while pretending to do cardio.

All in all, it's a pretty decent show.

xoxo