#DaWedding

October 4th, 2014 - Kona, HI

Maid of Honor Speech

Photo by Ranae Keane

Hi everyone, I’m Chelsea, Ashley’s little sister and her maid of honor. For those of you who don’t know, we’re 11 years apart, which you can imagine meant that growing up, she was my role model, my idol, and my best friend. On the other hand, she wanted absolutely nothing to do with me.

AND, in return for following her around and trying desperately to get her to hang out with me, she did things like pin me to the floor for a game of “tickle torture” - if you don’t know what tickle torture is, it's a super fun game where she would sit on top of me while I screamed, and then tickle me until I peed my pants. Goooood times.

Our relationship saw a few ups and downs through the years as we each grew up individually, but one day, the stars aligned for us: I took an internship in Las Vegas at the same time she took a job in Las Vegas. We were finally in the same city again and of course my mind was flashing “BFFS!!!” in bright neon lights. I could not WAIT to hang with my sister all the time - it really was a dream come true for me. She so graciously offered to let me live with her for the summer, so we quickly went from sisters to friends to roommates …And it was a complete disaster. Basically we just got drunk and fought a lot, like sisters do. And even though we were in screaming matches half of the time which unfortunately some of you may or may not have been present for, it somehow brought our relationship into adulthood and we've never been closer.

It turned out that Las Vegas was not the right place for her, and a few months later she moved to San Jose - the best decision she’s ever made in her life. She fell in love: with her new city, her job, and then shortly after, Michael, the most perfect guy I could ever imagine my sister with. I’ve been around for a while and I’ve seen a lot (if you know what I mean), but I’ve never seen her this happy, excited, or in love in my whole life. Their connection was instantaneous. I remember her calling me about 3 months into their relationship and telling me “He’s the one. I know he’s the one, I can feel it." And I knew that she was right. I’ve never believed anything as much as I believed her in that moment. I actually got chills, and I felt like that little girl looking up to my big sister all over again.

Having Ashley as my mentor and best friend since I was born has been a gift. I can only hope that I’m lucky enough to follow in all of her footsteps one day because I aspire to be like her in so many ways - her drive, her strength, her insightful mind, and yes, even her rebellious side that still surfaces from time to time. Maybe even tonight if we’re lucky.

Michael, you have chosen an incredibly special girl, and Ashley, you have found your other half. And as long as you guys have each other, you'll have a lifetime filled with happiness. Michael, I’m so thrilled to welcome you to our crazy, loud family, even though it feels like you've already been one of the gang for years. We love you guys, and we can't think of a better way to send you off into marital bliss than this perfect moment right now in Hawaii.

So with that said, I wanted to say an Ancient Hawaiian toast that I pretty much just made up right now: some ships are made of wood, some ships are made of steel, but the best ships are friendships. May you always be each other’s best friends.

'Till there was you.

My Grandma Betty was one of the sassiest and most unapologetically honest ladies I’ve ever known, and growing up I never saw her without her "stink-eye of disbelief" and her trademark necklace on that read, “Oh Shit.” She didn't sugar coat a damn thing.

Growing up, she never missed a beat. She was there for everything. School plays, dive meets, birthday parties, graduations, you name it. That's what happens when you're lucky enough to grow up right down the street from your grandparents. They're always around. Even after moving to Colorado, they still made appearances for all the A-list things.

My Grandma Betty was a singer by nature - a talent which she passed down to the rest of our family. Her signature song was "'Till There Was You" from The Music Man, which she traditionally sang for her closest friends and family members on their wedding days. 10 years ago I had the enormous honor of singing it for her and my grandpa at their 50th wedding anniversary, a moment so special to me that I'll never forget as long as I live. In turn, on my 16th birthday she handed me a tape that she recorded of herself singing that song so that I can play it at my own wedding someday.

When I visited her for the last time a couple weeks ago, we brought her donuts from our favorite little donut shop in Newbury Park. I couldn't help but giggle when I looked up and saw she had chocolate all over her face that she didn't realize was there. Thinking about all the times she was there for me throughout my 25 years of life, I grabbed a napkin and gave her a hand while she laughed and said, "screw the golden years!" - a sassy line I've heard her say many, many times.

I knew this could possibly be my last time with her, so deep down I was searching for something profound. I wanted her to leave me with some wisdom or advice to carry with me as I continue on in her legacy. Her parting words to me were, “You turned out to be a really nice girl, Chelsea. And you’re not going to be alone forever.” Unbeatable as far as last words go. As tears welled up in my eyes, I knew that was exactly what I needed to hear from her. I'll treasure it forever.

I know with certainty that my grandpa has been waiting for his darling of 50+ years to be reunited with him at last. It's comforting to know where she's headed now; she's not alone and she's ready for whatever comes next. Together they taught me that two people can live together, raise a family together, enjoy each other, and grow old by each other's sides. I hope to follow in their footsteps one day.

I love you, Grandma. Thank you for teaching me sass, putting music in my heart, and being there for my whole life. One last time in your honor...

It's not you, it's where you are.

By the time my lease is up at the end of this year, I will have been in Vegas for over 3 years, which is longer than anywhere else I’ve lived since I was in high school. I feel like I have a pretty good grasp on this place - enough to have a very formulated opinion if nothing else, and lately I’ve been putting a lot of thought into my relationship with this city. Just like me, she can be a real dame and a real doozy, when she wants to be.

Vegas is the city that’s notorious for drunken 72-hour long marriages, one-night stands, gambling addictions, drive through chapels, and the “I'll scratch your back if you scratch mine” mentality. The dresses are too short, the heels too high, the alcohol too expensive, and the people just fake enough to make you question how living here can possibly be considered real life. But it is real life for those of us who have taken up residency. With the expectation of fake eyelashes, push up bras, and 6 inch pumps that murder your body from your feet to your neck, one weekend is usually enough for people to get a taste and then head back to whatever “normal” city they left behind for a few days of lavish extremities. Thankfully living downtown isn’t as extreme as what you might experience if you venture south down Las Vegas Blvd (enter: Fantasy Land). The Strip turns Vegas into a city of magic and mischief, which is both tempting and troublesome.

Vegas is the city that giveth and the city that taketh away. It gives you a platform for your wildest dreams to manifest because no dream is too big, too outrageous, too extreme. It’s the city that gives you hope for your future by planting the idea that you can do anything or be anyone you want to be (you want to be Tupac or a sexy cowboy? Head on down to Fremont Street and you've got yourself a gig). It provides an atmosphere of constant excitement and entertainment around every corner. There’s truly never a dull moment - unless you choose to spend your Friday nights on the couch with Ted Mosby and a glass of sangria (which there's nothing wrong with, by the way).

But it can also take that all away faster than you can say “what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas." I’ve seen more start-up companies try and fail and come and go than I even knew existed. I’ve seen people get carried away having TOO much fun and end up at their version of rock bottom, which ranges from being blacked out over a strangers toilet seat to losing their home because they gambled it away. I’ve seen hearts get broken when it all just becomes too much to bear: lovers lose interest, sin city soulmates head home, and people you care about start to leave because they realize what comes next.

You’re constantly surrounded by thousands of people, all seemingly pulsing and buzzing like a choir in unison. Yet the loneliness of this city is palpable, and much like with every added drink on a Saturday night you can feel it coursing through your blood stream. You’re hardly ever alone, yet you’re always lonely. You’re out playing with your friends and laughing on the outside, maybe even drunkenly singing at the piano bar if you’re feeling bold. But deep down that last shot of Fireball represents the feeling in the pit of your stomach that your life is just missing something. You’re constantly told by everyone you meet to suck it up because you’re "so young” - as if that means you lack the ability to formulate a genuine opinion of your own circumstances. After one year and +15 pounds of beer belly, you begin to realize that this city is not sustainable for 20-somethings chasing after their futures. We can’t last. The expectations are not realistic.

Knowing you’re not leaving anytime soon (and face it, you don’t want to yet), you spend the next 6 months trying to make the most of where you’re at by not letting yourself get sucked downstream in a sea of booze. You lose the 15 pounds you put on, start focusing more on your career trajectory and feel confident about the upward direction you’re heading. Maybe you even start trying to date again in an effort to create some sort of normalcy in your personal life outside of work. But after you’ve been turned down 3 times in a row by 3 different guys via radio silence after inviting them to a UFC fight or out for a drink, you start to realize that it’s obvious why you feel so lonely and no one is able to find companionship here. You have to wonder, is it you? But before you start feeling too sorry for yourself, you're given some very valuable advice: It’s not you, it’s where you are.

A lightbulb goes off. You realize that sentence applies to more than just your love life. Maybe you’re not the common denominator here. Maybe Vegas is the common denominator. Maybe you’re the only normal thing about this city, and you don’t even realize it because you’re consumed by the unrealistic situation you're in. “Normal” in Vegas isn’t “normal” anywhere else in the world. It's entirely possible that everyone you’ve met has a glittery blindfold on, preventing them from wanting any sort of real, emotional connection with another human being (and you're pretty sure that anyone who says they don't want that is either lying or lives in Las Vegas). But not you; you've already outgrown that phase of your Vegas residency. It makes you wonder, maybe if you moved to a different city without all the showgirls, bright lights, and $50 cover charges things would be different; "real life" could actually start. Maybe Vegas is just a catalyst into the next phase of your life where things will start to level out. There’s no denying it’s been good to you though; you started your career here, inherited some of the best friends the universe could have possibly picked out for you, and grew into your awkward 20-something phase of life. Even though at times it feels like your career path is at a peak and your love life is a vast empty valley, deep down you love it here and your (nearly) 25-year-old-self wouldn’t trade it for anywhere else.

But you can’t help but start to wonder, what comes next? If you’ve got the job, the friends, the apartment, and the family near by, what is it that's missing? Why aren’t you the happiest you could be? You already know the answer but you’re too lonely to even admit it out loud. There's a missing piece of the puzzle that you’re confident won’t be found under current circumstances. Unfortunately you know that might mean eventually having to start the entire puzzle over from scratch. Then all at once you realize what’s missing. It's not another person, it's a decision, and one you're not quite ready to make. 

You sometimes feel discouraged, but deep down you still believe in this city because you’ve seen what she's capable of. You're not ready to give up on her just yet. You know it’s a gamble, but the perfect hand will be dealt in due time, right? So until then, you keep your fingers crossed, continue to roll the dice, and each night you say the old Vegas prayer, "luck, be a lady tonight." 

Then you stop and remind yourself: you own your happiness, not anyone else. And you keep pushing forward towards the life you've always wanted. Wherever that is, is still TBD.

Guest Post: A Single Angeleno in Sin City

I'm so excited that my best friend, Cory agreed to be my first-ever guest blogger - especially on the theme of "Single in Sin City." Hearing her experience on the subject is compelling to me - mostly because of the giggle-filled phone calls we often share, reminiscing of the crazy nights we've had on the Strip. From turning 21, to my eventual move here, we've had quite a few nights being Single in Sin City together. And even though it's now my hometown, I can still relate to being a non-local - from before I moved to Vegas, and sometimes still when I venture down to the Strip, mostly whenever Cory's in town. Anyways, I'll let her do the talking this time from a different angle: A single LA girl in Sin City.

I am so honored that my oldest friend Chels would even consider allowing me to write a guest post on her newly revamped blog: Single in Sin City. As a SoCal native and LA local, being a guest of Sin City makes me the most run-of-the-mill type of girl walking the Strip these days. I'm in town for a night or two for several purposes. Nope, not work or relaxation, really... I'm there to party, to have girl time, to meet guys, to relax, sure (while looking cute and taking seemingly carefree Instagram selfies)... and to be the girl that I am not on your average weekday.

Mind you, I am entirely stereotyping AND generalizing at the same time. This is the Vegas I've experienced as a SoCal girl... it's the one I've seen since I was underage and adventuring there with a fake ID on a frat bus full of shit-shows. It's the Vegas that I have done while freshly single, while LONG-single, and while partially-pseudo-single. Never have I been when I wasn't single, I don't think. Hence: Single in City City. It's the only way to be there.

What is it about Vegas that allows us to act the way we do? Is it a similar phenomenon to Halloween, in which the standard is so outrageous that we feel comfortable being any form of our real or imagined selves, in whatever costume we can get our hands on? I mean, there's no dress code; there's no way to be sleazier than some you'll see on the Vegas Blvd street corners. There's no one there to judge your appearance (who you'll never see again after that weekend), and there are no parents or bosses who you might accidentally run into.

There's no pressure to meet the one or act a certain way, because there's no need to impress the dance partner or one-night stand you'll find on the dance floor in Vegas. No one wants to marry the one they met on a Vegas weekend. Right? There's no limit to how high ones dress can hike or high ones heels can spike, because the outfit is only for one night and there's only one place in which you can get away with wearing those things.

You pull out the dress, the outfit you chose for a night out in Vegas because it's too tight and low cut to wear at your average weeknight happy hour. It's too hot to ever throw away, too slutty to ever donate and too expensive to not save forever in the back of your silk-lined underwear drawer. You wear it because something about that hotel room lighting makes you feel like you look like a million bucks; I mean, your friends told you so and the guys you passed on the way into the cab clearly liked it (according to the whistles). You wear it because it's hot as hell outside if it's summer and the short dress is the easiest to dance around in, even if it's winter.

After a few conversations, a couple strong drinks and maybe even a duck-out from the wrong guy for your ideal evening, you spot the hottie that may end up being your Vegas hook-up, otherwise known as the Sin City Soulmate (as only I would call him). You look over until he makes eye contact because when ELSE has your makeup, your carefully penciled eyeliner and thickened mascara, ever looked this good? You twist and dance and shake it shamelessly because the music is somehow perfect and the booze is now pumping through your bloodstream. You even nonchalantly inch toward his corner of the dance floor because you want to be close to him -- to share this excitement with someone on your level.

You consider how the night will end, and you realize that you don't want it to. You may have mixed friend groups by this time, and you also may have lost all of them by now. You glance at the time according to your iPhone and cringe at the hour, only on the inside. Outside, you're grabbing his hand for another round on the dance floor because your heeled feet are numb now and you may as well capitalize on your adrenaline rush, or at least get a quality workout in. You ask yourself: will I go home with him? Could I do that? He is making you feel like the hottest girl in the room -- hell, in all of Sin City -- holding you tight and keeping his eyes locked onto you even when you flip your hair and pretend to look away. So you'll swiftly exit back to the Strip, hand in hand, and notice that the sun is coming up already with both the promise and the inherent tragedy of a new day. 

You may jaunt back to whomever's hotel room with a skip in your steps, in the anticipation of stretching your wild night into the depths of a late morning. Perhaps you'll meander back without a deadline in the world because you'd rather share a few drunken stories about your Vegas weekend between kisses, watching that unrivaled desert sunrise over the cheesy, jagged landscape. If you're as lucky as me, you might even make it upstairs in time to watch said sunrise from the penthouse balcony of the Cosmo, wrapped in Egyptian cotton. 

The best part of it all is is the too-true saying: What happens in Sin City stays in Sin City. At least, it probably should stay, according to most modern history of Vegas debauchery. Hasn't anyone here seen The Hangover? Snapchat should always be the social avenue of choice on a night like the one described above. Why is it then, that the aforementioned Sin City Soulmate can't get out of my head... nor out of my recent text history?! It all begins with the morning-after text; before you know it, it's become bed-time FaceTime dates spent wallowing over the distance between you. 

I know I shouldn't waste a second entertaining the possibility; I mean, in most cases of my Vegas luck, the lover-boy has turned out to live in some far off land like Canada! But I can't help it... my mind can't help but journey back to that fateful night beneath the flashing lights at XS, alongside the sparkling shallows at Surrender and Marquee. There was the way he snuck his fingers across my dress hem as we danced, and the exasperation in his voice when he whispered in my ear: Where have you been?! Maybe there was something just devastating about the innocence in his questions, his genuine curiosity, and the pure absence of any suggestion that I come back to his hotel room. You know you're in trouble when a Sin City Soulmate leaves you wanting more.

As it turns out, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas -- most of the time.

(Side note from Chelsea: ...Unless you live here.)

I'd rather be Single In Sin City.

Airplane therapy: My view of Sin City as I wrote this post.

Have you ever been on a date that just went horribly wrong from the second it started? See, I pretty much knew I wasn't into it from the beginning but I reluctantly said yes to this second outing because I have the hardest time saying no, which is a terrible habit and an even worse quality that I possess (I’m trying to work on it, I swear). But I'm pretty positive he will never read this, so I’m leveraging the experience as inspiration for a little soul-searching, like all good writers do.

He started out by asking me about my job and what exactly I do. He asked what I WANT to do and what my end game is. I started telling him about my work in Social Media and that eventually I want to be a published author that pens a book of short, funny, and heartfelt memoirs á la Mindy Kaling's "Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns)." This somehow segued into telling him about my blog, which segued into how I would post about my blog on Twitter, which segued into a general conversation about Social Media, which ended up turning into a one-sided discussion about how Social Media is a joke. Now, I want to be a writer, but that doesn't mean I don't love working in Social Media. It's my career choice. It's what I'm passionate about and I'm good at it. I spent tens of thousands of dollars going to school for it and I now have almost 2 years of experience under my belt which is a really long time in social years, considering the field is less than 10 years old. Most importantly, I'm happy and proud of where I'm at.

So when you try to have a conversation with me about how you think Social Media is stupid, I start to tune you out. My eyes glaze over. I can no longer respect your opinion or care what you have to say on the subject. Is that harsh? Maybe, but in this situation you're showing me that you clearly don't understand what I've dedicated my professional life to, and more importantly you don't have enough common decency to shut your mouth about a topic that is very obviously near and dear to me. I don't start spewing off about how I think YOUR job is bullshit, or how I think YOUR career choice is stupid. If I even HAVE any opinions about your life choices at all I would keep them to myself or at least act interested in learning more. So if you’re on a date with someone, why would you EVEN go there? At this point all I can do is look at him with a fake smile and count down the seconds until he takes me home because we are CLEARLY incompatible. 

My future significant other will LOVE what I do, because I love what I do. He will respect the 60+ hour work-weeks I sometimes have to put in to get everything done. He will be proud of me for getting a degree in a field I'm passionate about and using that degree in my every day life. He will try to understand what I do without passing judgments or disagreeing with me before knowing anything about it. He will not talk to me as if he's the one enlightening me about my own career field. He will ask me questions about work like, “How do you come up with such amazing and innovative ideas for this brand you know inside and out?" He will be impressed by things like the fact that I know how to create a Facebook App or analyze social data for a global brand.

He will ask if he can read my blog because he wants to know what kind of a writer I am, my style, my tone, my voice. He will think I have just the sexiest mind. He won't tell me I should really consider having two Twitter accounts, one for personal and one for business so that business associates don't have access to my writing, no matter how proud I am of the honest and heartfelt words I've allowed to pour out of my soul. He won't tell me that I was born in a generation where everyone, including me, feels entitled to a voice online, when in reality, no one (least of all, him) cares what I have to say. He will respect my mind and my voice and encourage me to never stop writing or sharing it with the world. He will ask to read everything I write before anyone else does because he wants to be the first to experience what's been building up in my soul. He'll want to know me inside and out, and he'll know that the quickest way to get there is through my writing.

And on that note, I will LOVE what he does, because he loves it. And if he doesn't love what he does, I will support him while he finds out what makes him happy. I will try to understand what makes him tick and I will encourage him to follow that spark until he finds the right fit for him. I will stay up late with him reading his work, brainstorming ideas, offering advice or words of support - even if I don't know what I'm talking about - just to try and help him. I will never put down what he loves, make him feel like his job is inadequate, or pretend I have an expert opinion on his field. I will spend hours listening to him vent about the things he hates, or praise the things he loves. I will celebrate with him when he has a great day at work, and I will comfort him when he has a terrible day. But I will never act like what he does isn't important, because I know that it is to him.

Unfortunately it looks like I'm still investing my time in the wrong people. But truthfully? I'd rather be Single in Sin City.

Forget how much it hurts and try again.

The above photo was taken about 2 years ago in LA by my best friend, Cory. I had just experienced a really bad heartbreak, so I ran away to LA for a week for a much needed best friend cleanse and some fresh perspective on life. Nothing soothes the soul quite like a week of cuddling with your bestie, a trip to Disneyland, and many late nights drinking wine and eating Thai take-out in bed talking about how scary, heartbreaking, and intense life can sometimes be. 

As we were casually walking down the street one night on our way home from a bar, I saw this note painted on the side of a cement wall. It was this big, blunt cinder block in the middle of the sidewalk on a busy LA street, staring me straight in the face. If that's not a sign from the universe after a blow to my heart then I don't know what is. The forces that be spared no subtlety, just threw this giant message right up in my grill to tell me "hey, you're going to be ok."

I look at this picture and I'm glad to say I hardly remember that girl anymore. On the inside she was so unbelievably distraught that she had to flee to her best friend's side before she had a nervous breakdown. She cried the entire 4 hour drive from Vegas to LA while sitting in solitude with nothing but her own thoughts and demons in the car with her. She couldn't feel anything past the vomit anxiously rising in her stomach when her head wouldn't stop spinning with unfathomable thoughts. That girl, though put together on the outside, was in shambles.

The good news? She made it through, and she emerged from the other side a better person.

We all have a past, and we all have the scars to prove it. We've all been hurt in some way or another, whether big or small. I've been hurt in much smaller ways pretty recently - when someone doesn't call me after a great date or a guy I thought I kind of liked makes me feel worthless after running into him at a bar. Those people will end up being small blips on my life's radar, yet I can still feel the slight sting in my heart, reminiscent of the burn you feel when you let your guard down and it all comes crashing down on top of you. This message from the universe is begging me to forget about it all and keep trying. Don't give up just because it can hurt so badly sometimes. Yes, it absolutely sucks when you feel a connection with someone and they don't feel the same way. It really sucks when you give someone a piece of you and they don't appreciate it (or worse, abuse it). And it REALLY freaking sucks when you love someone with your whole heart and they just don't love you back.

But do you give up because that someone you're interested in never called again? Do you give up because the guy that took you home with him wasn't actually interested in dating you? Do you stop trying because you just cannot possibly handle one more awful date? Do you swear off all men because one guy turned out to be a serial killer? (Ok, so maybe some of these things haven't exactly happened to me yet....) The universe is shouting "NO!" So you keep trying. You keep pushing on. You continue to get your heart broken because you would rather get your heart broken 1,000 times than miss out on the first time you lock eyes with your soulmate. You know deep down that in the end it will all make sense someday and you will feel a great sense of relief when you're tucked in bed one night laying next to the one you're meant to spend forever with. And all the ones who rejected you, hurt you, made you cry, question yourself, or feel even the slightest bit of doubt will never take up space in your mind again. You will be happy.

Forget how much it hurts, and try again.

Introducing: Single in Sin City.

They say you should write drunk and edit sober, so I'm writing this with a glass of wine in my hand but probably not planning on editing sober (update: I edited sober). My life feels sloppy right now, much like how this post might turn out is. But that's the beauty of it, I suppose. It's honest if nothing else.

A while ago I was introduced to a little dating app called Tinder. I was super reluctant at first because it felt like a hook-up scheme. I had the impression that everyone on there would be sleazy, gross, and only after one thing - which stands to reason if we're being honest here. I'm sure half the dudes who "swipe right" just think you're hot and easy, and hey, it's easier than actually meeting someone face to face and pursuing them like a normal human being, right? But I decided to give it a try after hearing a few success stories from people I actually trust.

I set up my lame ass profile and had no idea what the hell to reveal about myself so I went with a spin on my Twitter bio: "Hilary Duff lookalike & burrito connoisseur. Social media & UFC ass-kicking." Enough to create a conversation starter or two? I guess, but I still felt extremely lame (and still do). But I swear to god if I had a nickel for every profile I've seen that had "KCCO" or "It's going down, I'm yelling TINDER!" as their description, I would be rich as fuck by now. At least I tried to be somewhat creative and descriptive of myself.

I won't lie - I did not "swipe right" on anyone the first time I sat down and scrolled through because I was nervous. I didn't actually know what the hell I was in for or what the repercussions would be if I did. But then of course I found a dude I thought was super cute and said "fuck it." We were matched. He never said anything. So I moved on and swiped right a few more times. All the sudden I got sucked in like it was a god damn game and I was swiping left and right like it was my job - and hilariously enough not even talking to anyone I was matched with. I kind of liked it that way because if nothing else it was showing me that there's more men in Vegas than I previously thought - albeit not a plethora of my type. Lot's of weirdos, beardos, UNLV students (NO!), and dudes just passing through for the weekend (no surprise there). Side note: Tinder forces you to be shallow and judge if you're interested in someone based on their appearance in 1-4 photos. I really don't like that quality in myself or in others, so I find it difficult to take it seriously.

But I grew bold. I started a few conversations, responded to a few creative opening lines. I thought, what the hell, at least this might help me loosen up and learn how to have a normal conversation with a guy which is something I'm terrible at unless I have zero attraction to them whatsoever. I started getting pretty good. Then I got asked on my first "Tinder date" which was kind of exciting. I took a deep breath, consulted my best friend, and finally said yes. But then in true Tinder fashion, immediately started a new conversation with someone else who also asked me on a date within the first half hour of talking. I said yes again.

I felt empowered because why the hell should I NOT be casually dating and seeing multiple people at once? I need the practice and I'm not meeting anyone organically anyways. Seemed like a good idea so I mustered up all my courage and went for it. Everyone I talked to encouraged me and thought it was a bold step forward for the ol' Chelsea-Chels.

Anyways, I'll skip the painfully awkward details of both dates and move ahead to now. I'm realizing I am terrible at this. I'm not cut out for it. I have 15 guys messaging me on Tinder asking me about burritos and I'm completely overwhelmed to the point where I kind of want to vomit. I am not meant to juggle a bunch of dudes or casually date several at once. It's just not who I am. So while my phone is sitting beside me buzzing non-stop with new matches and the 300th dude named Zach to send me a message, I feel like a giant idiot for whatever mess I've clearly gotten myself into.

I feel like Tinder (in Vegas at least, maybe everywhere) is almost like this whole community of dating rejects like myself who can't get their shit together. I don't want to date those people, so why would they want to date me? Sadly, fellow Tinderellas, we're probably in for another lonely year.

I had a pretty sad thought today yesterday while I was contemplating how guy from date #2 turned down my super fun (and cute, if I do-say-so-myself) offer to be my date to the UFC fight tomorrow night tonight. Side note: What kind of guy would turn down the chance to be my date at a UFC fight? Even if he ends up never wanting to see me again, I can't think of a more fun way to get to know someone better. I need a man who can appreciate hanging out in my comfort zone. Back to my thought: I'm just better at being single. I can't take the drama and stress and anxiety of the aftermath (you know, the did-he-or-didn't-he, will-he-or-won't-he call again situation). If this is the new wave of what it means to be "dating" then I'm not sure I'm going to survive it. I'm good at being single. I've been on my own for a really long time and quite honestly, I'm scared shitless. I'm scared of being alone, and I'm scared of letting my guard down long enough to find someone worthwhile. I'm trying my damnedest to put myself out there and be confident and cool and awesome and sexy and whatever the fuck else everyone wants me to be and it's just not working because it's not who I am. I'm not a product of the shallow Las Vegas lifestyle, I'm just a regular chick trying to make it in the world of 20-something lostness.

So while my head was spinning yesterday afternoon wondering if I've actually been rejected by guy #2 or if I'm just rejecting myself at this point, I decided that I can't give up on this new found boldness. Not yet. So henceforth, my new thought process will be to go on dates, have some crazy experiences, and not care what the outcome is, because at least I'll come away from it with a story to write about in my newly transformed blog: Single in Sin City. Ready for a ride? I hope I am too.