Making a House a Home

As I found myself nearing the end of my year-long lease agreement for the West Hollywood apartment, I knew one thing for certain: that I had to get out of dogde from crazyville. While the charming bungalow had earned a warm place in my heart and in my memory, my landlord and some neighbors had simply become too much to handle. So, in an attempt to maintain some level of sanity on my continuing quest, I had started scoping out apartment complexes and homes in the area. I knew that I wanted (ideally) a house, with a washer/dryer, with a dishwasher (and a kitchen large enough for more than one person to stand in, with a full-sized fridge, after six months of Matt and I playing what became affectionately known as "Refrigerator Tetris"), with a yard, with a patio, with fruit trees, and with permit-free parking. And guess what?! After frantically shifting roommate scenarios, rearranging touring schedules to accommodate an actress, a chemist, and a writer, and desperately trying to get finances in order - EVEN despite Wells Fargo taking out money from the wrong account and sending a very stressed young lady into overdraft mistakenly - I got my house. In a quiet neighborhood of North Hollywood, down a street covered by a canopy of trees, I managed to land a true gem of a dwelling with dear friends. So, on May 15th, and with much assistance from Clint, Cari, Emmett, and Kaleb (who you'll hear more about soon) - Pasha, Matt, and I moved into what is quickly becoming a well-loved hostel and haven in our fair city.

Saturday morning, Kaleb and I woke up, at some ungodly hour, to pick up our UHaul rental truck, which I had rented for six hours. Surprisingly, moving all of my apartment and Pasha's few furniture items to our house went quickly, and we had the truck turned in (with new gas and with lunches eaten!) by 2pm. Although there were boxes and other items strewn about the house, we had a housewarming party on Sunday evening. Richard grilled fajitas, Kaleb and I hung glittering string-lights on the patio, beer (and water) pong was played, hot peppers were examined and tasted (after visiting Cari's grandma and uncle in San Pedro the evening before), impromptu dance parties were had, musical serenades rung out from couch-tops in the wee hours of the morning, and many smiles and laughs were had. It was a lovely moving process, and - with a little luck - one which moved me into this darling house for at least the next two years. After constantly moving over the course of my life, it is settling to really settle into a place long enough to feel home. I love driving home at the end of the day to our house; nomatter what madness has transpired in the work world, or how much traffic has congested the 405, or how little money is flowing into the bank, I get to come home to roommates and a home which lighten my spirit. It is delightful.

(Some of the pictures are from our Memorial Day party, but you get an idea of the general merriment at 6101!)

My First Feature Film: "The Incident"

In late March, I booked the lead role in a feature-length horror film, tentatively titled "The Incident". I was absolutely stunned when everything fell into place, after an audition and a callback that both felt truly fun, and in a situation where I felt like I was letting Chelsea be present. By this, I mean that I didn't hide my curly hair (I wore it curly during the filming as a result), or the fact that I am a bit of a tomboy, and it actually served me well. Coming to Los Angeles, I had envisioned what Hollywood was looking for... a rail-thin, tall, striking blond with long, straight hair and feminine whiles. Don't get me wrong: I love to get dolled up and I keep active and in shape. But what I had imagined was not myself. I am a goofy, slightly rough-around-the-edges, spunky girl. Landing the role of Samantha taught me this: be true to yourself and to your own qualities. Hollywood may have a million and one blond girls, but they don't have this one (yet!).

"The Incident" focuses on a small group of college students who trek out to an abandoned insane asylum one weekend to film a documentary-style project, focused on proving - or disproving, as is the case for Samantha - the existence of the paranormal. The script was something I hadn't seen before - perhaps due to the daily rewrites, which made the process that much more exciting. I cannot say enough positive things about the cast and crew that worked on our very low-budget film; everyone was friendly, courteous, and focused. Even with a daily two-hour commute to our shooting location in Whittier, I could not complain. After nearly a year in Los Angeles of waiting tables, sitting in traffic, submitting for auditions, paying for new headshots.. after all of the run-around, here I was, absolutely exhausted, doing stunts or shooting pieces in the freezing dark at 3am, sipping coffee during fast makeup and hair touch-ups or glances at the newest version of the script, finally acting again. Even writing this, I am smiling and reminded of just why I packed up and trekked out to Cali over a year ago now. It is important to keep coming back to your intention, and to what keeps you moving forward. I restate this, in some form or fashion, on a daily basis, and it keeps me positive.

After a nine-day shoot, we had wrapped 90% of the film, and the remaining scene was completed a few weeks later. I won't put out any spoilers, but keep an eye out for the film on Netflix, Movies on Demand, and maybe even - shh! - the SciFi Channel within the next six months to a year. It will be strange (and always a trial) to watch myself on film, but I am so very proud of the work we all put into making something so spectacular.

The Extent of the Roadtrip

For those of you left wondering, "Did the fantastic friends ever survive the roadtrip?! What happened next??", I can assure you that, yes, we did, in fact, make it back to our respective homes. I shall give you a quick run-down via some additional photos of our week's adventure (which, in some ways, is richer and more visceral than trying to explain it all through words). We drove up the PCH, stayed in a cottage in Cambria for a night, continued on to Oakland and stayed with our lovely Samarth Vader (aka, BAMF) for two nights near Berkeley, then came back to Los Angeles, where we made a homemade pizza - complete with wine and accompanying flour fight - and where I was presented with Eliza Doolittle, the Build-a-Bear lovechild of our epic friendcation. It was a week of laughing so hard your belly hurts, and of wanting to stay twenty-three for a lifetime, surrounded by people who so lovingly illuminate the absurd and the hysterical on an hourly basis.