Monthly Archives: February 2011

Dear World at Large

Dear World at Large,

I understand that there has been some question as to how I pronounce my name. The spelling seems to throw people off, and in a world full of children who are presumably named according to whatever syllables their mother uttered during their birth, it seems a valid concern. What I don’t understand is the complete disregard for common human logic when it comes to this issue.

My name is Chelsea. It is pronounced “CHEL-see.” It is not an uncommon word as there are towns named Chelsea in many seaside cities. I do not pronounce is in a strange way; it is phonetic. The word “seaside”, which I wrote one sentence ago is pronounced “see-side”; no one would argue with that.

In addition to this word being found in many a seaside town both in America and abroad, it is also a name that has been around for years. I know many girls spell their names “Chelsee” or “Chelsie” or “Chelsey”, but those are all derivatives. My spelling is the original. It’s not weird. Chelsea Thayer Wayne, Chelsea Noble, Chelsea Clinton and (though I hate to be associated with her) Chelsea Handler all spell their names this way. Oh, and a little organization called the Chelsea Football Club does as well.

I say all of this to say: the name Chelsea is pronounced “CHEL-see”. It is not pronounced “CHEL-see-AH”. If someone pronounces it that way, they are the anomaly, not me. My name is old; it has always been pronounced in this manner. If someone chooses to deviate from this standard, that is fine, but I should not have to constantly explain my name as a result of the naming shenanigans that go on in this country.

So, please, when trying to pronounce someone’s name, think about where you’ve seen it before, consider the phonetics of the spelling and go with what is logical. “CHEL-see-AH” is never a logical guess. Really.

My brain thanks you for making an attempt to actually use logic in this.

Sincerely,
Chelsea

P. S. To the supervisor who calls me “Chels-a”: I only let you do this because you called me by my actual name for an entire year before switching to that derivative.


Dear Blankets

Dear Blankets and Other Assorted Bedding,

The ways in which you came into the possession of my roommates and myself vary greatly. Some of you were given to us, some were made for us, some were purchased at Ross: Dress for Less, some are so old I honestly have no idea where you came from and are currently being held together with safety pins, and some magically appeared in our house, your origins being a mystery to us.

However you came to us, I am entirely grateful for you all. Right now, since our heat is out in a drafty, old house and Dallas is experiencing the third day of a blasted ice storm, you have come in handy in more ways than we could have thought.

To those silk sheets that were given to M.: thank you for covering our kitchen and living room windows to keep the drafts out. This nearly makes up for the fact that you are too slippery to actually be used as sheets.

To the mystery sheet: you appeared out of nowhere, matching absolutely nothing. No one claimed you and no one loved you. But, now, as you block the drafts that come into the living room via the front door and the rest of the house, we appreciate you greatly.

To the afghan that T. dislikes severely: you are no less appreciated than the mystery sheet, as you are blocking out the cold air from the hall.

To the pillows under the afghan that T. dislikes severely: you materialized when M. and I shared a room. We looked in the corner of our room and there was a mysterious pile of pillows that belonged to both no one and everyone. After cleverly naming your group The Pillow Pile, we promptly forgot about you. Until last night. You are currently taking up the afghan’s slack, blocking the drafts in places where the afghan falls short.

To the foam bed toppers: you’re doing a great job insulating us from that sliding glass door. Keep on doing what you’re doing.

And, finally, to the millions of blankets that covered us last night as all five of us huddled in front of the fireplace attempting to not contract hypothermia and die: thank you, thank you, thank you.

On the behalf of the roommates, I say: we are entirely appreciative of all of you and wouldn’t have been able to insulate the living room and survive without you. I thank you profusely. Let’s hope this ice storm doesn’t last much longer so you can return to fulfilling your intended purposes.

Sincerely,
Chelsea


Dear Inhabitants of North Texas

Dear Inhabitants of North Texas,

I do understand that many of you are unaware of the joys of snow. If you were around for the freak snowstorm of February 11, 2010, you probably realize that snow is white, fluffy, soft and fun to play with. Personally, I spent about an hour last year flinging snowballs at my friends and enjoyed snow’s presence very much.

I do not, however, enjoy ice. Ice is slippery, hard and makes life entirely difficult. Though I probably could make balls of ice to throw at my friends, that joyful activity wouldn’t last long as my friends would either abandon me or be knocked unconscious. Ice makes just the task of walking not only frustrating but dangerous. It is a menace and should not be celebrated.

Now that this issue has been clarified, I hope you understand where I’m coming from when I say the following: Today is not a snow day; it is an ice storm. Though schools have been closed and all of my roommates have been able to skip work, the weather has not brought the fun activities that typically come along with a snow day. Though I’m sure this day will be relaxing for most, it cannot in good conscience be called a “snow day” when snow is nowhere to be found.

Fix your semantics. Thank you.

Sincerely,
Chelsea