Friday, December 4, 2009
1. Yes, the craigslist link is an actual ad that I, the blogger formerly known as Trex, posted to the missed connections section
2. The women in question (the 'hot girl on bike' if you will) was a Megan Compton look alike (could have been a body double...not sure if there have been any recent assassination attempts on Megan) that I accidentally hit on from across state street while I was walking a stray dog named Stella
3. No, I do not yet have a green feather but will be sure to pick one up
4. No, I am not gay (although, statistically and genetically speaking, it would make sense)
5. No, I do not really like the band Staind
6. Yes, if you demand that I retire from blogging, I really have no argument
And so, after a long and tumultuous run, I hear by step down from my post as 'Best Blogger within a 25 foot radius of the 1800 block of Chapala st.'
I'm sorry for any pain, frustration, or confusion I may have caused.
I am officially shunning myself.
Distraught and Concerned in Santa Barbara
Do you ever get embarassed when you yell at someone that you think is your friend but turns out to be a total random
Monday, October 19, 2009
This extremely disruptive disorder, which I have so aptly named 'Insanely Adorable Baby Picture Distraction Disorder' has been found to only respond to the following treatments:
- high doses of intravenous interferon gamma
- blocking your sisters' email address and phone number
- cloning yourself so that you can move home and see said baby everyday but still "graduate" from school
This last option, however, is a very high risk procedure; what happens if your clone back in Berkeley gets a boyfriend and you stay single back at home…what does this say about the real you? (more on this in next weeks blog: “The Pros and Cons of Cloning Yourself”)
Please refer to the picture below to see if you too are a sufferer of this terrible affliction. (More info on support groups will be posted tomorrow).
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Oh Berkeley, How I've Missed You/I'll Wait a Few More Days Before Driving My Car into that Bridge Embankment/The Slide that Saved the Day
The other day, I was hopping on my bike to leave campus when an older gentleman approached me, paused, gave me a funny look, and then said; "Ummm....sexual intercourse??"
I pondered his proposition for a moment and then replied in a similar fashion; "Ummm....that's extremely rude of you, sir."
In response to my somewhat justified answer to his question he said, and I quote; "I KNEW that you would say something like that, you fucking slut, whore." And then, before I could even apologize for being so painfully predictable, he walked away...
The following day, I was on campus again, returning to my car after sitting in a oven-like computer lab printing stuff for class. As I walked back to my car...hot, sweaty, hungry, and cranky...I was thinking about how nice it was going to be to sit in my car, blast the AC and listen to some sweet tunes. Alas, as soon as I opened the door to my vehicle, I had a painful flashback of this past Christmas when my car window was smashed in Santa Barbara and a multitude of my things were stolen. The only difference being the fact that, this time, I was parked on a busy street, in the middle of the day, and there was nothing in my car (except the iPod that was tucked away in the center console, which was, naturally, stolen). BASTARDS!And as if Berkeley had not yet made me feel welcome enough, two nights ago I got a triple wammy (strangely, all three via email...talk about the stars aligning).
As it were, this Monday night I got the following 3 emails:
1. Email from my current landlord/vacation rental proprietor saying she wanted to rent out a larger portion of her house and that I was welcome to stay as long as I was okay with paying an extra $700 a month...in other words, I have to move out October 1st
2. Email from my ex-landlord (by whom I was renting out a "furnished" house while he and his family were out of the country for a year)...attached was a THREE PAGE, single-spaced, Word document explicitly detailing how disrespectful and impolite it was of me to move around all the furniture in their house and put their crap down in the garage and, as a result, they would not be returning the remainder of my security deposit (please see photo below to get a sense of the condition they left their house in for me to move in last year)...in other words, see you on Judge Judy a-holes (actually, Uncle Geoff, we could have a mock Judge Judy trial for practice, you are, after all, a lawyer...Megan, you should be there too).
(not-so-empty kitchen drawer)
3. Email from my mom saying she accidentally opened a piece of mail from Geico for me which said they were canceling my policy as of October 5th as a result of a 2007 accident and 2 tickets. I must say though, this one did sort of make me smile as I remembered one of those tickets which I received on my way to Tahoe this past winter...after getting lost and then finding one of the highways closed, I ended up having to drive all the way around the lake to get Tahoe City...by 2AM, after driving for 6 hours, I was a bit delirious and had my music up as loud as possible in an effort to stay awake. Apparently, I was going a bit over the speed limit and I drove for over a mile with a cop behind me, sirens on, before I realized I was being pulled over. He had to call for backup and by the time he came to my car window, there were 4 cop cars behind me and about 8 or so cops. He asked me about six times, "how much have you been drinking, how much pot have you smoked, what prescription drugs are you on??" Sadly, I wasn't on any of the above...if I had been, at least then I would have had a better excuse then just being a total idiot (well, I guess either scenario is pretty idiotic). As the saying goes, friends don't let friends drive blond.
I felt prepared to write this blog today because I knew that my story could end on a happy note. For me, salvation came, as it so often does, in the form of a playground meant for children ages 2-5. Regardless of what my birth certificate says, I've always thought of myself as a child aged 2-5 (incidentally, the playground in question has a sign that reads "For Children Ages 2-5; Parent supervision recommended"...hmm, really, just recommended? That make sense, it sounds totally safe for a 2 year old to walk to a park alone and swing on the monkey bars).
I will not go into too much detail here...this is one of those cases where videos speak louder than words. And so I leave you with the following...
And I bid you goodnight...
Friday, July 24, 2009
Friend Requested by Stella
Today at 2:01pm
I am not sure I know who you are, but interestingly, we are starting a Chase family reunion in the Black Hills as I speak. What family of Chase's are you related to?
Today at 3:23pm
Hmm, Jeanne eh? That name sort of sounds familiar...if you posted a PICTURE maybe I would have a better idea of who the hell you are. Actually, now that I think of it, perhaps you are somehow related to a dog I used to mutilate...I think his last name was Chase but I'll have to refer back to my records. If it turns out we are somehow connected...I would LOVE to attend the Black Hills Reunion. In terms of my lineage, my great great grandfather was John Arbuckle Chase III and his wife was named Susan B. Anthony. My parents are Trex Margaret Chase and Gepetto Rocko Anderson (they aren't married and my mother decided to give me her last name instead of my father's for tax purposes.)
Hope this clears some things up for you,
Thursday, July 16, 2009
(Not to be confused with Winter Speed Skating…totally different thing).
Oh my god oh my god oh my god. Sorry Blog, it’s been so long since we’ve last spoken!
Well, a lot has happened since my last dead baby possum update…in fact, I’m going to have to revert to the days when we did things in outline format (just like when I wrote my hard-hitting report on Hernando De Soto (famed Italian explorer) in the fifth grade). I actually have a lot of really interesting stories about my childhood (especially from when I lived in Summerland but nobody ever seems to let me finish that one).
(IMPORTANT NOTE: I have tried very hard to format this blog so that proper indents were displayed...alas, blogger.com is sort of flukey. Thus, my outline may seem convoluted at best. I'm sincerley sorry. I can send you a more formal word document in case you wanted to print this out).
a.Wait no, that’s my sister
i.Yes, she’s doing great - thanks for asking
ii. No, I have not yet learned how to get around the baby-proofed cabinet
drawers in the kitchen
B. I’ve mastered the art of acting like I’m doing work at work when I’m actually doing nothing
a. This blog is case in point
b. Work is really fun at the public health lab…ESPECIALLY if you like POOP
i. Everybody knows I like poop
1. I just realized that I’m a sucky outline writer (you probably figured that out at A.a)
C. One of the best parts of my job is receiving emails from our office
assistant like the following:
a. “Hey Cyndy, I’ll work on the bleachy thingy tomorrow, but I did you a
favor and got you 10,000 new lab requests (2000 for scratch paper, and
8000 for toilet paper)….Let me know if you need anything else.! -Jin Nim
b. explanation: I’m putting in an order thru my lab for 80 gallons
of bleach…it should arrive just before my time is up here so I’m
going to take it with me and sell it on the black market (bad joke
interlude: all that bleach is really gonna turn it into a white
D. I’ve gotten obsessed with the idea that I can actually do a triathlon
a. This idea is in no way based in reality
b. 7AM pilates is my worst nightmare
c. I took my first fall on my bike last night while clipped in
i. Megan was there…she saw it
ii. Luckily I landed on some soft grass
iii. This occurred right on Cabrillo Blvd.
1. there were myriad cars driving by…a lot of which were probably
operated by legitimate athletes because we were just on our way
home from Night Moves
2. I got stuck with my bike on top of me and couldn’t get my foot
3. this was one of those top 10 embarrassing moments for me
a. can’t really put it in my top 5…if you knew me you’d know
i. you probably actually do know me if you’re reading
E. Stella is thriving at Astrocamp
a. I’m able to send her emails but she can’t write back
b. I’m pretty sure she’s learning a lot about space
c. I just hope that when she returns she will not want to become an astronaut
i. Actually, then she would FINALLY HAVE A JOB
F. Sailing class starts this Saturday
a. I’m sure there will be more on this in a future blog titled, “How I crashed
a 42 foot sailboat and almost drowned in the Santa Barbara Harbor”
F. Drinks of choice this summer
a. Old fashioned’s
b. John Daly’s
c. Whiskey, water, and wine (in one glass)
G. A picture is worth a thousand words
a. Please see attached (obviously)
Monday, May 11, 2009
This morning, in my backyard, I happened upon the grisly and yet increasingly common scene that is pictured below.
Another possum dead.
Another life taken before it really even started.
A perpetrator still on the loose.
The frequent appearances of dead baby possums in my backyard is becoming, in my own brilliant mind, one of the great unsolved mysteries of the 21st century.
Here are the facts...they are indisputable:
1. There have been 4 murders that have occurred in my back yard to date.
2. All of the victims have been less than 1 year of age.
3. All of the victims have been either female or male.
4. The night that each murder occurs, Stella is usually heard (by my own person) to be awkwardly barking at something or someone; I say awkward because it is not a bark of joy, fear, or anger, but rather one of innocent curiosity.
From the above facts I have deduced the following:
A small mythical creature called a leprechaun has been sneaking into my yard and battling against its greatest known enemy, the baby possum.
Clearly, Stella’s curious bark is but a reaction to the strange scene she witnesses on some nights when I let her out to go to the bathroom. I am more than certain that Stella is not the perpetrator herself; we all know that she has long been a friend to the possum's (just as Gandalf is a friend to the hobbits!)
I will be sure to parlay the evidence that I have so painstakingly collected to the proper authority.
If you have any other information, I have set up an emergency hotline where anonymous information can be left: 1-800-DEADMARSUPIAL
Thank you for your time.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Since I moved to Berkeley, I have had both my camper shell (see an earlier blog) and, more recently, my bike seat stolen (I tried to ride my bike the other night sans seat...it only took me a (painful) moment to realize that a crime had been perpetrated).
Either someone out there hates me and is enjoying it every time I have to spend money that I don't have on Replacement Vehicular Accessories (RVAs).
OR (the more likely scenario): I have a secret admirer that is assembling all of the necessary parts to create a one-of-a-kind T-REX Mobile. They will most likely be presenting me with said car sometime in the next 2 weeks. At this time, they will also reveal their true identity.
I will keep you posted.
Monday, April 6, 2009
(Warning: this blog is rife with introspectively used vocabulary words (see: this sentence))
Before specifically addressing the topic at hand, I would like to, for the moment, delve into the notion that I have a bit of a history of purporting to be something that I'm not (e.g. dinosaur, IRA member/potato-famine survivor, frat boy, Bret from flight of the conchords, etc.).
Sadly, today things progressed to the point of: "if [insert exciting event here] happened to me, I would write a blog like this [see below]:
"Staying Strong in the Face of Adversity: How to Cope with a Severed Middle Toe"
I was riding my bike today (with Stella in tow), calmly enjoying a sunny afternoon and trying not to pereseverate on my pending infectious disease exam. All of the sudden, I was distracted by a semi-cute guy driving a purple Isuzu SUV. In the midst of debating with myself over whether or not a guy can still be considered cute if he drives a purple Isuzu SUV, I ran into a nearby curb, foot first, trapping my left middle toe between said curb and previously unmentioned bike pedal. This effectively sheared my toe clean off.
Luckily, there was a gentleman nearby in his front yard doing some gardening. I approached the man, toe in hand, and calmly asked him for a bowl of ice..."Whatever for?" he asked. And I responded; "It's just that, I've severed my toe off and, as they say, 'get in ice as fast as you can.'" (For those of you that don't know me well, I'm an expired EMT so I know things like this. Also, I'm an expired notary if you need my [clandestine] services).
THE END (Sorry to cut it short, this was as far as things got in my head. I'm hoping that the toe was re-attached and I was still able to live a normal, albeit boring life with no change in my gait or disposition.)
And now, in an effort to succinctly address the topic by which I am being "paid" to discuss:
1. Had I been a Dyf painting I would have likely been privy to some of those "family secrets" that we've all been dying to discover (you'll know what that means...actually, probably better than me).
2. It's possible that I am still a werewolf now. As with borderline leprosy (and CA-MRSA/HA-MRSA for that matter), the distinction is always blurring. We all know how much common mysticism and folklore tradition tends to confuse the mythological dinosaur/werewolf creature (yeah, I don't know what the hell this last sentence means either).
The were-rex (or T-wolf) formally known as Dyf.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
I discovered this fact on my drive home from Starbucks tonight after a few extremely focused hours of studying...I did not stop talking to myself for a second throughout the duration of my 12 minute drive.
Topics that I discussed...
- what the ticket dispenser at the parking lot would say to its girlfriend if it wanted to break up with her
- how long the CIA has been accessing my computer
- if it would be better to be hit by a train or shot by a sniper rifle
- when I open my own bar, I'll name it Kitty's (and we will have Lazer-tag there)
- whether or not people think I'm crazy when they see me talking and laughing hysterically and they realize I'm not talking to another person on the phone (the conclusion I came to: even I think I'm crazy while this is actually going on, so those other people (and those of you reading this) must think I'm crazy too)
- if I should be worried about the emerging pattern in my life of people mistakenly assuming that I'm either drunk or high (more on that in a future blog...tentatively titled; "When 10 years of controlled substance abuse starts to catch up with you...")
- if I should I wait until my heart rate is above 100 to call for an ambulance or just give em a shout now (preemptively)
I would say goodnight, but I'm pretty sure I'll be up for the next 72 hours. Unlike my friend, Samuel*, pictured below
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Monday, February 23, 2009
Wait, actually that might be the worst idea ever (even more so than that one time my mom let me canoe around fallen leaf lake without a lifejacket OR a helmet).
I would only be okay with being a churro if carnivorism is acceptable in the churro-community.
If anyone knows someone in the churro community please give them my contact info (don't forget to let them know I'm an MPH-C...it gives me more clout).
I know I said that I wasn't going to blog tonight because of unforseen circumstances but it turns out to be a foregone conclusion.
P.S. the above photograph takes that's what she said into a whole new level...as in, that's what she saw.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
"Back on top of the world: the story of how a little dinosaur transcends all of her self-proclaimed 'new lows'"
"My tongue is orange because of all the cheetoes (that's what she said)"
"If I'm unable to find a real human/dinosaur boyfriend I will consider looking into common household appliances"
P.S. Sean Penn gets a shout-out for his Oscar acceptance speech (even though I still can't fully accept the gays)
Thursday, February 12, 2009
It's sad when you get to the point of needing a step-stool just to get dressed. But not as sad as Nic Cage's hair...
Go ahead and start shortening my name to Tra when referring to me in an informal situation.
Tracy is just too long. (I think what I would normally say next goes without saying).
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Some quick updates before we get into the real meat (that's what she said) of today's topic.
1. I've recently discovered that I'm a sleep-typer (I'm completely passed out writing this right now)...if you try to wake me up, there will likely be a struggle.
2. I just saw the movie "Taken" starring Liam Neeson. It's about as believable as Die Hard (with a Vengeance). Fucking Pete and Grace, I wish you guys would just let me and Annie enjoy movies without making fun of us. We're just imaginative people, that's all.
3. I just joined the Cal Triathlon club...I'll send you a sticker. And a green hat.
4. I'm learning how to ride the bus to school.
5. Stella has yet to find a job.
Now back to the topic of the hour...
You know you've hit a new low when you realize that you are 24 years old, hanging out at a FRAT HOUSE, and taking turns with your friend on the ab cruncher machine thing to see who can do more leg lifts.
Furthermore and unfortunately, I'm lacking any photo documentation of what I decided to eat this night. Let me put it this way, I haven't eaten meat or cheese** for the past 3 weeks EXCEPT for last friday night...1 BLT, 1 butter lemon and sugar crepe, 1 cheeseburger, 4 chicken mcnuggets, and an apple pie.
I'd like to nominate myself for the prestigious D-Bag of the week award.
**Please don't ask me why...it's not because I like animals. I f-ing hate animals actually. Especially yaks and the common household pet rat. And let's not forget that certain un-employed dog of mine. The only animal worth my time is a special peacock friend of mine named Roepert. Is a bird even an animal though?
Well, I would say "I should probably go to bed" but I'm already asleep (perhaps sleep-typing is one of the side effects of ny-quil?). P.S. I take ny-quil recreationaly now.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
BEGIN TRANSCRIPTION (fortunately, I'm a scribe, so I just did this transcription on my own):
Sixteen years ago a bridge collapsed and fifteen-hundred people went with it. Two hundred people survived...
Thirteen hundred people were found dead! They found all of the bodies except one. She was a 25 year old girl. Her name was Grace Stearns. One day a young lady named Tracy was rowing on the very same lake that Grace was in, Tracy fell in!
Tracy saw the body of Grace and tried to scream. Then Grace's body started glowing and pulled Tracy towards her. Tracy could not stand the force...she tried to swim out of the water but her insides came out. Then Grace ate Tracy. Then Grace swam to the surface and for the rest of Grace's life, Tracy would haunt her dreams. One night Tracy made the dream come true and killed Grace. The end.
Wow! What I great story! I'm not really sure if this was reflective with my relationship with Grace at the time. Grace, if it's any consolation I no longer want you dead.
I found another journal from later in the same year in which my teacher wrote me a note saying that my next story was not allowed to be so violent or graphic. Apparently it was becoming somewhat of a trend for me.
Well, I'll leave you with the following maxim: "A child that is violent in their youth can often grow into a god-fearing woman, just like Tracy Chase."