Hooves.

Yesterday at work, this guy was telling me about his knowledge of hooves. He said that he read a book once and the protagonist was especially infatuated by goat hooves, so now he knows a lot about them. He said, I looked like I would appreciate some hoof knowledge. So he told me everything he knew. It took 14 minutes.

Chelsea Clinton Jokes Are Stupid.

The other night, I was working the register. And this guy comes up to me with a single can of beer, pays for it in dimes, sees my name, and says,
"Oh, Chelsea, I'm sorry to hear about your mother's death." And I said,
"Well thanks, but my mother didn't die." And then he said something, that was probably the punchline of the joke he was trying to tell, but I couldn't hear because it was drowned out by an infant screaming. And then he laughed a creepy Santa laugh and said,
"Ouch, that's a bad joke! But you look like her! You must be related!" Alas, I hadn't heard the joke in the first place so I said,
"Yowzers! Yeah...psh...what a terrible joke!" And tried to look convincingly disgusted, even though I was really, very confused. And then he said something about Hilary Clinton, opened his beer, and left, so I assume it was a derogatory Chelsea Clinton joke that I happened to be the butt of...

Also, on a side note: I feel like everyone needs to begin to realize that just because two people have the same first name, it does not make them related. In any way.

Also, on another, side-side note: I don't look like Chelsea Clinton.

Halloween Costume Fun.

In my attempts to find a Halloween costume (My friend and I are being Sherlock and Watson because we hellza classy) I stumbled upon a scary neighborhood. We started at Buffalo Exchange, and that was a fail, so we went across the street to the "Halloween Store". It wasn't a real Halloween store. It was a barber shop, and the barber decided to buy a shit ton of cheap costumes online, and then sell them illegally in his store for double the price. There were two sides to the store, and to get from one to the other, you had to go through this creepy back storage room with lots of paint and ladders and defective masks.

Also, the barber continued cutting hair the entire time we were there, made evident by the (didn't used to be) bald guy sitting in the chair, and the hair all over the floor.

Good thing I had my TJ's box cutter, and pepper spray. 

Chelsea, The Bartender.

In a nut shell...

Within the first week of my arrival in Boston, my mom met this really nice couple who offered their home for her to stay in while I was moving in. She ended up giving them my number in case they ever needed a house sitter or a dog walker, or something like that. So a week ago, the lady texted me and asked if I was interested in helping them out with her party in celebration of her graduation from Grad school. And I said yes, assuming it would be basic hosting, taking coats showing people where the bathroom was and crap like that.

So, when I got off the subway in their neighborhood, I find the part of Boston that they live in to be the Bostonian equivalent of Richmond, CA, only 923 times sketchier (There were legitimate cocaine deals going down right outside the T, and gang rivalries getting in each others faces next to the various liquor stores.) And when I called her to tell her I was at the station, she made it very clear for me to stay inside until her husband came to pick me up.

Then, I got to the party, and she informed me that I would actually be serving drinks to everyone instead, and so I spent the evening bartending. It was legit. I opened like, 5 bottles of wine all by myself. Made Napa Valley (and my wine industrial father) proud. Then after their 8th tequila shot and 5th glass of Merlot, everyone was more or less wasted. So they called a taxi for me back to the subway station because they were obviously incapable of driving, paid for my cab and gave me a hundred dollars for three hours of work. (That's wazzup!!)

I luckily got on the last train out of Sketchytown, and as I sat down, some guy in the corner, was like, "Ooh, I see thighs." (I was wearing a dress) "I won't be able to stop staring at your legs until you get off the train." So I glared at him for a solid ten seconds and looked away. And then he started talking about some other woman on the train who was filing her nails, and then asked if anyone would laugh if he started doing the running man.

Then I transferred onto the Green Line, that was headed in the direction of my dorm, and a guy with headphones sat down next to me. And these two really drunk girls walked on. And they were super loud and obnoxious and stupid, and about halfway through the ride, they're like, "Are weeeee on the right train???" And they asked some dude if it was the right train to Harvard Square, and he said no. So they started arguing and yelling, and then got off. And then the guy next to me, looks at me, and says, "No, they were on the right train, but this is gonna be a long night for them regardless of the train they're on..."

Then I start talking to the guy next to me, and he's telling me all about his life, living with his parents, going to community college, aspiring musician, Etc. (He's like, 25) and after he's finished his memoir, he abruptly and awkwardly asks me if I've heard any good music lately...Then he tells me he's on his way to meet his friend, Dave. But he doesn't know why, because they just hang out, and "he has other invites, but keeps going back to Dave for some reason, and doesn't know if Dave is expecting more". (This is when I questioned whether he was gay or not. And decided he was.). Then we talked more, and I was so caught up in the conversation, that I didn't hear the driver tell us the train was going express to Washington St. Which is 8 miles north of where I needed to be.

So I get off at Washington St. say goodbye to my new friend, and wait for the last train going back the way I came to campus. And after 20 minutes of standing in the rain, it finally comes, and I sit across from this girl who keeps taking pictures of herself with her flip phone. And after 15 minutes my stop comes up, and I have to beg the driver to let me out. (By this time, It's like 1am.) And since I'm charming and have charisma, he lets me out. And then some frat guys try to get me to come to their party. And I say no. And then I slept like a baby.

It was the sketchiest night I've had in Boston thus far.

The End.

When I Grow Up.

The first week has been overwhelming. In good way. Tons of kids whose names I can't remember, professors who give BU portal instructions I don't understand. Public transportation systems that slightly confuse me, and long walks to class in the rain. But amidst the awkward conversations about names and classes and majors, we are asked what we want to pursue as a career. "When we grow up." I'd like to think I'm already grown up. Hah. That's rich. But this thought intrigued me, so I put together this list of occupations I would like to have 5, 10, 15 years from now, to look back at, in case I find myself in a hiring jam, and need some back-up options. It's funny because several of them are found on the 2011 Worst jobs List... Awkward.

In no particular order:

1. Bridge toll collector. Come on! It's every little girls' dream to collect an obscene amount of money for the government for an obscene amount of time. Every. Single. Day!
2. A Welder. I like the welding masks. They remind me of robots. I would kill to be a legit robot. And talk like a robot. I. Am. ChelseaBot.
3. Taxi Driver. Your life is in my hands. Talk about a power trip opportunity.
4. Lumberjack. Carrie Nation status. Roaming the forests and chopping up wood. So all of my forest critter friends can stay warm during the winter months.
5. Pig Farmer. If nothing else, I'm sure I could acquire a damn good hog impersonation.
6. Garbage Collector. One man's trash is another man's treasure. I just happen to only find trash. And look at shiny bins at the trash center. And maybe even stumble upon Sheriff Woody and friends in the fiery furnace.
7. Roofer. I spend most of my time on roofs anyways. It would be so fun. And I'd get to yell "LOOK OUT BELOW" at least 20 times a day.
8. Construction Worker. If I can build it in Legos, I can build it in real people things.
9. Mail Carrier. I can make peoples' day by bringing them happy surprises, like Birthday cards, and Paychecks, and Inheritance Announcements!!!
10. Clown. This one doesn't need explanation. It's basically just the coolest job ever.

Feed The Birds, Tuppence a (BB-Gun).

Yesterday, I was at my best friends' house. Which isn't normally a surprise because I basically live there. And we were all in the kitchen trying to convince her younger brother to make us pancakes for dinner. He deftly responded, "No" and walked out of the room in his trendy striped cardigan, non-prescription lenses, and BB-gun. Ten minutes later, we hear sounds that resemble party poppers and some commotion from the Bible Study Group across the house. I look out the kitchen window to see Pickles, the family Pit Bull, with a slightly plump pigeon in his mouth, trotting around the yard. And Little Brother, chasing him, holding the BB-gun, and unsuccessfully trying to remove the fluttering pigeon from Pickles' mouth. But every time Pickles drops the pigeon, it tries to fly away with its broken wing, and Little Brother tries to shoot it again to kill it, but Pickles thinks it's a game and continues to retrieve the bird, and play keep away. This carries on until my shrieking best friend runs outside, scoops the dog up, runs inside and screams at me, "OPEN THE GARAGE", (orders which I completely obey), and we throw Pickles in, amongst broken bicycles and storage crates. Then, we arrive at the kitchen window again, just in time, to see Little Brother, shoot and kill the bird, stoically remove his striped cardigan, and then wipe down his BB-gun, and converse with a moistened paper towel. Then we made shrimp dumplings.

And later, I ran over a garden gnome.

Two Nights Ago.

1. Crashed a picnic birthday party in the park. (There wasn't a piñata so it wasn't legit.)
2. Played beautiful music from a park bench in the dark.
3. Attempted to paint The Dry Creek Moose, unfortunately, I had removed the spray paint I bought 7 months ago from my car. However, I did find a Día de los Muertos sticker book wrapped in Christmas wrapping paper. So we drove around town defacing street signs, and then eventually stickered the moose. Didn't really have the adhesive quality I'd hoped but, you know. You can't have everything.
3. Climbed onto a roof. Stared at stars until the wee hours. Then had to escape from people with flashlights (torches), by running through sprinklers. They were probably Napan Security Guards with nothing better to do.

It was great.

Why Airplanes Are Ridiculous.

Let me just start by explaining that Airplanes are very, very awkward for several reasons.
1. Overhead compartment discrepancy: Which side is mine? Why is there no space? Why did you try to stow 17 bizarre musical instruments?
2. Sleep: Drool. Neck aches. Turbulence. Strangers sleeping beside you.
3. Bathrooms: If you don't sit on the aisle seat, you'll never get to go. Unless you choose to submit your neighbors to the awkwardness of the "If I could just squeeze by you..." phrase. Also, the loos are the size of an American Girl Doll Bathroom.
4. The Beverage Cart: You're starving. And all you get are shitty snacks with artificial flavoring and high fructose corn syrup.

And now commences my most recent Airport experience.

A few weeks ago I had to travel to Boston for my orientation. Unfortunately Dear Ole' Ma decided to book the flights a week before departure and we ended up on a twelve hour flight, with three transfers, and a shot to the head. (Not really, although I would have preferred the bullet.) After waking up at three AM, for a six o'clock flight, racing to San Fran to make it in time, taxiing from the parking lot by the CRAZY African American shuttle woman who cut off about a dozen mini vans too many, (I didn't know shuttles were allowed to drive on the freeway, scariest realization of my life) and standing behind the stupid idiot who decided that pocket knives were acceptable to carry on through security *sigh*.
We FINALLY made it onto the plane.

 I sat, naturally, in the bitch seat (middle seat) between my mother, and a wiry, thirty year old man wearing a Star Trek t-shirt and sweats. Our first destination was beautiful Atlanta, Georgia. After take-off I look over to Mom to ask for the skittles, but she's sound asleep.  So I look to my right and ask Trekkie what brings him to Georgia. This is his exact response:
"Oh you know, a little bit of work, and a little bit of fun. I'm going to a puppet convention. Performing actually. I have them all with me now, if you'd be interested in seeing my guys!"
He then proceeds to open his carry-on and pulls out each individual puppet and explains it. I just kind of smile and nod and then start yawning excessively as he chatters on about his hobby. And then I pretend to fall asleep. And then I actually fell asleep.

The next stop is Virginia.
I often have issues on airplanes because my legs are long. Yes, I would like to recline my seat, and put my legs up on the seat in front of me, but I don't do either of these things, because I have decency for other peoples' personal space. There is nothing worse than sitting down for two seconds on a plane, and having the dumbass in front of you recline their seat completely so they are basically in your lap. Of course, in this unfortunate instance, this indecency and rudeness was the case. And, naturally, I had no where to put my legs. So I crossed them, accidentally nudging the chair in front of me, but then an hour later my leg fell asleep, and I had to switch legs, accidentally nudging the chair again. This continued for the rest of the flight but I didn't feel bad because she was the one being annoying and inconsiderate. After the flight was over, the entire plane was silent as we taxied into the terminal, and everyone unbuckled and started looking around to see who they could fight to get their bags first. The Lady in front of me (who consequently has red hair) turns around to peek (glare) at the source of the nudging. But I was looking at her too, and I stared into the aged eyes of a Ginger and my soul turned black. Not really. About the soul part.

But really?? You were the space hoarder, and you're glaring at me? That's just straight up obnoxious.

But then I ate a muffin and wasn't as annoyed.

The End.

My Awkward Encounter With a Closeted, 80-year old, Lesbian.

I was working today. I know. Famous sketchy words right. I should change the name of the blog to: "My Work Place Is Sketchy (And So Is Yours)". Except not really.

Anyways. I was standing at the entrance podium being gracious and hostly, when an old woman walks past me to use the restroom. She's classically elderly, white, permed hair, yellow grandma shirt, grandma shoes, grandma voice. (I apologize for my lack of adjectives but there isn't really any other way to describe her). So she goes in, five minutes later she comes out, and I'm standing with my back to her facing the door. And I hear her say "Tight squeeze". A statement I assume is referring to the lack of space outside of the bathroom. (You know what the say about assuming...). I am a little bit confused for approximately two milliseconds, because she is the only person back there. There should be plenty of room, she shouldn't be "tight squeezing" anything! But my confusion is put to rest and everything makes sense when.... She squeezes my left butt cheek.

What. What just happened. At first I thought it was an accident. Like an accidental boob graze or something. Nope. That was a three-finger minimum butt squeeze there. My suspicions were confirmed after I turned to look at her and she's cackling. Like a witch or something. Proud of her achievement.

No worries Grandma, it's real.

Oh my goodness.

Don't worry, bee happy. (Or attacked by a swarm of killer bees).

I was driving to work Thursday on the highway, blasting Adele, and making a fool of myself per usual. When I noticed a sharp pain on my left arm, so I swiped it with my other hand, and the pain just transferred to my hand. It was like a magical Satanic joke. By the time I looked at my hand and saw the stingers, I came to the accurate conclusion, that once again I had been attacked by the stupid, crazy, kamikaze, bee. So naturally, I worked with a numb arm, and a useless right hand. At one point I tried to pick things up with my elbows. Not advisable.

That night, my face swelled up, so I took a couple Benedryl and passed out. And I was out man. Like a baby... after it takes benedryl (great babysitting trick though, when you want the kids to sleep. Just stick a Big B in their spaghetti). In my slumber I didn't realize the itchiness on my face the allergic reaction was causing. Nor did I realize that I was subconsciously scratching my face. So, I wake up, stumble into the bathroom, wash my face, look up into the mirror and scream bloody murder at the gashes I've caused on my jaw. My mom comes in, not to see what the screaming was about, but to dump all of my laundry on my bed.

I look like Scarface.

Babysketchin' (Play on words. I wasn't really sketching a baby)

It started out as a normal Babysitting job...

Actually no. It didn't. I was recruited to sit two kids I'd never  met before from San Francisco, at the Westin Hotel Resort. (In a hotel room). I should have seen a couple red flags there. Random people, random hotel, going to a 40th birthday party... But I decided that I should be grateful I wasn't babysitting in some back room of a motel, and helped a sistah out.

When I arrived at the door the mom answered it in her party dress and heels. She seemed nice enough: blonde, around 38, normal, introduced me to the kids, all that jazz. Then the dad pokes his head through the bedroom door and says, "Hun....will you pass me my pants...". Awkward.

Then they left, not easily though, with the sobbing of the six year old. But I cheered her up as soon as they left with my charisma and dance moves. The night went on, I killed them at Bocce Ball, we ordered room service, had a dance party, watched Everybody Hates Chris, and then they passed out after the sugar high. A pretty standard night.

It wasn't until about 12:30 when the parents came home, that things got weird.

I get a call on my cell phone, and it's the dad asking if I'll open the door for them, because "uh, the key has been misplaced..." So I go over to the door, and I open it to see the two of them standing, her completely soaking wet, with no shoes, and her dress pretty much completely unzipped. She RUNS past me to the bathroom. And he, smelling strongly of alcohol, looks super pissed off. I go into the other room to get my shoes and purse, and the mom hasn't closed the door and is hunched over peeing on the toilet. Classy. He explains to me, that after a few drinks too many, she ripped off her dress and jumped into the pool in her bra and thong. Classy. The dad only has 23 dollars in his wallet, so we venture to the lobby to find a cash machine.

We get into the elevator, and apologizes to me for seeing his wife in such a state. He says, that is one of the disadvantages of their marriage, her being a partier...and 12 years younger than him. Awkward. Then we get to the lobby. It's almost one in the morning. I'm with an old man, trying to find a cash machine. In a hotel. The whole staff thought I was a prostitute. We are sent to this awkwardly placed cash machine at the back of the hotel. It doesn't work. We go to a super sketch back room ATM and it's out of order too. So we walk across the street to the Umpqua ATM and he falls down some stairs. And finally we get the money. And he pays me twice as much as he should have. Probably because I saw his wife shitfaced and peeing. Or because he was completely wasted himself.

As I walk out to my car, now past one in the morning, the doorman says to me, "Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?" Probably because he thought I was a hooker. Jesus Christ.

Hello Summer.

Well hey there.

It's been a while. Not because of lack of sketch, simply because I've had no time. But here we go, in order of happenstance:

1. Accidentally ingested nail polish remover, had to call Poison Control, Poison Control yelled at me.
2. Got lost in Costco, was led out of the creepy back room by a very nice employee, by the name of Stanley.
2.5. Sprayed myself in the eye with Lysol. Had to call Poison Control again....
3. Dropped off my car in Concord to have my brakes fixed, they told me that my rotors were shot and I was lucky my brakes haven't failed in the last three weeks. Good thing I avoid using my brakes ever.
4. Went to Target, asked the British, tech guy, Sylvan what the cheapest thing in Target was. Bananas. We bought bananas with coins we found on the ground/in seat cushions/from random people in the store.
5. Went night hiking in a cemetery. Named every single Horny Toad we came across. Wore a spelunking headlamp.
6. Drove home from said adventure and squirrel ran into my tires and spun up into the air. It's alive.
7. Woke up this morning to some window guys punching out my windows. It's seven in the morning. Go back to bed window man. I want. Sleep.
8. Pink Monkey Suit is still in my trunk.

Monkey Business.

Last night, during my school's last choir concert, I wore a pink gorilla suit with a giant choir dress over it.

My life is sketchy and so is yours.

Socal.

Let's just say the sketchy followed my to Disneyland. Beneath the giant lollys, awkward clothing decisions, and frustratingly long lines, lay the Happiest (sketchiest) place on earth.

The following is just a sampler:

1. Mullets. God Awful.
2. Little boys roughly the age of 12 apparently unsure as to whether or not they are supposed to follow their mothers into the Ladies' restroom.
3. Nasty things goin' down in front of us on Pirates of the Caribbean.
4. Leashes. For babies.
5. Elevators with at least three separate Asian families inside. Plus me. Ehh.
6. Awkward encounters with Captain Hook.
7. Awkward encounters with costumed Disney characters in general.
8. Giant turkey legs. Are they supposed to be that big??
9. Getting locked out of the hotel room with only an ice bucket.
10. Friendly conversations with strangers concerning incest.
11. Tinted vans full of people at bus rest stops.

Well that was my four-day weekend, in a nutshell. Happy Memorial day Friends.

Birthday Sketch.

Today started off like any other day.

I did not go to heaven nor hell. And I have yet to be destroyed by the fiery inferno big-ole-bag-o'-awful that God is supposed to attack us with. So that was good.

I woke up, made myself some Gluten Free toast. (It's made of rice. Really dense. I could probably knock out intruders with it). Then went to work. After work, I participated in a party celebrating my birth. Whipped some cream, Amish-Status by hand. And ate some Key Lime Pie. However, the strangest event of the evening, was a phone call that interrupted "It Takes Two" (Pretty much the Mary-Kate and Ashley version of 'The Parent Trap', except in this movie they aren't twins, which makes ZERO sense, because they're twins in real life. Anyways.) The call was from a man by the name of "Pastor Peacock". A minister of a Baptist church in Oakland. He called at 10 o'clock at night to inform me that he has found my stolen cell phone. The phone that was taken from me at the beach months ago. The one that caused me to lose faith in humanity. The one that helped me decide to live without unnecessary technology for weeks. Anyways. He found the kid who took it. And has my phone. No sign of a left flip flop yet but the jury's still out on that one. I couldn't believe it. So strange he would call on my birthday.

Then, I drove home to the Creepy Mansion which I am house-sitting. And encountered two abandoned vehicles on the side of the cliff. This observation wouldn't be such a big deal if they:
1) Weren't within 200 feet of Creepy Mansion. Which they were.
And, 2) Weren't within the confines of a locked gate with a passcode....
As I walked in the front door, I realized it was unlocked.Which was concerning. I would search the house, but I'm tired. And I don't particularly want to find rapists hidden in wardrobes right now.

So. It was a beautifully concerning Birthday. Here's to another year of Sketchiness. If I'm attacked in the night by the creepy people parked in the driveway, thanks for being such dedicated readers.

My Sketchtastic Weekend.

Most kids my age bring standard weekend stories to school Monday morning. Filled with hilarious anecdotes of drunken brick wall car crashings and late night relationship mistakes. But no one really wants to hear them. No one cares about your crazy nights out on the town, or your intoxicated foolishness. No one at all. Which is why I am going to share the tales of my alcohol-free-yet-terribly-sketchy weekend by offering you the following list:

FRIDAY (If you're singing the song right now, I just punched you in my head.):
1. Walked into Peet's coffee barefoot.
2. Accidentally broke the wing off of a small angel statuette and glued it together with melted marshmallow.
3. Almost fell into a bonfire.
4. Walked to Alston Park at 2 in the morning, unknowingly approached a midway completed parking lot drug deal and was screamed at be three creepy guys to get out of their park.

SATURDAY:
1. At the Farmer's Market a fully grown man threw cherries at me like he was a little kid.
2. Jose found out I've been blogging about him. It was awkward.
3. Ran into my Aunt and Uncle in Peet's. They live about 4 hours away...
4. Crazy man spilled water all over me.
5. Ran around Walmart at midnight with the ukulele.
6. Had to climb in a window at 1:00AM to get back in the house.

SUNDAY:
1. Man walked into the restaurant with a full sized garden gnome in his backpack.
2. Had an interesting conversation about which is worse: Rape v. Burned alive. I chose life.
3. Was proposed to by the same acquaintance who kissed me Saturday.

Ehhhh....

I mean, I can only take so much of this nonsense.

Hat Topic. (Yes, that was a tasteful pun.)

So, today I was walking down the street and I happened to notice, quite a cleverly crafted hat on an elderly lady passing by. Since I have constructed hats out of various objects previously, (cardboard, newspaper, pasta, paper plates, sliced bread etc.) I recognized her lid as a homemade creation! It looked just like my paper plate hat I designed for Oklahoma! So I yelled out to her, a little bit to loudly, "Ma'am! I like your hat! Did you make it? Is it a paper plate? Did you use hot glue? When I made mine I glued my fingers together! Hahahaha (Awkwardly loud laugh)" She kind of darted her beady eyes over to me, judged my outfit, and briskly walked around me without saying anything.

I was just trying to be nice. It was an ugly hat anyways.

Poodles. Sigh.

Poodles are very strange animals for multiple reasons:
1. Their name. Poodle? What the hell is that? Who came up with that?
2. Their size. They're like awkward giants! Just kind of teetering around and being awkward. And the mini ones are just mutated freaks.
3. Their poof. Poodles should be called Poofles. They're so POOFY. I saw a poodle today that almost couldn't fit through the door because of the poof.
4. Their bedazzled accessories. Poodle owners think that just because they are the divine masters of a poodle, they're allowed to buy collars with rhinestones all over them, and personalized food bowls for every meal they eat. No. Unacceptable. Put that bedazzler away lady. Put it away.

Although my encounter with poodles today wasn't exactly sketchy, it was definitely interesting.

Three poodles my friends. THREE. Three enormous poofy poodles. Three. Not one, not two. Three poodles people. Why would you need that many poodles in your home? Also they were all different colors. And I am 94% sure one had its nails painted for Easter. And they took up so much space. Like, isn't that some sort of DANGER! What if there's a fire! And I can't get out of the burning restaurant because your bigass poodle's in the way!? Sheesh.

Also confused by Labradoodles....Not even going to get into that one.

Baby Bird. I hate my cat. I hate cats.

There was this bizarre scratching from outside on the wall against my bed.

Naturally I went out to explore, with the expectations of finding a midget or a puppy. And I'm walking around in my gnome pajama pants trying to find the source of the mysterious scratching, and I see my wierdo cat-dog rolling around on it's back and then glance over to see a bird lying on the ground. So, I get a towel, am VERY careful not to touch it after the bat episode last year (rabies scare), and bring it inside. It was still alive, so I put it in a giant Tupperware container with a blanket and tried to eyedropper it some water. But it wasn't thirsty. I named it Nick Cage. Just kidding. So I left to go Google, "What to do with a sick bird that you've found outside your home after you've heard some scratching creature outside your bedroom window" and when I came back, it was dead.

It was the saddest thing ever.

Nick Cage. Where you be? Why you dead? Just want make proud.

This all took place at 11:30 at night.

Sufficiently Creepy Good Samaritan.

There was a bit of a dry spell for a while there, but have no fear. Sketchy come back!

Driving home this evening, my car started having difficultly getting up the mountain which  live on.
(Probably because there was no gas in it). So, I started having to ration the amount of gas left, since I didn't have enough to get to the gas station. And I was slowly crawling up the hill, and my window was down, and a strange voice fills my car from the open window,
"Wow, I'm walking faster than you are driving", it was some punk kid who is trespassing. (Sounds like someone had a death wish.)
I continued and a rabbit jogged casually next to my car.
I drove still, and spotted a small child dying from starvation passing my car. (Now that's a stretch, but as you can imagine, I was really slow).
Finally, I crawled into the driveway, and about 100 yards from my house and my car shudders to a stop and dies. What excellent timing, one might think.
Not for this girl. In my life, good timing does not exist.
So I begin to walk toward my house and look in the shed for a gas can, and I hear someone behind me, and my neighbor is holding a gas can and says,
"Looking for this."
"Yes..."
"I thought you had run out of gas"
"Oh.."
"Here, I'll help"
He then proceeds to fill up my car as I stand by awkwardly. Then I awkwardly thank him, and drive the rest of the way home.

Thanks, relatively creepy good Samaritan.

Not a Fan of Cats.

So...not really a cat person. When I was 8 years old, my little sister tricked me into holding a crazy cat. It attacked me, and scarred my left hand. I was never the same.

I have two cats. But one is always on the lamb, and the other thinks it's a dog. So I don't really have a problem with those. But I'm not really sure if I'm allergic to cats or not, but they make my skin itchy and my eyes red, so I'm going to go out on a limb and say yes.

Anyways, I try to avoid cats when I can. When I see a cat, I cross to the other side of the street. When I accidentally step on a cat, I jump into nearby swimming pools. Essentially, it's a great relationship. They don't bother me, I may bother them, but they don't do anything in response.

So last night as I was walking around before dark to clear my head, I looked up; right into the slitted eyes of a grey-striped stray. You could imagine how startled I was when the scary looking Tabby jumped out of a tree and landed right in front of me. I darted around it and kept walking, but when I turned around two minutes later, I was horrified to find the same cat plus three more, were following me like I'm the Pied Piper. Then I pass a playground where seven Latino children are having a water balloon fight. I overhear one girl yell to her brother,
"If you throw that at me again Rico, I'll slice your head like Mama slices the chilies."

That was enough to get me started walking again. But every time I stopped and turned around to see if the creepy cats were following me, they would stop, and scatter, look occupied, and jump into a tree. It was so weird.

I think they're planning an uprising.

Gross.

I don't know where all of these creepy bugs are coming from, but one definitely just flew into my mouth. That was revolting.

In other news: I babysat a crazy six-year-old, and carried him to bed after the sugar crash.

In other, other news: Ran over a skunk on the way home with all of the windows down. Awesome.

Kind of a mellow night.

An April Fool's Day Rant.

So, I have officially lost all faith in humanity.

Went to the beach today. I must have absentmindedly been predicting the future, when I mentioned the universe was trying to keep me from Bodega Bay. First, some prick in a BMW decided to drive ten MPH under the speed limit. Really? You're in a BM flipping W. Pick up the pace grandpa. Then, as soon as they finally turned off the highway, a truck complete with a miniature pony trailer cuts me off. Seriously? You own a pony. Where could you possibly be needed. Then about three old men over the age of 90 decide to cross the street, and four small children dart into the road. Finally, I am free from roadblocks and a Fed-Ex pulls out of a driveway in front of me....then I shoot myself in the head. Not really.

Then, we set up our nest in the sand dune and ate lunch, and went down to the sand (to wait thirty minutes so the sharks wouldn't be attracted to us). And drew pictures with large sticks in the sand. But when we returned to the nest, I noticed there was sand all over my towel. Let me tell you something about me. If there is one thing I hate, it's a sandy towel. I do not tolerate sandy towels. So since I knew it wasn't me who destroyed the picnic area, I became suspicious. My suspicions were acknowleged when I noticed my left Rainbow flip flop was missing, so I looked around. It was no where in sight. Then I checked my purse, and emptied it out to find my cell phone was missing as well.

Son of a Buck. WHAT IS WRONG WITH TODAY'S YOUTH! Why must you annihilate all good feelings! Do something productive you hoodlums! Go take up knitting or volunteer at the homeless shelter! Do you really have nothing better to do than ruin my life. And for God's sake just take both shoes! Don't patronize me!

Needless to say, I was furious.

And then after I swam in the ocean, (Pretty damn freezing if you were wondering), we left and I had no shoes, and no cell phone. And I then decided: Why would I ever need a cell phone? I can just drive to peoples' houses and show up at their doorsteps because I have a sketchy life and no one will question it. So, I am now, Chelsea: Girl With No Cell Phone.

This also spurred the question of money? Why does it control everything? I also decided, I would be perfectly happy, living in poverty, in a hut in the Himalayas. With no cell phone. Perfectly happy.

So, I embark into the world of limited electronic communication, where I play the ukulele for entertainment.

Look out world.

It Feels Like Summer to Me: What in the Wide World of Sports is Goin' On Here?

This evening, was flippin hot, so naturally, we all jumped (literally) into the convertible, I convinced myself that I could play the ukulele, and brought it into Nob Hill Foods, singing up and down the aisles about Rubix cubes and fruit. We got to the check out, and the cashier shared with us, in her Southern drawl,
"Why, I just loove to be serenaded!" And when we apologized for the disturbance, she insisted that I continue.

What can I say, I'm a natural. (The previous statement is actually quite humorous, simply because I have no clue how to play the ukulele, and I just randomly strum until I hit something that sounds acceptable.)

Anyways, by now it's about 10 o'clock, we've finished dinner, and decide to go swimming in the community pool. The gate is locked, so we hop the fence, and I continue my attempts at musicality while my crazy friends swim in the frigid waters. Then we leave. I continue to play the ukulele, now having learned two chords... Then I drive home.

On the way home, a man is standing in the middle of the street. I considered stopping to see if he's okay, however, I just recently watched Silence of the Lambs, and I'm not completely in the mood to be forced into a sketchy van, taken to some psychopath's home, thrown into a well, starved, and then skinned alive....so I kept driving.

Then I got home and walked into the screen, something that I will surely do at least 48 times this summer.

Hey there Summer, whatcha doin' comin' so soon?

Spring Break. Day-um.

I've come to the conclusion that the funny little witches with the string and the eyeball (like in the Disney version of Hercules) are in control of my fate. Here are the reasons why:
1. My life is just way too ridiculous for a regular God.
2. There are no more convincing reasons I can think of at the moment.

So Crazy Witches 1, 2 & 3 have decided to bump up the sketchiness during spring break. Going back a few days to Azusa Pacific (awkward little Christian college located in a sketchy town in Southern California)...Creepiest night life EVER. Seriously, it was only about 11 o'clock and there were already weirdos out. The only place that was open was some Mexican place called "Alberto's" And a half-lit 7-11 where an arrest took place. Meanwhile, all the college kids watching over us are serenading the choir with The Backstreet Boys and Justin Bieber tunes. As cars are driving by with window paint on the windshield that says "Moon us!".

And then we traveled north to Magic Mountain....

I'll let you complete the analogy. Disneyland is to Happy, as Magic Mountain is to......

If you said Sketchy, congrats. You aren't an idiot.

At some points I was scared for my life, I didn't dare cut in line for fear that some girl would "cut me".....with a knife. By the time a group of 20-year-old's started singing "The Climb" enough was enough. We got back on the bus which was being driven by some creepy guy named Steve. He looked like the child of a Hell's Angels participant and a French artist, complete with leather jacket and beret....

Then I traveled up to Tahoe with some friends. We walked about a mile in dresses on the shoulder of the highway to get to a delicious Thai food restaurant. We were honked at by several cars. I believe the term, "That deserves a two syllable damn!" was used at some point.

I can only blame the witches.

A Haiku.

Rabbit, why you here.
The road is not safe for you.
My car is too big.

If you aren't smart enough to draw your own conclusions, I ran over a bunny. But when I stopped to see if it was dead, and walked over to it, it bounced up and came back to life and ran away like a happy Jack Rabbit, which is what it was. Maybe it was part possum and was just pretending to be dead...

The Result of an Absence of Eggs.

We had no eggs. I suggested to my parents that we should get some chickens. They said no. So I went next door. The chickens had no eggs in their nests, probably because of the rain or something. So I knocked on the door. No answer, I always wondered how deaf people heard the doorbell. I don't think they do. And I walked on in. Said hello seven times. No answer. Went to the fridge. Opened the fridge. There was a wall clock inside? Sketchy. Took two eggs. The creepy blind dog stared at me. I was really afraid so I ran away. Dropping an egg in my haste.

And that's no yoke.

I can hear the groans from here.

Q: "Do You Know The Muffin Man?" A: "No Thanks. I'm Good."

I went to Trader Joe's after work today, and purchased some muffin mix. The cashier was a burly man of about 25 with several tattoos and an earring. He scanned my single item and asked,
"Gonna get cozy and do some baking?"
I replied, "That's the plan."
He said, "Yeah, that's what I like to do on days like this too. I love baking. And cuddling."
I said nothing. And kinda smiled uncomfortably. Took my change and left.
Then I got out into the rain to walk to my car, and as I'm unlocking the door, a strange old man grabs my arm and says dramatically,
"Young lady, did you know, that you are holding my favorite brand of muffins."
And I said, "Oh, that's good to know, I -"
And he cuts me off, still gripping my arm, "And believe me. I. Love. Muffins."


Good Grief.

The Dentist. Dun Dun DUN!

Today I had an appointment at Dr. David Suttie's Dental Office. Now, as a kid, I used to be fooled by the bright colors and buttons, and stickers and prizes. The scented gloves and the nurses with patterned scrubs, and the Doctor, who spoke with a frighteningly accurate impersonation of Donald Duck. I was once fooled by the color. But not anymore. I have come to learn and expose this hell hole for what it really is: A hell hole.

Maybe it's because I look too old to be in childrens' dental facility, maybe it's because I look like an overbearing and obnoxious teenager. Either way, no one smiled at me when I walked it. Which is a little bit upsetting when you are about to have someone prodding metal instruments in your mouth. But I walked right in. Like an imbecile. I sat in the yellow chair, and waited for a friendly nurse. Mistake number two. Never expect the friendly nurse, because you'll end up with the crazy, bipolar, demon-nurse instead.

She seemed nice enough. Comforting white hair, rolled into some sort of awkward half-bun, half-braid combination. But as soon as she started accusing me of my lack of flossing I knew it was going to be a long 45 minutes.

I am a devoted flosser, up until Oklahoma! performances began, I would floss at least twice a day. For her to say my flossing technique was mediocre at best made me want to punch her. What does she know anyways, she's the nurse!?! Who gave her the authority to critique my dental hygiene! Gad. Then she put that gross purple stuff on my teeth and tried to find plaque. Good luck with that jerk face! Too bad I brushed my teeth for ten minutes straight before I came so you wouldn't have the satisfaction of dropping my grade a letter. The nerve. She tried to craft some convoluted lie that there was pink on my far left molar. I disagreed, she glared at me and said that it must have been a glare. Nice try. Then she reluctantly gave me an "A" on my brushing. Take that you evil piece of toothpaste spit!

Then she started cleaning my teeth. Pretty sure she replaced the toothpaste with sand, because that's what it felt like on my gums. I mean Mary, Jesus, Joseph, and a Camel lady! Take it easy. I'm not going anywhere. Then she stuck the mirror down my throat and assured me that I don't have gingivitis. Excellent. Then with a reassuring, high pitched, drilling sound from the other room, she shared that her 16-year-old daughter was having two cavities filled. That's gotta hurt. Your own daughter, turning to the dark side. Maybe that's why she took all her anger out on me. The poor, innocent, dedicated, flosser. Who didn't even leave with a sticker.

Good riddance you cotton-headed-molar-buddies.

Awkward...

So I was working at Bistro this evening. And I was super tired, and the first three hours were unbearably slow. And I kept on zoning out, and all of my coworkers made a game out of snapping in front of my face to wake me up.
Anyways. I have this problem where sometimes I zone out, and my gaze just happens to land on peoples' faces. And most of the time, it's okay, because what are the chances that they will look at you while you are staring at them right? Well in my case, pretty good, because guess who decided to be super observant all of a sudden? Middle aged man on Table 2.
And I got all flustered and turned around and ran into the bathroom behind me to escape the awkwardness, but guess who forgot to lock the bathroom door? Grandma Rosie on table 23. I ran right into the bathroom, locked eyes with the 80-year-old woman on the toilet whose skirts were completely fanned out around her, kinda gasped at how unfortunate the situation was, apologized, and then ran out.

Good Job Chelsea. Good job.

I Don't Understand How I Manage to Do These Things to Myself.

So I decided since I will have hours of free time now that Oklahoma! is over, that I would teach myself to knit. Decent time killer, useful for college, easy to pawn off to kids who are impressed by mediocrity etc. So I got out my knitting needles and began to knit. Except I didn't know how. So I googled it. And some ridiculous Indian girl tried to teach me how. Then an Asian girl. And then...a cat? I don't know what that was. Anyways. They were all incompetent and incapable of teaching me anything. So I abandoned that plan, and started randomly doing what I've seen people doing sometimes. Except, that sure as hell didn't work, and it took my fifteen minutes to undo the knots. Then I went outside to get my phone out of the car. And I took my knitting with me, but it was raining. And as my slippers slipped, I kinda fell. And to avoid impaling myself with the needles, I threw them as I was falling. But the ball of yarn rolled away into the dark and down a hill. So...That's the end of that. Time for another hobby.

I Love My Job.

Yesterday at work, I told Jose that I had seen his car in the apartment parking lot across from JV Warehouse Liquors.
And he said, "Oh yes, Chelsea, I sleep there in the night times."
And I said, "Oh, that's nice."
And he said, "You should come by sometime and knock on the door, and I will say 'Hello Chelsea how are you today?'".
Then I walked away, and later, he came up to me, and casually asked,
"Hey, Chelsea, what you do tonight? Go to drink? Yes?"
And I said, "Course not Jose. I'm going hiking. Plus, it's a Sunday night! I have school tomorrow."
And he said, "But Chelsea, we could go together."
And I said, "No way Jose."

Why are There Cocker Spaniels in My House?

So with all of the nonsense going down in these parts, (An untimely trip to NY, a perfect three months of Oklahoman goodness, and sleep deprivation to da max) I have finally gotten a chance to sit down and recall the sketchiness that has taken place.

I'll start with the most recent, and then randomly post when I can remember more exciting ones from the last few months.

A few nights ago, I stumbled through the front door half asleep at around one-thirty in the morning, waving my arms wildly around in front of me, and blindly trying to avoid crashing through a wall. As I am slowly making my way across the living room to my bedroom, I kick something big and soft. I just assume it's one of my sister's stupid stuffed animals and keep walking. And then I realize, "Wait a second. My sister is fourteen, she doesn't have stuffed animals." So I freak out. And scramble over to the closest wall to find a light. After about five minutes of struggling to find an appropriate switch that isn't the porch light or the garbage disposal, I turn on the hall light to find two fat Cocker Spaniels sitting right in front of me. And I just stare at them for a long time, then, without questioning their presence, go to bed. The next morning, there was some obnoxious scratching at my door. I open it to find Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum sitting at the threshold. And I'm about to yell, "What the hell is going on!" When I hear someone starting to walk down the stairs. And it's my....Grandma? The one who lives in LA and has a British accent? What is she doing here? I ask her where these dogs came from and she says they're hers. I ask her if she just got in last night, and she says, "Oh no dear, I've been here three days."

And that gives you an idea of how much time I have spent at home in the last three months.

Valentine's Day. Ehh...

Today was Valentine's Day. Kind of a pointless holiday in my opinion. Like, I don't mind the whole, "Let's immortalize the patron saint by putting a day aside in his honor". Knock yourselves out. It's the cupid nonsense that irks me. Fat babies with slings of arrows? Not exactly relevant...

Anywho.

I forgot my dancing shoes in my car for rehearsal today, so three minutes before we started, I ran out to the parking lot through the front of the District Auditorium in my rainboots. Except the floor was slippery and I almost accidentally stepped on the Indian painted on the floor (which is bad luck), so to avoid it, I swerved sideways and crashed into the door. All the while a small man holding a broom, was propped up against the wall, watching me. I kind of nervously laughed really loudly. And ran out the door to my car, changed my shoes and ran back in. When I opened the door, the little man was still there, holding the broom. Only this time he was balancing it on one finger.
I said, "Wow, that's impressive"
He said, "Practice makes perfect"
He said, "Valentine's day reminds me of summer. Hi dee hi!"
He said, "I hope I get some skittles."
He said, "You know! Taste the rainbow. Booyah."
You may be wondering why I didn't say anything during this period of time, well. You see I would have, IF ANYTHING HE WAS SAYING MADE ANY SENSE! Instead, I just awkwardly laughed loudly and said Happy Valentine's Day, and walk/ran away. Alas, the floor was still slippery, and in my attempts to escape I slipped. Bracing myself on the wall I stood up as
He said, "Have a nice trip?"
But instead of following it up with the ever-so-classy, "see you next fall", he finished the pun with:
"See you next Valentine's Day."
Which doesn't even make any sense.

Come on man.

Why is there a chicken in the street?

What the hell man? I'm trying to drive to work? Why is there a rooster with furry feet on the mountain in the middle of the road in the middle no where? I honestly don't understand.

Despite my better judgment, I stopped. I don't know what I was trying to do. Help the rooster? Eat the rooster? Catch the rooster? God knows. But I got out and clenched my fist like I had chicken feed in my hand. It came toward me, got close enough, then attacked my with its feathered talons. It ripped my tights and I had to go to work with holes in my attire. Damn.

I explained the rippage to one of the bussers named Jose. He responded, "Chelsea, that why you no go to the cock fight."

Awesome.