It's not easy being an internet stalker.

Alone, I crouch behind the sickly glow of my monitor, the internet window through which I peek, clicking furiously through page after page of blogs, livejournal posts, social networking sites, all the while building a shrine (an e-shrine, if you will) to each one of my hapless victims. I call this shrine "My Bookmarks." When one of my stalkees stops posting, or stops updating their profile, or becomes boring or overly loquacious, I stalk on, for I know they need me to stalk them so they feel special. However, I have a feeling, nay, a wish, that while I'm not looking, they are there in the shadows, internet stalking me in return.
link to this post   11:03 PM by Trey | (0)
My mother kept her exersize bike in our converted garage, ominously dubbed "The Playroom." The bike was rarely used, so I claimed it for myself in the name of science: The Science of Fucking Shit Up, that is. While my best friends Andrew and John Patrick took turns pedaling the bike furiously, I used the friction created by the weighty flywheel to shave the faces off of my younger sister's Barbie collection. They looked ridiculous! The thing was she failed to see the humor in the situation and cried about it. Hey, Meg, loosen up!
link to this post   9:27 AM by Trey | (0)
The Assorted Adventures of Cpt. Gaylord (Part 47)


Trey heard screams coming from the apartment adjacent to his. He had just returned from a shopping spree at Whole Foods Market, arms full of fresh veggies, gourmet cheeses, and a little slice of heaven, well, several slices of Italian imported prosciutto and mozzarella cheese. As he started to salivate he remembered the screams.

"This better be good," he thought, as he kicked down the door like it was a piece of wet Egyptian cotton.

The scene he saw defied description...or at least a thorough description. The apartment was decorated rather tastefully, albeit a little unoriginal. "Probably all straight from Crate & Barrel." The only unfortunate item was a tacky striped couch that looked like it was trying a little too hard to be retro. A yoga video was playing on the TV; the instructor was giving tips on the Vrischika-asana, a.k.a. the Scorpion pose. "Impressive."

His eyes now focused on the source of the screams: an petite, athletic-looking woman with back-length dark brown hair (slightly wavy) standing over what appeared to be an unconscious plumber. In her left hand she wielded what appeared to be a 10" Omelet pan. In the dim light he could barely make out the letters on the bottom: Calphalon. The expensive stuff. Trey now knew that he had heard a war cry, not a cry for help. This was not your average Bay Area Betty Crocker.

"You gonna pay for that or do you wanna end up like this Schmoe?"

"Certainly. My deepest apologies. If you can help me with my Scorpion pose, I'll pay for you to hire a decent plumber too."

"We'll see. My name's Stella." She crossed the room and extended her hand. It was well-manicured and moisturized.

"Trey. Enchantée."

This was going to be the beginning of a totally platonic and mutually rewarding domestic partnership.

To be continued...
link to this post   8:40 PM by Trey | (2)

Unsolved Mysteries of My Life

1) I was approximately three years old and had recently discovered my nostrils, particularly the interesting fact that I could insert objects into them. I was probing with the sharpened end of No. 2 pencil in my father's office space one day when the tip of the pencil broke off inside my nose. I was taken to the pediatrician who, with the assistance of a very attractive1 nurse and several shiny probing instruments, poked around inside my nasal cavity for what seemed like 30 glorious minutes. Despite their best efforts, the pencil tip was never recovered, and to this day it remains lodged firmly in my brain, slowly driving me insane.

2) Near my ninth birthday, I was enjoying a sunny day at the pool of the exclusive country club that my parents belonged to at the time2. While lounging in my bright red youth sized Speedo, I noticed a huddled group of other children my age near the fence line to the golf course. Curiosity piqued, I wrapped a bath towel around my head, signaled the pool boy to bring me another virgin martini, and sauntered over to the gathering, fully expecting to have to endure another boring conversation concerning He-Man or Rollerblades or jellybeans or whatever the devil children used to talk about in the late 80's. Instead, as I drew near, there was a perfect specimen of a Five-lined Skink resting on the fence, apparently over-heated in the summer sun. Even though the species is quite common, I was somewhat of an aficionado, so I announced that I knew how to tame this creature, and proceeded to guide the reptile onto my arm. The skink quickly darted up to my shoulder, and paused for a minute to survey its new surroundings, much to my delight and amazement of the other children. However, it finally ran into my hair, which in the fashion of the day was quite long, and provided the shade and ventilation that such lizards thrive on. I didn't want to remove it, so I simply let it be even after we left the club and returned home. At some point later in the night, I reached up and felt the lizard had left its haven. It was never seen again. My theory is that it layed eggs in my scalp, which spawned baby skinks which now live in my brain, slowly driving me insane.

3) Fourteen years old. Being a strong-headed young man with a deep sense of pride and familial duty, I was forced to defend my mother's honor when it was challenged3 by a rival 7th grader who shall remain unnamed. Indeed, with witnesses in tow, we met during the 30-minute recess period at the secluded waterfall that stood at the far edge of the lagoon at our City Park grammar school. This location was reserved for only the most bloody fights; this one was sure to be one of those. Thanks to a battery of high-intensity martial arts training sessions at a local YMCA, I was prepared to vanquish this opponent with swiftness. Unfortunately, my opponent had also taken similar courses at a different location; apparently we were in for a battle of epic proportions. As the fight was about to commence, a hard-pouring rain fell upon us, as though Nature itself was pleading with us to cease the hellish deathpact that we were about to enter. Already soaked, we launched forward in a breath-taking display of in-air acrobatics and well-practiced intermediate level taek-won-do maneuvers. Each devastating blow was met with an equally devastating counter; my spinning crescent jump-kick was foiled with a sweeping low roundhouse in kind. This went on for some time; bystanders later spoke in whispered tones that they feared for their own lives with the lack of actual physical contact. I had predicted that this match would end in tears of pain, not tears of frustration and impotence. Breathless, we watched each other from a distance in our combat stances, wet drops of acid rain pounding on our creased brows. A truce was called, but this respite was only symbolic. Truly I believe that one day the battle will resume on some distant mountain cliff, and then the true winner will be declared, my mother's honor restored. Until that day, the thought nags deep in my brain, slowly driving me insane.

1 For a frame of reference of what I considered an attractive woman at this age, please see Mary Lou Retton. I also fancied her American flag leotard, but that's another story.

2 This membership was terminated not long after these events transpired due to an incident involving an automatic tennis ball pitcher and a group of elderly society ladies at a spring bruncheon. An honorary membership was granted one year later when I delivered a moving speech to the Board of Directors regarding the plight of the middle upper-class.

3 He said "your mama" one too many times.
link to this post   1:22 PM by Trey | (3)
The Adventures of Cpt. Gaylord (Part 1.)

It was going to be another long day. Crunching through the underbrush, Trey's designer shoes looked a little too metrosexual, incongrous. He giggled a little before he caught himself and glanced around nervously. Peering over his shoulder at his sweet ride parked at the edge of the woods, a feeling of ominous detachment washed over him. This was no place for fine things, he thought as he unfastened his 10 carat Cubic Zirconium cufflinks. Soon he had stripped down to nothing but a ribbed black tank top, a pair of boxer briefs, and the black Chuck Taylor hi-tops that were in the duffle he was carrying; much better suited for the task at hand. After refastening his utility belt, he continued, ignoring the pounding headache that resulted from last night's adventures.

Still regretting the whiskey, the glimmer of a woodland pond peeked through the trees ahead, reflecting playfully in Trey's deep blue eyes. "This will be interesting..."

To be continued
link to this post   12:50 PM by Trey | (0)