Wow, it sure feels great to be back on the keyboard! To my faithful readers and occasional blog-stalkers, I offer my sincere apologies. To my new readers I say simply, reading my blog is like brushing your teeth at night... It's optional, but if you choose not to do it you'll probably regret it in the morning.
So with that said, allow me to get back to my roots with another true moment of comedy from my days in Idaho. This December will actually mark the 10 year anniversary of this epic financial fail!
You see, every Sunday when I was away at school I would call home to chat it up with my mom. I specifically say my mom because a typical conversation with my dad went something like this:
Me: "Hi Dad!"
Dad: "You got a job?"
Me: "Yup"
Dad "You need money?"
Me: "Nope"
Dad: "Ok, here's your mother."
On one particular Sunday however, with only a few weeks remaining in the semester, the conversation did not go as planned. It started off routine as I assured my dad for the 10th time in as many weeks that yes, I indeed had a job. However, I answered his inquiry about needing money with a hesitant yes! He cautiously inquired as to who-what-when-where-why and how I would be spending his hard earned cash. I explained to him that all my friends snowboarded, I wanted to try snowboarding for the first time, but the less than $60 in my checking account wasn't nearly enough to cover the cost of going.
Within 24 hours, being the loving dad he's always been, he transferred $250 into my checking account and sent me a short e-mail that went something like this... "Bucky, I put $250 in your account to go snowboarding. That should cover board and binding rentals, a 2-day pass because you'll spend the first day on your butt, and gas money for somebody to drive you there."
So there I was, 3 weeks left in the semester, the $57 and change in my checking account had just been quadrupled, and I could hardly wait to spend my well-begged-for money on..... WENDY'S AND TACO BELL?!?!?! Yup, you heard that right! Rather than rent a snowboard and dish out some cash for a 2-day pass... I woofed down bean burritos and junior bacon cheeseburgers EVERY DAY for the next three weeks!
Now fast forward about a month. I was home for Christmas break and my good buddy Devin was hanging out with my dad and I, watching the Suns game. At some point during the game Devin casually mentioned that he was headed to Flagstaff that weekend to go snowboarding. I casually, and very regrettably, said in response to his statement, "Dang! Lucky! I wish I had the money to go snowboarding! I've never been before!"
All I can remember from that moment on is the hybrid look of confusion and anger on my dad's face as he stared me straight in the eyes and said, "Wait a second son! If you didn't go snowboarding than what'd you do with the $250 I gave you last month?"
Hmmmm.... About that....
The moral of this story??? If I you ever hear me say I want to go snowbaording for the first time, cash out your 401K and start buying stock in Wendy's and Taco Bell!
On April 28th, 2012 I married the sweetest, most BEAUTIFUL woman I have ever met! She means the world to me! She has 2 of the wittiest, fun-filled kids a step-father could ever have the privelage of knowing! TOGETHER WE ARE HAPPY! TOGETHER WE ARE FAMILY!
Sep 19, 2011
Jul 23, 2011
Rather AMAZING!
Anyone who knows me better than a midget knows kids' sizes KNOWS I LOVE camping! Last night I rounded up my roommate Waldo, a couple buddies, my girlfriend, and her two kids and headed up North for the night. Steaks, smores, hot dogs, pickles, hiking, spot lighting, diggin holes, and drinking silly amounts of exotic gourmet soda all contributed to a GREAT TIME!
Here's some pics from our enjoyable get away, followed by one SERIOUSLY AMAZING video I took during our spotlighting adventure! Outside of the time I saw 2 mountain lions running together, it's by far the coolest thing I've ever seen with a spotlight. Especially because it stood there while I tooks pictures and videos of it...
Waldo, Destiny, and John... Waldo appears to be the most relaxed. haha.
Bonnie and I... How's that for some proper grammer!
Bonnie's daughter Grace and her ever-loving "dolly"...
Bonnie's son Tucker with his, "It's 2 hours past my bedtime but I can't stop staring at the AWESOME fire" look on his face...
I told you, the kid wouldn't stop looking at the fire...
Tucker preferred star gazing over eating his hot dog...
Probably the only candid shot of Bonnie from the trip...
If he wasn't staring at the fire he was staring at the dirt! Oh to be a kid again...
Waldo enjoying his last bite of steak...
Apparently John missed the "We're camping in the mountains, not Hawaii memo"...
Just enjoyin myself...
Tucker had marshmallows for breakfast! CLASSIC...
We took a small hike this morning, and naturally it broke into a quick game of hide and seek...
The kids starting to fall behind...
I LOVE this picture! HA HA! Grace didn't last very long on the hike...
Nothing like a cold pop and a cool mountain breeze...
Ok, this is a video I took last night when we were spotlighting. Excuse my child-like excitement throughout...
Here's some pics from our enjoyable get away, followed by one SERIOUSLY AMAZING video I took during our spotlighting adventure! Outside of the time I saw 2 mountain lions running together, it's by far the coolest thing I've ever seen with a spotlight. Especially because it stood there while I tooks pictures and videos of it...
Waldo, Destiny, and John... Waldo appears to be the most relaxed. haha.
Bonnie and I... How's that for some proper grammer!
Bonnie's daughter Grace and her ever-loving "dolly"...
Bonnie's son Tucker with his, "It's 2 hours past my bedtime but I can't stop staring at the AWESOME fire" look on his face...
I told you, the kid wouldn't stop looking at the fire...
Tucker preferred star gazing over eating his hot dog...
Probably the only candid shot of Bonnie from the trip...
If he wasn't staring at the fire he was staring at the dirt! Oh to be a kid again...
Waldo enjoying his last bite of steak...
Apparently John missed the "We're camping in the mountains, not Hawaii memo"...
Just enjoyin myself...
Tucker had marshmallows for breakfast! CLASSIC...
We took a small hike this morning, and naturally it broke into a quick game of hide and seek...
The kids starting to fall behind...
I LOVE this picture! HA HA! Grace didn't last very long on the hike...
Nothing like a cold pop and a cool mountain breeze...
Ok, this is a video I took last night when we were spotlighting. Excuse my child-like excitement throughout...
Ok, so now for the second post...
I recently lost a "friendly" wager about losing 20 pounds in 6 weeks. Admittedly I didn't try very hard, and will make no further excuses. However, it aggravates me to know that I weigh more now than I ever have in my life. There is also something else that aggravates me... SHAVING! So I figured why not combine my dislike for weight gain and shaving and make it a publicized ordeal.
Tonight I will purchase a scale and weigh myself. I will also shave. Then, if I can lose 2 and a half pounds a week, for 6 weeks, I get to keep my beard. In other words, my goal is 15 pounds in 6 weeks. However, I will weigh myself every saturday night and if I don't weigh in 2.5 pounds lighter than the previous week, I have to shave! GAME ON!
Jul 12, 2011
My Bad...
After leaving the missionary training center and reporting to the great state of Georgia I was placed in the mid-sized southern town of Waycross. Home to the Okefenokee Swamp, some seriously "backwoods" moonshiners, and the Howe family. Papa Howe owned the Chick-fil-A at the center of town. Now when you're on an LDS missionary and somebody tells you that there is a place you can eat for free whenever you want you get pretty giddy. When that same someone tells you that the place you can eat for free is Chick-fil-A it makes you want to hug a stranger and say, "I wish we'd known each other, this is a little awkward." At least that's what it made me want to do.
So one day after woofing down some Chik-fil-A for lunch the Howe family invited us over for Dinner. All I could think was, "Chick-fil-A for lunch AND dinner? For free both times? That's BALLIN!" So my companion and I showed up at the Howe's right on schedule, met the family, and then sat around the table to enjoy some delicious bird!
It was a fairly elongated kitchen table. I remember Papa Howe sitting at one end of it and my companion sitting at the other. I took a seat in the middle of one side, and sitting directly across from me was Papa Howe's teenage daughter. I had nobody to my left or right on my side. Now before I go any farther for those of you that don't understand the rules about "girls" when you're on a mission it's very similar to the rules about girls when you're in prison. Sort of. Aside from a handshake, you can't touch em. There's no fratenizing, no dating, and no flirtatious exchanging of digits.
Ok, so back to the table. We were all shooting the breeze while I basically inhaled my chicken sandwich, when suddenly I felt someone's foot brush up against my leg. It started at my ankle and slowly worked it's way up to my knee. I promptly dropped my sandwich on my wrapper and looked directly across the table. The Howe girl was chattin it up with her brother, who if I recall correctly had some rad name... like Chip! Ya-ya... It was Chip! Anyways, she looked everything BUT guilty when it came to the leg graze so I passed it off as accidental and continued eating my sandwich.
Moments later I felt it again, this time it started at my knee and traveled down to my foot! This time I mumbled a subtle, "What the heck!? as I again dropped my sandwich and immediately began looking across the table. This time she was eating... casually... but still paying no attention to me. I looked at her brother sitting next her thinking maybe it was him doing it, just messing around, but he too looked not guilty. Confused, and still very hungry, I once again played it off as an accident and picked up my sandwich.
THEN... Not even 30 seconds later it starts to happen again! I couldn't take it anymore! I pushed my chair back from the table, stood up, threw both my hands out to the side, looked straight at her, and said, "OK FOR REAL... YOU GOTTA QUIT TOUCHING MY LEG!" My rather strange statement, and the fact that I was standing up whenI said it, abruptly drew the attention of Papa Howe. His eyes turned directly towards his daughter and the expression on his face was one of, "Are you seriously touching his leg?"
Suddenly, without warning, a cat leaped out from under the table and began slowly walking out of the kitchen. It looked directly at me as if to say, "GOT YOU!" There was a solid three or four seconds of awkward silence as me, my companion, and the entire Howe family put 2 and 2 together. We must have laughed for a half an hour about how I mistook the cat's tail for this girl's foot!
The moral of this story... CATS ARE GAY!!!!
So one day after woofing down some Chik-fil-A for lunch the Howe family invited us over for Dinner. All I could think was, "Chick-fil-A for lunch AND dinner? For free both times? That's BALLIN!" So my companion and I showed up at the Howe's right on schedule, met the family, and then sat around the table to enjoy some delicious bird!
It was a fairly elongated kitchen table. I remember Papa Howe sitting at one end of it and my companion sitting at the other. I took a seat in the middle of one side, and sitting directly across from me was Papa Howe's teenage daughter. I had nobody to my left or right on my side. Now before I go any farther for those of you that don't understand the rules about "girls" when you're on a mission it's very similar to the rules about girls when you're in prison. Sort of. Aside from a handshake, you can't touch em. There's no fratenizing, no dating, and no flirtatious exchanging of digits.
Ok, so back to the table. We were all shooting the breeze while I basically inhaled my chicken sandwich, when suddenly I felt someone's foot brush up against my leg. It started at my ankle and slowly worked it's way up to my knee. I promptly dropped my sandwich on my wrapper and looked directly across the table. The Howe girl was chattin it up with her brother, who if I recall correctly had some rad name... like Chip! Ya-ya... It was Chip! Anyways, she looked everything BUT guilty when it came to the leg graze so I passed it off as accidental and continued eating my sandwich.
Moments later I felt it again, this time it started at my knee and traveled down to my foot! This time I mumbled a subtle, "What the heck!? as I again dropped my sandwich and immediately began looking across the table. This time she was eating... casually... but still paying no attention to me. I looked at her brother sitting next her thinking maybe it was him doing it, just messing around, but he too looked not guilty. Confused, and still very hungry, I once again played it off as an accident and picked up my sandwich.
THEN... Not even 30 seconds later it starts to happen again! I couldn't take it anymore! I pushed my chair back from the table, stood up, threw both my hands out to the side, looked straight at her, and said, "OK FOR REAL... YOU GOTTA QUIT TOUCHING MY LEG!" My rather strange statement, and the fact that I was standing up whenI said it, abruptly drew the attention of Papa Howe. His eyes turned directly towards his daughter and the expression on his face was one of, "Are you seriously touching his leg?"
Suddenly, without warning, a cat leaped out from under the table and began slowly walking out of the kitchen. It looked directly at me as if to say, "GOT YOU!" There was a solid three or four seconds of awkward silence as me, my companion, and the entire Howe family put 2 and 2 together. We must have laughed for a half an hour about how I mistook the cat's tail for this girl's foot!
The moral of this story... CATS ARE GAY!!!!
Jul 11, 2011
The Dating Trifecta
3 girls (3 changed names), 3 awkward dates, and 3 lessons learned.
Girl 1: Jenny
Awkward date title: Are you serious Clark???
Lesson learned: Opposites do NOT always attract.
Anytime you're a dude at college and you're single, and you like a girl at college, who is also single, and that girl says to you at anytime, "I really feel like you should ask my rommate out" it's NEVER a good sign. In my real world experience it means 1 of 2 things.
1) The girls roommate keeps all her rommates up at night venting about how guys never ask her out. She says all this as she buries her face in an organic chemistry textbook, and post her 5th status update of the day about how much she misses her cats at home. Or something like that.
2) The girl YOU LIKE has little to no interest IN YOU and is attempting to subtly pawn your attraction off to her roommate.
In the case of a girl named Jenny it was #1. I was "mildly" obsessed with a girl one semester named Hannah. We had a class together and admittedly I went out of my way every class period to say something to her. Eventually we became friends and I had some high hopes of winning her over. Just when I thought I might get that chance, however, she began venting to me one day about her roommate. She told me her roommate Jenny was constantly complaining about never being asked out. She said that Jenny would literally keep her up at night obsessing over guys but ending nearly every sentence with, "but he won't ask me out so what am I suppossed to do?"
Hannah went on to tell me that Jenny is "really fun" and "Scott I think you'd have a really good time if you took her out." At this point I had a decision to make. I could go ahead and take Jenny out once, in hopes that my "good deed" would score me some brownie points with Hannah, or I could politely tell Hannah that the "majoring in whining and complaining about never getting asked out while they spend 9 hours a day at the library" type of girls just weren't... well, they just weren't my type.
I chose to take my chances with the brownie points and went ahead and set up a date with Jenny. Thankfully, I could hardly classify it as a date. You see Jenny didn't have much time because she had to study. Classic. So I decided our "date" would be strolling down Main Street in Rexburg, Idaho so we could hit up the snow cone booth. So we did just that. I drove to her house, and we began walking towards the "Sno-Shack"... makers of the greatest shaved ice west of... campus??? Sure, whatever.
After 10 minutes of walking we took our places at the end of an enormous line of "couples" -- all hoping to win their dates over with $1.50 snow cones. By the time it was our turn to choose from one of like 37 flavors, I had already come to the conclusion that I had more in common with a whales uterus than I did with this girl. And I don't even have a uterus, so you do the math. I mean the girl told me she hated camping and fishing, never played sports, hated to watch sports, loved cats, enjoyed having a curfew, and wanted to be a music teacher. Things went from "zero to I wish i drove here so I could take her home faster" in like 10 minutes! One ridiculously large snow-cone, and 5 more minutes of awkwardness later, and we began the short journey back to her place. Needless to say, I never went out with Jenny again, and unfortunately Hannah had a boyfriend like a week later so apparently my brownie points theory back fired big time!
Girl 2: Michelle
Awkward date title: Wow, that's crazy!
Lesson learned: Choose your questions carefully
I took a girl named Michelle on a date once. It was our first date. We met at a dance. That was my mistake. I should've never been there. She lived on the opposite side of town and by that I mean I made sure to fill my tank up the night before. The date was thrown together fairly quickly but she was really anxious to go out and considering I found her highly attractive I didn't want to miss an opportunity. So not much was planned by the time I arrived to pick her up. I went in her house for a little bit, met her paps, and we tossed a few ideas back and forth about what we should do. After a few minutes I was surprised when she turned down a plethora of simple "get to know you style" ideas and chose to drive up near Payson, build a little fire, make smores, and tell jokes. I'm pretty sure I phrased it that way when I asked her too.
So we ventured up highway 87, but we never made it to Payson. Just our luck we chose the night they had a massive overnight construction project going on. We decided we didn't feel like waiting it out in traffic so we flipped a U-turn and looked for the first dirt road we could turn off on. We found one fairly quickly and I drove in a few hundred yards and we parked. We never made a fire and we never made smores. And no we didn't make a baby either, so you can stop thinking that's where this is going. Instead we just sat there and talked while we munched on "gas station" specials we snagged before leaving town. The conversation was honestly fun. She was a bit sarcastic at times which of course tickled my ear drums so I didn't mind just sitting there talking. The conversation remained fun... for about the first 20 minutes. Then, apparently I asked the wrong question. I don't remember exactly how I phrased it but it was something like, "So have you had very good luck with the dating scene out here in the East valley?"
Ladies and gentleman, anyone who knows me knows that I can talk the bark off a tree stump, and I am more than guilty of my fair share of incoherent rambling, but never in my life did I expect the 30 minutes following my question to unfold the way that they did! I wish I had her response tape recorded! I can't hardly recall a tenth of it. All I know is I must have said the phrase, "Wow, that's crazy!" 57 times in a half hour. She went off about being physically, sexually, and emotionally abused by previous boyfriends. She told me about how one of them punched her in the face and she had to get a restraining order against him. She continued on to tell me some of the craziest things I'd ever heard, and when she was basically done she looked at me and said the greatest line ever... "So you'd be ok with just taking things slow right?" My response? "Well, I'm not about to punch you in the face if that's what you're wondering!" Ya let's just say we didn't become freinds!
Girl 3: Emily
Awkward date title: Never actually happened
Lesson Learned: Stay out of the Library
This one's short and sweet because it never actually turned into a date. You see, not counting group projects I can count on one hand the times I entered the library during the 11 semester I attended BYU-Idaho. The library creeped me out. It was chuck full of uber awkward busniess majors preying on first semseter freshman girls. They'd try to be all sly but I had them figured out. They'd take a seat next to some hot young blonde, put there back pack full of business books on the table and make some sort of comment like, "Oh sorry if I shook the table, I just got so many business books I need to study tonight! I'm a business major in case you were wondering! What's your name?" Ok, so maybe it wasn't quite like that but it was close!
Well one night I found myself sitting next to a cute girl at a fairly large study table. She came up after me so trust me, I wasn't creeping on her! Over the next 45 minutes we chatted about a little bit of everything. I debated over and over again to ask her for her phone number, but I chickened out repeatedly! Eventually she started packing up her things and I decided I didn't need her number to ask her out. I could ask her out first and then get her number. So nay do I crap you, I asked her straight up if she wanted to go out some time. She responded with, "hmmmm, seriously?" I said, ya! Seriously!" She sort of chuckled, smiled at me, and said, "Maybe." Just then a guy walked u, held her around her waist and kissed her. Then I saw the ring on her finger, quietly packed up my things, and exited the library as quickly as I could, the whole time repeating over and over in my head, "What was all that "maybe" talk?" Gotta love the library!
Girl 1: Jenny
Awkward date title: Are you serious Clark???
Lesson learned: Opposites do NOT always attract.
Anytime you're a dude at college and you're single, and you like a girl at college, who is also single, and that girl says to you at anytime, "I really feel like you should ask my rommate out" it's NEVER a good sign. In my real world experience it means 1 of 2 things.
1) The girls roommate keeps all her rommates up at night venting about how guys never ask her out. She says all this as she buries her face in an organic chemistry textbook, and post her 5th status update of the day about how much she misses her cats at home. Or something like that.
2) The girl YOU LIKE has little to no interest IN YOU and is attempting to subtly pawn your attraction off to her roommate.
In the case of a girl named Jenny it was #1. I was "mildly" obsessed with a girl one semester named Hannah. We had a class together and admittedly I went out of my way every class period to say something to her. Eventually we became friends and I had some high hopes of winning her over. Just when I thought I might get that chance, however, she began venting to me one day about her roommate. She told me her roommate Jenny was constantly complaining about never being asked out. She said that Jenny would literally keep her up at night obsessing over guys but ending nearly every sentence with, "but he won't ask me out so what am I suppossed to do?"
Hannah went on to tell me that Jenny is "really fun" and "Scott I think you'd have a really good time if you took her out." At this point I had a decision to make. I could go ahead and take Jenny out once, in hopes that my "good deed" would score me some brownie points with Hannah, or I could politely tell Hannah that the "majoring in whining and complaining about never getting asked out while they spend 9 hours a day at the library" type of girls just weren't... well, they just weren't my type.
I chose to take my chances with the brownie points and went ahead and set up a date with Jenny. Thankfully, I could hardly classify it as a date. You see Jenny didn't have much time because she had to study. Classic. So I decided our "date" would be strolling down Main Street in Rexburg, Idaho so we could hit up the snow cone booth. So we did just that. I drove to her house, and we began walking towards the "Sno-Shack"... makers of the greatest shaved ice west of... campus??? Sure, whatever.
After 10 minutes of walking we took our places at the end of an enormous line of "couples" -- all hoping to win their dates over with $1.50 snow cones. By the time it was our turn to choose from one of like 37 flavors, I had already come to the conclusion that I had more in common with a whales uterus than I did with this girl. And I don't even have a uterus, so you do the math. I mean the girl told me she hated camping and fishing, never played sports, hated to watch sports, loved cats, enjoyed having a curfew, and wanted to be a music teacher. Things went from "zero to I wish i drove here so I could take her home faster" in like 10 minutes! One ridiculously large snow-cone, and 5 more minutes of awkwardness later, and we began the short journey back to her place. Needless to say, I never went out with Jenny again, and unfortunately Hannah had a boyfriend like a week later so apparently my brownie points theory back fired big time!
Girl 2: Michelle
Awkward date title: Wow, that's crazy!
Lesson learned: Choose your questions carefully
I took a girl named Michelle on a date once. It was our first date. We met at a dance. That was my mistake. I should've never been there. She lived on the opposite side of town and by that I mean I made sure to fill my tank up the night before. The date was thrown together fairly quickly but she was really anxious to go out and considering I found her highly attractive I didn't want to miss an opportunity. So not much was planned by the time I arrived to pick her up. I went in her house for a little bit, met her paps, and we tossed a few ideas back and forth about what we should do. After a few minutes I was surprised when she turned down a plethora of simple "get to know you style" ideas and chose to drive up near Payson, build a little fire, make smores, and tell jokes. I'm pretty sure I phrased it that way when I asked her too.
So we ventured up highway 87, but we never made it to Payson. Just our luck we chose the night they had a massive overnight construction project going on. We decided we didn't feel like waiting it out in traffic so we flipped a U-turn and looked for the first dirt road we could turn off on. We found one fairly quickly and I drove in a few hundred yards and we parked. We never made a fire and we never made smores. And no we didn't make a baby either, so you can stop thinking that's where this is going. Instead we just sat there and talked while we munched on "gas station" specials we snagged before leaving town. The conversation was honestly fun. She was a bit sarcastic at times which of course tickled my ear drums so I didn't mind just sitting there talking. The conversation remained fun... for about the first 20 minutes. Then, apparently I asked the wrong question. I don't remember exactly how I phrased it but it was something like, "So have you had very good luck with the dating scene out here in the East valley?"
Ladies and gentleman, anyone who knows me knows that I can talk the bark off a tree stump, and I am more than guilty of my fair share of incoherent rambling, but never in my life did I expect the 30 minutes following my question to unfold the way that they did! I wish I had her response tape recorded! I can't hardly recall a tenth of it. All I know is I must have said the phrase, "Wow, that's crazy!" 57 times in a half hour. She went off about being physically, sexually, and emotionally abused by previous boyfriends. She told me about how one of them punched her in the face and she had to get a restraining order against him. She continued on to tell me some of the craziest things I'd ever heard, and when she was basically done she looked at me and said the greatest line ever... "So you'd be ok with just taking things slow right?" My response? "Well, I'm not about to punch you in the face if that's what you're wondering!" Ya let's just say we didn't become freinds!
Girl 3: Emily
Awkward date title: Never actually happened
Lesson Learned: Stay out of the Library
This one's short and sweet because it never actually turned into a date. You see, not counting group projects I can count on one hand the times I entered the library during the 11 semester I attended BYU-Idaho. The library creeped me out. It was chuck full of uber awkward busniess majors preying on first semseter freshman girls. They'd try to be all sly but I had them figured out. They'd take a seat next to some hot young blonde, put there back pack full of business books on the table and make some sort of comment like, "Oh sorry if I shook the table, I just got so many business books I need to study tonight! I'm a business major in case you were wondering! What's your name?" Ok, so maybe it wasn't quite like that but it was close!
Well one night I found myself sitting next to a cute girl at a fairly large study table. She came up after me so trust me, I wasn't creeping on her! Over the next 45 minutes we chatted about a little bit of everything. I debated over and over again to ask her for her phone number, but I chickened out repeatedly! Eventually she started packing up her things and I decided I didn't need her number to ask her out. I could ask her out first and then get her number. So nay do I crap you, I asked her straight up if she wanted to go out some time. She responded with, "hmmmm, seriously?" I said, ya! Seriously!" She sort of chuckled, smiled at me, and said, "Maybe." Just then a guy walked u, held her around her waist and kissed her. Then I saw the ring on her finger, quietly packed up my things, and exited the library as quickly as I could, the whole time repeating over and over in my head, "What was all that "maybe" talk?" Gotta love the library!
Jul 7, 2011
"Bucky, go get the controllers!"
As a kid my mother was the most loving person I knew. Still is actually. But I vividly remember there were 2 things that my mother absolutely LOATHED, without exception. She basically considered them the devil in animated and objective form. The first was any sort of Nintendo, and the second was The Simpsons. Ironically she loved soap operas, which I can't see scoring much higher than The Simpsons on the "classy" scale, but whatever.
The solution to the lack of Simpson's viewing in my home came in one of two forms. The first was to go downstairs and start watching it on the tv in the basement, closely paying attention for that distinct noise of "moms footsteps" coming down the stairs. Then quickly changing the channel to something else when you heard the equally distinct sound of the basement door opening.
The second solution was to cross your fingers and hope dad got home and started flipping through the channels before The Simpsons was over. This because he would usually start watching it if he saw that it was on. Of course even if dad turned it on it never took my mom more than a few seconds to start giving him a hard time about it. But then my dad would fire back with some witty wise crack like, "you know your mother doesn't like this show because I tell her she acts like Marge." It didn't matter how many times I heard him say that I laughed EVERY TIME! I did this NOT because I found it equally hilarious each time, but because I thought that laughing at his joke about The Simpsons would increase the chances that he'd keep it on that channel!
The earliest solution I can remember to the Nintendo shortage was to rent one. Weren't those the days??? Video Powerstore, not even a mile from the home I grew up in, would rent out Super Nintendos and Sega Genisis consoles. The only problem was my mom would only let us rent them like EVERY OTHER year on our birthdays. A far more convienant option was to have my cousin Bryan spend the night and bring his Super Nintendo with him.
Well one night when I was younger me, Bryan, and my little brother Russ were up late playing super nintendo and apparently we were being a little too loud. So my grandma who was visiting from Utah came down into the basement and gave us a couple of warnings. All of which we obeyed for only a matter of minutes before returning to our loud and obnoxious childhood antics! Well we collectively underestimated the seriousness of my Grandma's threat and next thing we knew she confiscated the controllers and took them upstairs with her!
Boy were we fired up! Well, I suppose I should say, "Boy was IIIIII fired up!" I guess I can't speak for Bryan or Russ, but I can assume they were just as upset! So as the three of us laid there talking smack about my grandma Russ and Bryan kept saying, "Dude, Bucky, go get the controllers!" I was hesitant at first but slowly began to develop a master plan to get the controllers back! After a couple of minutes and some fine tuning in my mind I ran my idea by Bryan and Russ who were suddenly reluctant to give their approval. I was confused... 5 minutes ago they were practically begging me to go get the controllers. This of course got me even more fired up, so I stood up and said something like, "Fine dude I'll get the controllers myself! Grandma's old, she's probably sleeping anyways, this is gonna be a piece of cake!"
So I stood up from the cushions that composed my bed for the night and began to creep towards the door that led to the upstairs. I was cautiously placing my feet between Bryan and Russ, when out of left field I heard MY GRANDMA'S VOICE only a few feet behind me... "I wouldn't do that if I were you!" I don't remember if I cursed or not while I simultaneously screamed and jumped a couple feet in the air, but either way it was scary! I mean where did she even come from??? How had she made it all the way down the stairs and positioned herself perfectly behind me without me noticing??? And why was she just sitting there ont he couch all creepy listening to me talk smack about her old age, and never say anything??? Needless to say we remained "controller-less" for the remainder of the night.
The moral of this story??? Never underestimate your Grandma!
The solution to the lack of Simpson's viewing in my home came in one of two forms. The first was to go downstairs and start watching it on the tv in the basement, closely paying attention for that distinct noise of "moms footsteps" coming down the stairs. Then quickly changing the channel to something else when you heard the equally distinct sound of the basement door opening.
The second solution was to cross your fingers and hope dad got home and started flipping through the channels before The Simpsons was over. This because he would usually start watching it if he saw that it was on. Of course even if dad turned it on it never took my mom more than a few seconds to start giving him a hard time about it. But then my dad would fire back with some witty wise crack like, "you know your mother doesn't like this show because I tell her she acts like Marge." It didn't matter how many times I heard him say that I laughed EVERY TIME! I did this NOT because I found it equally hilarious each time, but because I thought that laughing at his joke about The Simpsons would increase the chances that he'd keep it on that channel!
The earliest solution I can remember to the Nintendo shortage was to rent one. Weren't those the days??? Video Powerstore, not even a mile from the home I grew up in, would rent out Super Nintendos and Sega Genisis consoles. The only problem was my mom would only let us rent them like EVERY OTHER year on our birthdays. A far more convienant option was to have my cousin Bryan spend the night and bring his Super Nintendo with him.
Well one night when I was younger me, Bryan, and my little brother Russ were up late playing super nintendo and apparently we were being a little too loud. So my grandma who was visiting from Utah came down into the basement and gave us a couple of warnings. All of which we obeyed for only a matter of minutes before returning to our loud and obnoxious childhood antics! Well we collectively underestimated the seriousness of my Grandma's threat and next thing we knew she confiscated the controllers and took them upstairs with her!
Boy were we fired up! Well, I suppose I should say, "Boy was IIIIII fired up!" I guess I can't speak for Bryan or Russ, but I can assume they were just as upset! So as the three of us laid there talking smack about my grandma Russ and Bryan kept saying, "Dude, Bucky, go get the controllers!" I was hesitant at first but slowly began to develop a master plan to get the controllers back! After a couple of minutes and some fine tuning in my mind I ran my idea by Bryan and Russ who were suddenly reluctant to give their approval. I was confused... 5 minutes ago they were practically begging me to go get the controllers. This of course got me even more fired up, so I stood up and said something like, "Fine dude I'll get the controllers myself! Grandma's old, she's probably sleeping anyways, this is gonna be a piece of cake!"
So I stood up from the cushions that composed my bed for the night and began to creep towards the door that led to the upstairs. I was cautiously placing my feet between Bryan and Russ, when out of left field I heard MY GRANDMA'S VOICE only a few feet behind me... "I wouldn't do that if I were you!" I don't remember if I cursed or not while I simultaneously screamed and jumped a couple feet in the air, but either way it was scary! I mean where did she even come from??? How had she made it all the way down the stairs and positioned herself perfectly behind me without me noticing??? And why was she just sitting there ont he couch all creepy listening to me talk smack about her old age, and never say anything??? Needless to say we remained "controller-less" for the remainder of the night.
The moral of this story??? Never underestimate your Grandma!
Jun 21, 2011
Homemade Failure
A number of years ago, in the prime of my adolescence, I fell for a fireball named Nicole Dawson. For years I drooled over this hot commodity. I watched her go in and out of relationships, always wondering If I'd ever get my chance. Whenever she had a boyfriend I would try to spend as much time at her house as possible, making sure she wouldn't forget that I was around. Ha ha.
Whenever she was single I spent a ridiculous amount of time and effort discovering new ways to impress her. One year in high school I heard she was giving up cheerleading to be the mascot. Then I heard there was gonna be 2 mascots. I decided I would try out also because hey, if we were both mascots what more do you need right? I mean realistically who can resist a guy in a sweaty mountain lion costume that spends his Friday nights entertaining fans and geting screamed at by cheerleaders for "being in the way."
So the day of try-outs came and I was nervous. When they told us we'd be performing one at a time in front of the 2 cheer coaches without any other contestants watching, I was a little LESS nervous. Nicole was one of the first to try out. I knew she would make it. How did I know? She rented a sumo suit and did a dance performance to "She's a Brick House." She locked down the first spot. Only moments later it was my turn. I had no costume but I had a prop. I thought it might help. It was a cardboard cut out in the form of a person. I told the coaches it was a "cheerleader." I hesitate to say I remember much of what happened during my 60 seconds of fame but you really only need to know 4 things.
1) I brought my sisters Mariah Carey CD with me.
2) I threw the cardboard cheerleader around like a rag doll.
3) I ended my routine with a backflip.
4) I GOT THE JOB!
Was beign the mascot everything I ever dreamed it would be? Sure it was. Did being the Mascot get me any closer to dating my dream girl? NOPE! Did it stop me from trying? Not at all.
One day I decided I would impress Nicole with what I thought was her favorite dessert. A cherry pie. Now at the time, I assumed she would also like a guy that cooked for her. So I ruled out the frozen store-bought option, and went for the impossible. I was going to bake her a pie from scratch. You better believe I rode my bike to Safeway and picked up all the necessary ingredients. I spent a couple hours in the kitchen and Wa-la! I had my masterpiece! It smelled AMAZING! I was so pumped! Who could resist this? By that I mean, who could resist me, after doing this? She couldn't possibly pass me up.
The Dawsons lived about a half mile away and I didn't want to walk that far, so I decided I would ride my bike at a slow speed. I would hold the pie in one hand and use the other hand to steer my bike. I think you know where this is going. I made it all the way to her driveway, but just as I went to steer my bike up the sloped curb, my front tire (that was kinda flat) turned sideways. This caused the back end of the bike to elevate, sending both me, and my homemade masterpiece flying onto the driveway. Well, let me take that back. The pie landed on their bright red mustang, then fell to the driveway.
I WAS DEVESTATED! I remember laying flat on my back on the driveway wondering how this could have happened. I mumbled over and over again, "Why me? Why now?" I spent the next few minutes scraping as much of the pie off their car, and off their driveway as I could, placing it back into the pan. Then I thought, "Ok, so do I go home and just pretend like I didn't even try, or do I milk the sympathy cow for all it's worth." I went the sympathyy route and rang the doorbell hoping Nicole would answer and I could melt her heart with my sob story. Well, it didn't work out quite like I planned. Her mom answered the door and I decided to give her my sob story instead. Thankfully, being one of the nicest people on the planet, she was incredibly sympathetic! She let me wash my hands and clean up the road rash on my arms. However, Nicole never got her fresh cherry pie, and I never got my adolescent dream girl.
The moral of this story??? ALWAYS PUMP UP YOUR BIKE TIRES!!!!
Whenever she was single I spent a ridiculous amount of time and effort discovering new ways to impress her. One year in high school I heard she was giving up cheerleading to be the mascot. Then I heard there was gonna be 2 mascots. I decided I would try out also because hey, if we were both mascots what more do you need right? I mean realistically who can resist a guy in a sweaty mountain lion costume that spends his Friday nights entertaining fans and geting screamed at by cheerleaders for "being in the way."
So the day of try-outs came and I was nervous. When they told us we'd be performing one at a time in front of the 2 cheer coaches without any other contestants watching, I was a little LESS nervous. Nicole was one of the first to try out. I knew she would make it. How did I know? She rented a sumo suit and did a dance performance to "She's a Brick House." She locked down the first spot. Only moments later it was my turn. I had no costume but I had a prop. I thought it might help. It was a cardboard cut out in the form of a person. I told the coaches it was a "cheerleader." I hesitate to say I remember much of what happened during my 60 seconds of fame but you really only need to know 4 things.
1) I brought my sisters Mariah Carey CD with me.
2) I threw the cardboard cheerleader around like a rag doll.
3) I ended my routine with a backflip.
4) I GOT THE JOB!
Was beign the mascot everything I ever dreamed it would be? Sure it was. Did being the Mascot get me any closer to dating my dream girl? NOPE! Did it stop me from trying? Not at all.
One day I decided I would impress Nicole with what I thought was her favorite dessert. A cherry pie. Now at the time, I assumed she would also like a guy that cooked for her. So I ruled out the frozen store-bought option, and went for the impossible. I was going to bake her a pie from scratch. You better believe I rode my bike to Safeway and picked up all the necessary ingredients. I spent a couple hours in the kitchen and Wa-la! I had my masterpiece! It smelled AMAZING! I was so pumped! Who could resist this? By that I mean, who could resist me, after doing this? She couldn't possibly pass me up.
The Dawsons lived about a half mile away and I didn't want to walk that far, so I decided I would ride my bike at a slow speed. I would hold the pie in one hand and use the other hand to steer my bike. I think you know where this is going. I made it all the way to her driveway, but just as I went to steer my bike up the sloped curb, my front tire (that was kinda flat) turned sideways. This caused the back end of the bike to elevate, sending both me, and my homemade masterpiece flying onto the driveway. Well, let me take that back. The pie landed on their bright red mustang, then fell to the driveway.
I WAS DEVESTATED! I remember laying flat on my back on the driveway wondering how this could have happened. I mumbled over and over again, "Why me? Why now?" I spent the next few minutes scraping as much of the pie off their car, and off their driveway as I could, placing it back into the pan. Then I thought, "Ok, so do I go home and just pretend like I didn't even try, or do I milk the sympathy cow for all it's worth." I went the sympathyy route and rang the doorbell hoping Nicole would answer and I could melt her heart with my sob story. Well, it didn't work out quite like I planned. Her mom answered the door and I decided to give her my sob story instead. Thankfully, being one of the nicest people on the planet, she was incredibly sympathetic! She let me wash my hands and clean up the road rash on my arms. However, Nicole never got her fresh cherry pie, and I never got my adolescent dream girl.
The moral of this story??? ALWAYS PUMP UP YOUR BIKE TIRES!!!!
Jun 10, 2011
Sometimes You Gotta Look Back and Laugh
**CAUTION** If you are offended or grossed out by farting you probably won't be a big fan of this story. So don't read it.
As I've mentioned in a couple previous entries, my little brother Russ and I shared a room for quite some time growing up. During that time we found various ways to entertain ourselves. Sometimes we connected a few pieces of flimsy race car track, placed one end under the mattress and tucked the other end into the top drawer of our dresser, allowing the middle of the track to sag down a couple feet. Then we'd each grab a small car, place them on opposite ends of the track, and let them go. They would collide in the middle and more often than not one of the cars would fly off the track. The winning car would move on to the next round. It might sound silly, but to a couple of boys that had to share a room it made for some fun times.
However, not everything we did to entertain ourselves was so harmless. One night, Russ and I were up late laughing about anything and everything. It was just one of those nights. I happened to have a bad case of the farts too. Which had us laughing even harder. I don't know how or why all of the events of that night unfolded but at some point I thought it would be funny to take the lid off of a Snapple bottle and try to “bottle my fart.” So I did it. I remember laughing so hard before and after, I was crying. Russ was too. I placed the Snapple bottle on our dresser and we wondered if it would still smell the next day.
Fast forward to the next morning. My mom came in the room and turned on the light to wake us up. I of course immediately thought of the bottle on the dresser. I said something to my mom like, “Mom you see that glass bottle on the dresser? I don't know what the inside of it smells like but it smells funny. I can't pin point it. It's weird, you should smell it!” I saw Russ duck under his covers, I assume so my mom wouldn't see him trying so hard not to laugh. It took a little more convincing, but eventually my mom took the bottle off the dresser, removed the lid, and took a big whiff. I cannot tell you exactly what she said but I can tell you that Russ and I have spent the last 15 years or so laughing about it!!!!
The moral of the story? If you're gonna fart in a jar, at least keep it to yourself. I still feel bad about conning my mom into smelling it, but DANG was it hilarious!!
As I've mentioned in a couple previous entries, my little brother Russ and I shared a room for quite some time growing up. During that time we found various ways to entertain ourselves. Sometimes we connected a few pieces of flimsy race car track, placed one end under the mattress and tucked the other end into the top drawer of our dresser, allowing the middle of the track to sag down a couple feet. Then we'd each grab a small car, place them on opposite ends of the track, and let them go. They would collide in the middle and more often than not one of the cars would fly off the track. The winning car would move on to the next round. It might sound silly, but to a couple of boys that had to share a room it made for some fun times.
However, not everything we did to entertain ourselves was so harmless. One night, Russ and I were up late laughing about anything and everything. It was just one of those nights. I happened to have a bad case of the farts too. Which had us laughing even harder. I don't know how or why all of the events of that night unfolded but at some point I thought it would be funny to take the lid off of a Snapple bottle and try to “bottle my fart.” So I did it. I remember laughing so hard before and after, I was crying. Russ was too. I placed the Snapple bottle on our dresser and we wondered if it would still smell the next day.
Fast forward to the next morning. My mom came in the room and turned on the light to wake us up. I of course immediately thought of the bottle on the dresser. I said something to my mom like, “Mom you see that glass bottle on the dresser? I don't know what the inside of it smells like but it smells funny. I can't pin point it. It's weird, you should smell it!” I saw Russ duck under his covers, I assume so my mom wouldn't see him trying so hard not to laugh. It took a little more convincing, but eventually my mom took the bottle off the dresser, removed the lid, and took a big whiff. I cannot tell you exactly what she said but I can tell you that Russ and I have spent the last 15 years or so laughing about it!!!!
The moral of the story? If you're gonna fart in a jar, at least keep it to yourself. I still feel bad about conning my mom into smelling it, but DANG was it hilarious!!
Jun 3, 2011
I Should Really Pay Attention...
A number of years ago I would occasionally baby sit Andy and Kurt Haws. Far from a monumental tasks, as Andy spent most of his time watching tv and Kurt shared his time between playing with Andy, and playing with Barbies. Never did understand the latter half of that.
On one particular Friday night, Lindy Haws, the mother in the family, was running through the typical pre-babysitting routine while I sat at the kitchen table paying little to no attention to what she was saying. I figured it was the same thing she always said just before she and her husband took off for the night. Something like, "Ok, Scott, here's some phone numbers in case there's an emergency, here's where we're gonna be, we should be home around 11, yada yada yada, make yourself at home and eat anything you can find, yada yada yada. I don't remember hearing anyting out of the ordinary on that night.
So fast forward a couple hours, Kurt and Andy are both asleep, and I'm developing a SERIOUS case of the munchies. So I wandered into the kitchen, rummaged through the pantry, opened and closed the fridge like 15 times, and finally decided I'd indulge myself in the red velvet cake that was resting on the stove top. It was practically beckoning to me to have a taste. So I did just that. Only I had more than a taste. I ate like half the cake. It was DIVINE! Beyond it's magnificent taste however, I didn't think much about what I'd just done.
Fast forward about a month. I'm beginning to wonder why Lindy hasn't asked me to babysit again. It's Sunday and I see Andy in the hallway at church. I asked him if they got a new babysitter and he told me yes, but I don't remember if I knew who it was or not. In fact I don't remember much of our conversation other than being told one vital piece of information. His mom was really upset that I ate the cake. Apparently it was for something special and during her typical routine before leaving, I'd missed the "Don't eat the cake on the stove top" memo.
Whoops... My bad!
On one particular Friday night, Lindy Haws, the mother in the family, was running through the typical pre-babysitting routine while I sat at the kitchen table paying little to no attention to what she was saying. I figured it was the same thing she always said just before she and her husband took off for the night. Something like, "Ok, Scott, here's some phone numbers in case there's an emergency, here's where we're gonna be, we should be home around 11, yada yada yada, make yourself at home and eat anything you can find, yada yada yada. I don't remember hearing anyting out of the ordinary on that night.
So fast forward a couple hours, Kurt and Andy are both asleep, and I'm developing a SERIOUS case of the munchies. So I wandered into the kitchen, rummaged through the pantry, opened and closed the fridge like 15 times, and finally decided I'd indulge myself in the red velvet cake that was resting on the stove top. It was practically beckoning to me to have a taste. So I did just that. Only I had more than a taste. I ate like half the cake. It was DIVINE! Beyond it's magnificent taste however, I didn't think much about what I'd just done.
Fast forward about a month. I'm beginning to wonder why Lindy hasn't asked me to babysit again. It's Sunday and I see Andy in the hallway at church. I asked him if they got a new babysitter and he told me yes, but I don't remember if I knew who it was or not. In fact I don't remember much of our conversation other than being told one vital piece of information. His mom was really upset that I ate the cake. Apparently it was for something special and during her typical routine before leaving, I'd missed the "Don't eat the cake on the stove top" memo.
Whoops... My bad!
Jun 2, 2011
"Look bro... I'm Sorry..."
The following story took place during my church mission to southern Georgia. More specifically it took place just before Christmas in 2004, inside of a Dairy Queen, on the outskirts of a small town called Gray.
Me and my companion, Elder Crookston, were riding our bikes home down highway 20 around 9 pm when we decided to make a pit stop at Dairy Queen. The pit stop wasn't for food though. You see Crookston had to drop the deuce and decided he couldn't wait 5 minutes til we got home. So we locked up our bikes up, took off our nerdy helmets and went inside. Seeing as how I didn't even need to go to the bathroom perhaps I should've avoided the area completely, but I decided I'd just go in and wash my hands.
Now you'll have to do your best to visualize this but the bathroom was set up (from left to right) sink, urinal, stall. Crookston was already in the stall reeking things up by the time I walked in to wash my hands. Well, no sooner had I turned on the sink than the door to the bathroom opens, and in walks, or should I say stumbles, a very large, very drunk, and very scary looking man. I didn't think much of it other than he was twice my size, I could smell the alcohol on him, and he looked like he was ready to kill somebody. So I guess just the obvious. haha.
So the drunk guy starts to take a leak at the urinal just to the right of the sink I'm standing at, and just to the left of the stall my companion is sitting in. Just keep that in mind. When I was done washing my hands I began looking at the paper towel dispensener attempting to figure out how to ACTUALLY get paper towells to come out of it. Then I noticed a sign that said "Wave hand in front of sensor to dispense paper towels." This was the first time I'd seen one of these things. So I did what the sign told me to do and began shaking both my hands in front of what I thought was the sensor. Suddenly, a paper towel roll began to emerge from the bottom of the dispenser about a foot at a time. I'm not gonna lie, I was fascinated.
I continued to shake my hands back and forth until I had about 4 feet of paper towels to work with. Then, just as I tore off the last strip, the drunk guy standing just a couple feet to my right screams out, "Hey, what the hell's your problem man?" This was the remainder of our conversation as I started drying my hands with a rather confused look on my face...
Me: "Uhmmm nothing, just drying my hands."
Drunk Man: "No you're not!"
Me: "I don't understand, yes I am."
Drunk man: "You're F*&#@* % throwing water on me!"
Me: (Pausing for a moment to try and figure out what he's talking about) "When did I throw water on you?)
Drunk Man: (Still taking a leak just a few feet away) "Don't play stupid, m***** f*****, you just threw water all over my face!"
I paused yet again and then suddenly realized that while shaking my hands back and forth in front of the paper towel dispenser I had accidentally flicked water on his face. The conversation continued as follows...
Me: (Sort of chuckling) "Oh wow! Man, I'm sorry, I was just trying to get the paper towels to come out, I didn't even know I was getting water on you. That's my bad."
Drunk man: "It ain't funny B****! Don't laugh!"
Me: (Now getting a little bit nervous and a little bit angry at the same time) "Look Bro, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do it. Just relax!"
Drunk Man: "Why you still laughing?"
Me: (Now leaning more towards the angry side) "I'm not laughing!"
Drunk man: "You think it's funny?"
Me: "Not at all!"
Drunk Man: "How'd you like it if I just turned around right now and started pissing all over your shoes?! You wouldn't be laughing so hard then would you?!"
Me: "Bro, I'm not laughing anymore, and I already apologized. It was an accident! You need to calm down!"
Drunk Man: "Ya well F*** you!"
At this point I'm thinking, man I'd love to knock this drunk punk out, leave him laying in the bathroom, and tell a Dairy Queen employee he passed out. But considering I was sporting a missionary name tag I concluded that it probably wasn't the best "career move." So instead I walked out into the hallway, stood against the wall, and waited for Elder Crookston to finish taking a dump. Then, almost immediately, I thought to myself, "Wow, Elder Crookston heard that entire conversation but couldn't see a thing because he was inside the stall." hahaha. I started laughing out loud to myself thinking of how awkward all of that must have sounded to him. Well about a minute later Crookston walked out with a confused look on his face, and a few feet behind him was the drunk guy. The drunk guy nudged Elder Crookston out of the way and walked quickly past both of us, staring me down the whole way, before exiting out the front doors.
Crookston promptly asked me, "What in the world was that all about?" I responded, "I don't know man. I accidentally flicked water on the guy and next thing I know he's cussing up a storm and he wants to fight me!" Crookston started laughing and said, "Man, I was sitting there going taking a dump thinking to myself, geez if Sorensen gets in a fight he's on his own, I'm a little pre-occupied." We both started busting up laughing as we walked outside, unlocked our bikes, and started the short ride home.
The moral of this story??? When using a motion activated paper towel dispenser, do your best to make sure the people within "water flicking" distance are sober/and or not ready to fight you!
The End!
Me and my companion, Elder Crookston, were riding our bikes home down highway 20 around 9 pm when we decided to make a pit stop at Dairy Queen. The pit stop wasn't for food though. You see Crookston had to drop the deuce and decided he couldn't wait 5 minutes til we got home. So we locked up our bikes up, took off our nerdy helmets and went inside. Seeing as how I didn't even need to go to the bathroom perhaps I should've avoided the area completely, but I decided I'd just go in and wash my hands.
Now you'll have to do your best to visualize this but the bathroom was set up (from left to right) sink, urinal, stall. Crookston was already in the stall reeking things up by the time I walked in to wash my hands. Well, no sooner had I turned on the sink than the door to the bathroom opens, and in walks, or should I say stumbles, a very large, very drunk, and very scary looking man. I didn't think much of it other than he was twice my size, I could smell the alcohol on him, and he looked like he was ready to kill somebody. So I guess just the obvious. haha.
So the drunk guy starts to take a leak at the urinal just to the right of the sink I'm standing at, and just to the left of the stall my companion is sitting in. Just keep that in mind. When I was done washing my hands I began looking at the paper towel dispensener attempting to figure out how to ACTUALLY get paper towells to come out of it. Then I noticed a sign that said "Wave hand in front of sensor to dispense paper towels." This was the first time I'd seen one of these things. So I did what the sign told me to do and began shaking both my hands in front of what I thought was the sensor. Suddenly, a paper towel roll began to emerge from the bottom of the dispenser about a foot at a time. I'm not gonna lie, I was fascinated.
I continued to shake my hands back and forth until I had about 4 feet of paper towels to work with. Then, just as I tore off the last strip, the drunk guy standing just a couple feet to my right screams out, "Hey, what the hell's your problem man?" This was the remainder of our conversation as I started drying my hands with a rather confused look on my face...
Me: "Uhmmm nothing, just drying my hands."
Drunk Man: "No you're not!"
Me: "I don't understand, yes I am."
Drunk man: "You're F*&#@* % throwing water on me!"
Me: (Pausing for a moment to try and figure out what he's talking about) "When did I throw water on you?)
Drunk Man: (Still taking a leak just a few feet away) "Don't play stupid, m***** f*****, you just threw water all over my face!"
I paused yet again and then suddenly realized that while shaking my hands back and forth in front of the paper towel dispenser I had accidentally flicked water on his face. The conversation continued as follows...
Me: (Sort of chuckling) "Oh wow! Man, I'm sorry, I was just trying to get the paper towels to come out, I didn't even know I was getting water on you. That's my bad."
Drunk man: "It ain't funny B****! Don't laugh!"
Me: (Now getting a little bit nervous and a little bit angry at the same time) "Look Bro, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do it. Just relax!"
Drunk Man: "Why you still laughing?"
Me: (Now leaning more towards the angry side) "I'm not laughing!"
Drunk man: "You think it's funny?"
Me: "Not at all!"
Drunk Man: "How'd you like it if I just turned around right now and started pissing all over your shoes?! You wouldn't be laughing so hard then would you?!"
Me: "Bro, I'm not laughing anymore, and I already apologized. It was an accident! You need to calm down!"
Drunk Man: "Ya well F*** you!"
At this point I'm thinking, man I'd love to knock this drunk punk out, leave him laying in the bathroom, and tell a Dairy Queen employee he passed out. But considering I was sporting a missionary name tag I concluded that it probably wasn't the best "career move." So instead I walked out into the hallway, stood against the wall, and waited for Elder Crookston to finish taking a dump. Then, almost immediately, I thought to myself, "Wow, Elder Crookston heard that entire conversation but couldn't see a thing because he was inside the stall." hahaha. I started laughing out loud to myself thinking of how awkward all of that must have sounded to him. Well about a minute later Crookston walked out with a confused look on his face, and a few feet behind him was the drunk guy. The drunk guy nudged Elder Crookston out of the way and walked quickly past both of us, staring me down the whole way, before exiting out the front doors.
Crookston promptly asked me, "What in the world was that all about?" I responded, "I don't know man. I accidentally flicked water on the guy and next thing I know he's cussing up a storm and he wants to fight me!" Crookston started laughing and said, "Man, I was sitting there going taking a dump thinking to myself, geez if Sorensen gets in a fight he's on his own, I'm a little pre-occupied." We both started busting up laughing as we walked outside, unlocked our bikes, and started the short ride home.
The moral of this story??? When using a motion activated paper towel dispenser, do your best to make sure the people within "water flicking" distance are sober/and or not ready to fight you!
The End!
May 29, 2011
"The number you have dialed...."
About 5 years ago I met a girl named Julie online. By the way, the only thing worse than meeting a girl online is more specifically, meeting a girl on MYSPACE! However, before you let out a "pfff, well what were you doing on myspace you pervert," let's remember that 5 years ago it was FAR more popular for a kid my age to use myspace than facebook. Especially as a means of meeting women. Also, to my credit, I didn't find her randomly, we were "virtually" introduced through a common friend.
Julie and I exchanged a few witty e-mails before I figuretively "grew a pair" and finally asked her for her phone number. Following the acquisition of her digits we indulged in a plethora of "get to know you" phone conversations. I learned that she worked at a dental office, went to school part time, loved to dance, and enjoyed country music. I also enjoy country music, and on top of having similar taste in music we had similar taste in humor. We laughed at each other, with each over, and about each other. In short, I was both willing and excited to drive the 45 minutes across town for our first date.
We kept it simple. We went out to eat, got ice cream, and then hung out at her house where we had mindless conversation. We laughed til our stomach's hurt, and then laughed some more. Our second date was only a couple days later, and we decided to get out of town. We drove North about an hour for some cooler weather and some quality campfire coversation. I was diggin this girl! She was cute, she was funny, and as far as I could tell she thought the same of me. She called me almost every day. At the end of our 3rd date she told me she couldn't wait to go out again. At the end of our fourth date, which was on a Friday, she told me she had a blast and could hardly wait for me to come to her house on Sunday night to play games with her family. She gave me one of those "extra long" hugs and we called it a night.
Fast forward less than 24 hours. It was saturday afternoon and I tried calling her to find out exactly when she wanted me to come over the next day for games. She didn't answer so I left her a voicemail. It was not returned. Sunday morning before church I sent her a text that said something like, "Hey Julie what time are we playing games at your house tonight?" I never got a response. I was perplexed, but I didn't let it bother me. I assumed something had come up or she was really busy. I waited until Tuesday to try and contact her again. Tuesday night I called her again. No answer. I left her a voicemail that said something like, "Hey Julie just wondering how you're doin, gimme a call back when ya got the chance. Hope all is well. Take it easy." I never heard back!
So let's break this down. We'd been on 4 really fun dates, the last ending in her VOLUNTARILY telling me not only how much fun she had that night, but also how excited she was for me to come over just 2 nights later. Over the next 5 days I left her 2 voicemails and sent her one text message, and also left her a simple "what's new" comment on her myspace. I wasn't exhibiting stalker-esque behavior, calling and texting her multiple times a day. I was simply behaving like someone who'd had an absolute blast, on 4 seperate occasions, with a girl that was constantly telling me how much fun she was having.
The rest of the following week I vented about her sudden "disappearence" to a couple of my buddies and some of them suggested calling her one more time and if she didn't pick up, ask her why she's ignoring me in the voicemail. So I called her, but I never got the chance to leave a voicemail. All I heard when I dialed her number was, "The number you have dialed is not accepting calls at this time." I thought that was rather strange so I waited a few hours and tried again. Same thing.
That night while hanging out at the Dawson family's house I was ranting yet again about Julie's shady behavior when the thought dawned on me.... "Wait, what if she blocked my number?" I ran the possibility by a few of the Dawson boys and we decided that we'd try calling her using one of their phone's and see what happened. Brandon got his phone out and dialed her number. It rang. Nobody answered, and it went to voicemail. I'm thinking at this point, "What the gay? How come it doesn't ring when I try calling her?!?!" So I tried again, and sure enough, the same message.
Julie straight up blocked my number! So let's review... one more time... for kicks and giggles... The last physical gesture between us was a great big hug, initiated BY HER! The last words spoken to me, by her, were "Scott I'm so excited for you to come over and play games with my family on Sunday!" After that... NOTHING! No phone calls, no text messages, and worst of all, no explanation as to WHY?????
Moments like these make me wish I had that "special gift!"
Julie and I exchanged a few witty e-mails before I figuretively "grew a pair" and finally asked her for her phone number. Following the acquisition of her digits we indulged in a plethora of "get to know you" phone conversations. I learned that she worked at a dental office, went to school part time, loved to dance, and enjoyed country music. I also enjoy country music, and on top of having similar taste in music we had similar taste in humor. We laughed at each other, with each over, and about each other. In short, I was both willing and excited to drive the 45 minutes across town for our first date.
We kept it simple. We went out to eat, got ice cream, and then hung out at her house where we had mindless conversation. We laughed til our stomach's hurt, and then laughed some more. Our second date was only a couple days later, and we decided to get out of town. We drove North about an hour for some cooler weather and some quality campfire coversation. I was diggin this girl! She was cute, she was funny, and as far as I could tell she thought the same of me. She called me almost every day. At the end of our 3rd date she told me she couldn't wait to go out again. At the end of our fourth date, which was on a Friday, she told me she had a blast and could hardly wait for me to come to her house on Sunday night to play games with her family. She gave me one of those "extra long" hugs and we called it a night.
Fast forward less than 24 hours. It was saturday afternoon and I tried calling her to find out exactly when she wanted me to come over the next day for games. She didn't answer so I left her a voicemail. It was not returned. Sunday morning before church I sent her a text that said something like, "Hey Julie what time are we playing games at your house tonight?" I never got a response. I was perplexed, but I didn't let it bother me. I assumed something had come up or she was really busy. I waited until Tuesday to try and contact her again. Tuesday night I called her again. No answer. I left her a voicemail that said something like, "Hey Julie just wondering how you're doin, gimme a call back when ya got the chance. Hope all is well. Take it easy." I never heard back!
So let's break this down. We'd been on 4 really fun dates, the last ending in her VOLUNTARILY telling me not only how much fun she had that night, but also how excited she was for me to come over just 2 nights later. Over the next 5 days I left her 2 voicemails and sent her one text message, and also left her a simple "what's new" comment on her myspace. I wasn't exhibiting stalker-esque behavior, calling and texting her multiple times a day. I was simply behaving like someone who'd had an absolute blast, on 4 seperate occasions, with a girl that was constantly telling me how much fun she was having.
The rest of the following week I vented about her sudden "disappearence" to a couple of my buddies and some of them suggested calling her one more time and if she didn't pick up, ask her why she's ignoring me in the voicemail. So I called her, but I never got the chance to leave a voicemail. All I heard when I dialed her number was, "The number you have dialed is not accepting calls at this time." I thought that was rather strange so I waited a few hours and tried again. Same thing.
That night while hanging out at the Dawson family's house I was ranting yet again about Julie's shady behavior when the thought dawned on me.... "Wait, what if she blocked my number?" I ran the possibility by a few of the Dawson boys and we decided that we'd try calling her using one of their phone's and see what happened. Brandon got his phone out and dialed her number. It rang. Nobody answered, and it went to voicemail. I'm thinking at this point, "What the gay? How come it doesn't ring when I try calling her?!?!" So I tried again, and sure enough, the same message.
Julie straight up blocked my number! So let's review... one more time... for kicks and giggles... The last physical gesture between us was a great big hug, initiated BY HER! The last words spoken to me, by her, were "Scott I'm so excited for you to come over and play games with my family on Sunday!" After that... NOTHING! No phone calls, no text messages, and worst of all, no explanation as to WHY?????
Moments like these make me wish I had that "special gift!"
Just a GREAT time!
My favorite thing to do when it's over 100 degrees? Head up North for a day in the cool pines! My favorite thing(s) to do when I'm there? Take a nap with the wind as "white noise," shoot guns, and eat dutch oven cherry cobbler by the fire! I'll tell ya what... Life is GREAT when your best friend enjoys the same things you do! :)
May 26, 2011
"What happened to my frog?"
Many years ago my little sister Amy decided she wanted a pet frog. So after what I'm sure was a little bit of hesitation, my mom bought her a small tree frog and a one gallon aquarium. The frog feasted on baby crickets, but spent most of it's time motionless sleeping in the corner of it's "cage."
Well, one day I overheard Amy talking about how she was "tired of taking care of the frog," and how she didn't want it anymore. So as far as I was concerned, it was up for sale! The very next day my buddy Steve and I were feeding the frog when the following conversation took place:
Steve: "Man, I wish I had a pet frog!"
Me: "Funny you should say that Steve, I'll sell you this one."
Steve: "But isn't it your sister's?"
Me: "Ya but she doesn't want it anymore."
Steve: "Well how much you selling it for?"
Me: "How much do you have on you?"
(Steve empties his pockets)
Steve: "Uhmmm... Looks like I've got $5 and a can of fart spray"
"Are you kidding me? SOLD!!!!"
$5 and a can of fart spray for a stupid frog that wasn't even mine? I'll take it!
Fast forward a couple hours as our family gathered at the dinner table. The folliwng conversation takes place:
Amy: "Uhmmm What happened to my frog?"
Me: "I sold it to Steve."
(puzzled looks abound)
Amy: "What! Why would you sell my frog?!"
Me: "I over heard you saying you didn't want it anymore so I sold it!"
My dad: "How much did you sell it for?"
Me: "$5 and a can of fart spray."
Almost everyone at the table begins laughing... Except Amy!
Sorry Amy... I still owe you a frog :)
Well, one day I overheard Amy talking about how she was "tired of taking care of the frog," and how she didn't want it anymore. So as far as I was concerned, it was up for sale! The very next day my buddy Steve and I were feeding the frog when the following conversation took place:
Steve: "Man, I wish I had a pet frog!"
Me: "Funny you should say that Steve, I'll sell you this one."
Steve: "But isn't it your sister's?"
Me: "Ya but she doesn't want it anymore."
Steve: "Well how much you selling it for?"
Me: "How much do you have on you?"
(Steve empties his pockets)
Steve: "Uhmmm... Looks like I've got $5 and a can of fart spray"
"Are you kidding me? SOLD!!!!"
$5 and a can of fart spray for a stupid frog that wasn't even mine? I'll take it!
Fast forward a couple hours as our family gathered at the dinner table. The folliwng conversation takes place:
Amy: "Uhmmm What happened to my frog?"
Me: "I sold it to Steve."
(puzzled looks abound)
Amy: "What! Why would you sell my frog?!"
Me: "I over heard you saying you didn't want it anymore so I sold it!"
My dad: "How much did you sell it for?"
Me: "$5 and a can of fart spray."
Almost everyone at the table begins laughing... Except Amy!
Sorry Amy... I still owe you a frog :)
May 25, 2011
I Was Once A Con Artist
**Special Note** As I mentioned on facebook I wrote this just like I want it written in my book, so I'd appreciate your opinion on whether or not you think it's "book worthy." Enjoy...
I've recently become infatuated with the T.V. show "American Greed" on CNBC. The majority of the episodes chronicle famous ponzi schemes in which greedy professionals (lawyers, doctors, financial advisers, etc...) scam "unsuspecting" investors out of millions of dollars. Without fail, every episode leaves me shaking my head and practically screaming out loud, "UNBELIEVABLE! How do people fall for this crap???"
Well, just a few hours ago I experienced a serious flare-up of A.D.D. that might not have necessarily answered that question, but it lead me to the subject of today's post. You see, as my mind drifted all over creation - unable to maintain a particular thought pattern for more than a few seconds - I was reminded of a time in my childhood. A time when I unleashed a devastating assault on my classmates. Not a physical assault. Not a verbal assault. But a financial assault on my classmates' lunch money and quite possibly their entire weekly allowances. It will probably leave most of you wondering, as I still do, "How do people fall for that crap?"
Let's venture back... WAY BACK... to the 1994 school year. The OJ trial begins, Richard Nixon's life ends, and Mariah Carey releases her much anticipated Christmas album. Which she so UNcreatively names, "Merry Christmas." Good one Mariah! Meanwhile, I'm a bull cut-havin, handy-down t-shirt-wearin 3rd grader at Arrowhead Elementary. My teacher is Mrs Shea. She looked a little bit like the old lady in Matilda.
None of that was relevant, just thought I'd share. What IS relevant is that in 3rd grade I, like so many others my age, had so few opportunities for financial gain. I mean even back in 3rd grade I performed weekly chores, including yard work, but for what??? The privilege of having my best friend (who I already spent 12 hours a day with anyways) spend a few extra hours with me on a Friday night eating ice cream and watching 3 ninjas before passing out on the family room floor using our arms as pillows??? LAAAAAME DUDE! Hey current and future moms and dads... I'm willing to bet the entire stack of "free taco" coupons I have kicking around in my truck that the average third grader in today's world would GLADLY replace his sleep over privelages with, oh I don't know... 20 bucks?! Even $10! Just give the kid some money so he doesn't end up like me! I'm not bitter... I'm just saying :)
So as I mentioned before I had no source of income in the 3rd grade. So what did I do? Well, first I got lucky. One day while wandering around in my parents closet looking for some Uno cards I stumbled upon an old Crystal Light can. I pulled it out from behind my dads suit coat, and immediately tipped it towards my open palm. I was calmly expecting a secret stash of pink lemonade packets to fall out into my hand. However, much to my surprise, half dollars, and silver dollars began pouring out on to the floor. You've heard the expression, I was like a kid in a candy store? Well, when i found that Crystal Light can, I was more like a kid HEADED STRAIGHT FOR the candy store!
As far as I can recall my first purchase was a box of 72 airheads from Walgreens. It cost like 8 bucks and I'm sure the cashier was thinking, "Where the crap did this little kid get 8 silver dollars from?" Over the next few weeks, when I'd hear the notorious ice cream man jingle, I would bolt inside and head straight for the coat closet. You see I didn't want to arouse suspicion so I'd only take as many coins as I needed and carefully place the container in it's original position. Side note, there were also foreign coins in this stash which thankfully I didn't try to sell and or use during this period. Anyways, I spent basically the remainder of the stash on the ice cream man, who I vividly remember LOVED trading ninja turtle ice cream bars and 2 foot tall otter pops for some rare coinage.
However, as you could expect, my slurry of oversized silver coins eventually ran low. I remember leaving a few in the can for "safety" as if my dad wouldn't notice the other 40+ missing pieces. So what did I do when I ran out of stolen allowance? I got creative. My friends and I were really into collecting baseball and basketball cards. We would beg our parents to buy us the monthly issues of "Beckett" magazine, so we could thumb through it's pages and figure out how much every one of our cards was worth. We would intricately place them 9 at a time, into specifically designed plastic pages that fit so conveniently into 3 ring binders. These 3 ring binders full of cards meant the world to us!
Well, at some point I learned that autographed cards were worth more than... well... more than cards with no autograph. So naturally, while other 3rd graders spent hours after school doing homework, I spent hours in my room, with the door locked, practicing fake autographs. I specifically remember practicing Ryan Sandberg's autograph for HOURS!! Why? Well, because I had Sandberg's 1990 Donruss MVP card! It looked just like this...
I remember thinking not only is Ryan Sandberg a popular player, but this card looks awesome, and I'll bet I could sell it for tons of money if it was autographed! So after a couple days, and what was probably 30 pieces of computer paper, I felt I had perfected his autograph. I carefully removed Sandberg's card from it's precious sleeve and placed it on the outside of my binder. I only had one shot at this because I only had one of his MVP cards. I took a black permanent marker from my backpack, pulled the lid off, sniffed it a few times - just kidding - and then scribbled Sandberg's autograph on the front of the card.
BAM! PERFECTION! I stared at my "Rembrandt" for several minutes fantasizing about how much I could sell it for. $10... $20... maybe even $30! There was a spoiled kid that lived around the corner from us named Travis King. He wasn't that into collecting baseball cards but he definitely had money. I apologize for not remembering exactly who I conned into buying my first autographed card, but I definitely sold it, and it was definitely NOT the only one. I sold at least 20 other falsely autographed cards, including a Kirby Puckett MVP card that was identical to the Sandberg. When skeptics would inquire (in a much less mature manner than I will put it) about how a kid living in a town with no baseball team would be able to collect such a fantastic set of John Hancocks, I would let the BS rain down! "Oh my dad travels for work and goes to lots of baseball games and gets players' autographs." "Oh my dad buys them from a magazine, and gives them to me." I mean seriously folks, I was in 3rd grade, throwing sales pitches at kids equally as gullible as I was. I could have told them I found them on the bus and gotten at least a few dollars each. It was a great scam! To be honest with you, I don't know why I ever stopped! Oh wait... Yes I do!
I stopped selling fake autographs when Mortal Kombat II was about to be released for the Super Nintendo and Sega Genesis. Some of you might be wondering, was it worth surrendering my "card game" (all pun intended) for a video game scam? OF COURSE IT WAS! When Mortal Kombat II hit the arcades in 1993 the majority of kids had no idea how to learn individual fighter's "finishing moves," or fatalities, as the game called them. The internet was still up and coming, and video game magazines were not only rare, but they would seldom, if ever, enlighten players on finishing moves until the game was released for home use.
So the following year, with only a few days left before the game hit the shelves, I decided I was going to make up complete finishing moves lists for every fighter, print them out, and sell them at school. The list included button by button instructions on how to complete every player's fatality, babality, and friendship move. Looking back this was such a stupid idea! Not only was it far less lucrative than the cards, as I was selling the 3 page pamphlets for only $1 each, but how did I ever expect to get away with it??? Nay do I crap you, the day after the game was released I had like 5 kids come up to me and be like, "Dude, none of your moves even work. Where did you get them from?" I quickly turned the blame on a "friend of mine who goes to a different school," and made sure to give each victim that asked for it, a full refund!
I wish I could say this is where my days as a dishonest business man ended but there is one other scam I remember, just not as vividly. It was also far less complex. I remember stealing golf balls from the driving range a short bike ride from my house, and selling them for a quarter each at school. The only thing more ridiculous? In an effort to cover up the fact that I stole them I told one very interested, and very gullible kid, that I made them using a special machine that my dad bought. I remember explaining to him that I couldn't tell him exactly how it worked or I would get in trouble, but that 2 of the "ingredients" were paper towels and a special "hardening powder," that only adults could buy. HA HA HA HA! Like I was freakin Macgyver in my garage pumping out golf balls!
Oh to be young again...
I've recently become infatuated with the T.V. show "American Greed" on CNBC. The majority of the episodes chronicle famous ponzi schemes in which greedy professionals (lawyers, doctors, financial advisers, etc...) scam "unsuspecting" investors out of millions of dollars. Without fail, every episode leaves me shaking my head and practically screaming out loud, "UNBELIEVABLE! How do people fall for this crap???"
Well, just a few hours ago I experienced a serious flare-up of A.D.D. that might not have necessarily answered that question, but it lead me to the subject of today's post. You see, as my mind drifted all over creation - unable to maintain a particular thought pattern for more than a few seconds - I was reminded of a time in my childhood. A time when I unleashed a devastating assault on my classmates. Not a physical assault. Not a verbal assault. But a financial assault on my classmates' lunch money and quite possibly their entire weekly allowances. It will probably leave most of you wondering, as I still do, "How do people fall for that crap?"
Let's venture back... WAY BACK... to the 1994 school year. The OJ trial begins, Richard Nixon's life ends, and Mariah Carey releases her much anticipated Christmas album. Which she so UNcreatively names, "Merry Christmas." Good one Mariah! Meanwhile, I'm a bull cut-havin, handy-down t-shirt-wearin 3rd grader at Arrowhead Elementary. My teacher is Mrs Shea. She looked a little bit like the old lady in Matilda.
None of that was relevant, just thought I'd share. What IS relevant is that in 3rd grade I, like so many others my age, had so few opportunities for financial gain. I mean even back in 3rd grade I performed weekly chores, including yard work, but for what??? The privilege of having my best friend (who I already spent 12 hours a day with anyways) spend a few extra hours with me on a Friday night eating ice cream and watching 3 ninjas before passing out on the family room floor using our arms as pillows??? LAAAAAME DUDE! Hey current and future moms and dads... I'm willing to bet the entire stack of "free taco" coupons I have kicking around in my truck that the average third grader in today's world would GLADLY replace his sleep over privelages with, oh I don't know... 20 bucks?! Even $10! Just give the kid some money so he doesn't end up like me! I'm not bitter... I'm just saying :)
So as I mentioned before I had no source of income in the 3rd grade. So what did I do? Well, first I got lucky. One day while wandering around in my parents closet looking for some Uno cards I stumbled upon an old Crystal Light can. I pulled it out from behind my dads suit coat, and immediately tipped it towards my open palm. I was calmly expecting a secret stash of pink lemonade packets to fall out into my hand. However, much to my surprise, half dollars, and silver dollars began pouring out on to the floor. You've heard the expression, I was like a kid in a candy store? Well, when i found that Crystal Light can, I was more like a kid HEADED STRAIGHT FOR the candy store!
As far as I can recall my first purchase was a box of 72 airheads from Walgreens. It cost like 8 bucks and I'm sure the cashier was thinking, "Where the crap did this little kid get 8 silver dollars from?" Over the next few weeks, when I'd hear the notorious ice cream man jingle, I would bolt inside and head straight for the coat closet. You see I didn't want to arouse suspicion so I'd only take as many coins as I needed and carefully place the container in it's original position. Side note, there were also foreign coins in this stash which thankfully I didn't try to sell and or use during this period. Anyways, I spent basically the remainder of the stash on the ice cream man, who I vividly remember LOVED trading ninja turtle ice cream bars and 2 foot tall otter pops for some rare coinage.
However, as you could expect, my slurry of oversized silver coins eventually ran low. I remember leaving a few in the can for "safety" as if my dad wouldn't notice the other 40+ missing pieces. So what did I do when I ran out of stolen allowance? I got creative. My friends and I were really into collecting baseball and basketball cards. We would beg our parents to buy us the monthly issues of "Beckett" magazine, so we could thumb through it's pages and figure out how much every one of our cards was worth. We would intricately place them 9 at a time, into specifically designed plastic pages that fit so conveniently into 3 ring binders. These 3 ring binders full of cards meant the world to us!
Well, at some point I learned that autographed cards were worth more than... well... more than cards with no autograph. So naturally, while other 3rd graders spent hours after school doing homework, I spent hours in my room, with the door locked, practicing fake autographs. I specifically remember practicing Ryan Sandberg's autograph for HOURS!! Why? Well, because I had Sandberg's 1990 Donruss MVP card! It looked just like this...
I remember thinking not only is Ryan Sandberg a popular player, but this card looks awesome, and I'll bet I could sell it for tons of money if it was autographed! So after a couple days, and what was probably 30 pieces of computer paper, I felt I had perfected his autograph. I carefully removed Sandberg's card from it's precious sleeve and placed it on the outside of my binder. I only had one shot at this because I only had one of his MVP cards. I took a black permanent marker from my backpack, pulled the lid off, sniffed it a few times - just kidding - and then scribbled Sandberg's autograph on the front of the card.
BAM! PERFECTION! I stared at my "Rembrandt" for several minutes fantasizing about how much I could sell it for. $10... $20... maybe even $30! There was a spoiled kid that lived around the corner from us named Travis King. He wasn't that into collecting baseball cards but he definitely had money. I apologize for not remembering exactly who I conned into buying my first autographed card, but I definitely sold it, and it was definitely NOT the only one. I sold at least 20 other falsely autographed cards, including a Kirby Puckett MVP card that was identical to the Sandberg. When skeptics would inquire (in a much less mature manner than I will put it) about how a kid living in a town with no baseball team would be able to collect such a fantastic set of John Hancocks, I would let the BS rain down! "Oh my dad travels for work and goes to lots of baseball games and gets players' autographs." "Oh my dad buys them from a magazine, and gives them to me." I mean seriously folks, I was in 3rd grade, throwing sales pitches at kids equally as gullible as I was. I could have told them I found them on the bus and gotten at least a few dollars each. It was a great scam! To be honest with you, I don't know why I ever stopped! Oh wait... Yes I do!
I stopped selling fake autographs when Mortal Kombat II was about to be released for the Super Nintendo and Sega Genesis. Some of you might be wondering, was it worth surrendering my "card game" (all pun intended) for a video game scam? OF COURSE IT WAS! When Mortal Kombat II hit the arcades in 1993 the majority of kids had no idea how to learn individual fighter's "finishing moves," or fatalities, as the game called them. The internet was still up and coming, and video game magazines were not only rare, but they would seldom, if ever, enlighten players on finishing moves until the game was released for home use.
So the following year, with only a few days left before the game hit the shelves, I decided I was going to make up complete finishing moves lists for every fighter, print them out, and sell them at school. The list included button by button instructions on how to complete every player's fatality, babality, and friendship move. Looking back this was such a stupid idea! Not only was it far less lucrative than the cards, as I was selling the 3 page pamphlets for only $1 each, but how did I ever expect to get away with it??? Nay do I crap you, the day after the game was released I had like 5 kids come up to me and be like, "Dude, none of your moves even work. Where did you get them from?" I quickly turned the blame on a "friend of mine who goes to a different school," and made sure to give each victim that asked for it, a full refund!
I wish I could say this is where my days as a dishonest business man ended but there is one other scam I remember, just not as vividly. It was also far less complex. I remember stealing golf balls from the driving range a short bike ride from my house, and selling them for a quarter each at school. The only thing more ridiculous? In an effort to cover up the fact that I stole them I told one very interested, and very gullible kid, that I made them using a special machine that my dad bought. I remember explaining to him that I couldn't tell him exactly how it worked or I would get in trouble, but that 2 of the "ingredients" were paper towels and a special "hardening powder," that only adults could buy. HA HA HA HA! Like I was freakin Macgyver in my garage pumping out golf balls!
Oh to be young again...
May 23, 2011
"Dude, Gimme Back My Scooter!"
After yesterday's post my cousin Nick requested that I write more stories about him and my brother Russ ticking me off when we were younger. It got me thinking. Was it always them pushing my buttons or were the rolls ever reversed??? Yes, yes, they were.
Allow me to prelude this story by sharing a few experiences that will hopefully demonstrate that I posessed 2 distinct types of anger growing up. Justifiable, and not so justifiable.
In elementary school I punched a kid in the face repeatedly for making fun of a handicapped kid. I would call that justifiable.
On a seperate occasion, I exemplified "not so justifiable" anger. In 7th grade A small crowd had gathered in my driveway anticipating a fight. The fight was supposed to be between me and Mike Guard. Mike Guard had to be the fattest kid in the city of Phoenix. He could have crushed me! He had 1 year and about 180 pounds on me, and I have absolutely zero recollection of why he even wanted to fight me. However, I do remember calling "time out" just before the fight started and running inside. My heart was racing and I was shaking like crazy. My purpose in retreating in doors was to try and convince my older brother Clint to help me out. Our conversation went something like this:
"Clint you gotta help me dude, I'm about to fight Mike Guard and he's gonna kill me."
"Why are you fighting Mike Guard, that kid is huge?"
"I don't know, but he's ready to fight me and I was thinking because you're huge you should fight him for me."
"Bucky just tell him you don't wanna fight him, I don't understand."
"Dude he's in our driveway right now and there's a bunch of other people waiting to watch the fight."
"Well...Bucky....go be a man and fight him, I'm not gonna help you."
Some brother he was huh? I nervously made my way back to the driveway, thinking the entire time, "I could probably punch this kid in the face 20 times and he'd just laugh at me, pick me up by the neck, and throw me around like a rag doll." So what did I do? Well, I did what I would encourage anyone to do when fighting someone 3 times their size. I walked casually towards him, trying to appear as non-violent as possible, and then, in the blink of an eye, I kicked him as hard as I could in the balls.
The only thing I remember after that is running as fast as I could into my house, closing the garage door, locking the front door, and sitting on the couch scared to death that Mike Guard was gonna kick down my front door and sit on my face!
Sooooo... Now for the story involving me, Nick, and Paul. That's right, NOT me Nick and Russ... Me Nick and PAUL. The one and only PAUL! Nick's dad, Paul. Now according to Nick this entire ordeal began because I'd borrowed his scooter and he wanted it back. I basically thought that because he didn't ask for it back for a couple weeks than he was obviously not interested in EVER getting it back.
I thought wrong.
Nick came over one day thinking that he'd simply ask for what was rightfully his and it would be given to him.
Nick also thought wrong.
For one reason or another, I absolutely refused to give him his scooter back. I probably said something like "Dude, why do you want it back all of the sudden, I've had it for like 3 weeks. You never said a word until now! Just freekin let me have it Nick, you probably have like 5 more scooters in your garage anyways!"
Whatever I said, but more importantly, whatever HE said in return, made me SNAP! I started screaming at him and after I'm sure threatening to beat him up, he retreated quickly to my bedroom, locking the door behind him.
I began beating mercilessly on my bedroom door beginning a conversation that sounded something like this:
"Open my freakin door Nick or I'll beat you up!"
"Suck it fag! Gimme back my scooter!"
"Nick, freekin open my door!"
"No dude, not until you gimme my scooter!"
"Nick! Seriously! You're freakin askin for it dude! That's my room, now open the freekin door!"
"Suck it dude, I want my scooter!"
"Nick you got three seconds to open this door or I'm gonna break it down and freekin punch you in the face! 3... 2..." I heard the lock turn and I burst open the door.
Nicks face looked like he was about to wet his pants. Another heated exchange of words took place during which Nick, to his credit, did NOT back down. He insisted I was overreacting and that he just wanted to get his scooter and go home.
I don't know what the final thing he said to me was but I'd obviously had enough of his lip! I pushed him as hard as could causing him to lose his balance and fall directly into an empty laundry basket behind him. I believe he sustained "mild" injuries from the fall after which he held back the tears long enough to run out of my house and go home.
BUT... The fun didn't stop there. Oh no. Nobody messed with little Nicky without hearing from Big Paul. Precursor... Growing up Nicks dad Paul scared the ever living day lights out of me. The man could make you pee your pants without ever saying a word. I swear his half asian eyes could pierce my soul and tie my throat in knots, leaving me speechless. I wasn't even his child and I was convinced he had complete mind control over me.
Sooooo, after nick went home crying I knew I was in trouble. At any moment I expected his dad to just waltz into my house, without knocking, kick down my bedroom door, give me "the look," and then who knows what. Probably throw me into the same laundry basket I threw Nick into and say something like, "Try pickin on someone your own size."
Well, this isn't exactly how it all unfolded. That night there happened to be a social activity at the Church. It was a potluck dinner and from the time I walked into the building I had my eyes peeled for Paul. I wasn't even gonna try and stick around if he was there. A short time passed, and still no sign of Paul. I decided it was safe to get in line, get some grub, go back to my table, eat and relax. When I was about halfway through the potluck line I remember casually looking to my right and almost dropping my food plate.
THERE HE WAS! THERE WAS PAUL! IN LINE! WHERE THE CRAP DID HE COME FROM?!?! Not just in line though. The man had cut in line, as if to strategically place himself within "talking" distance of me. To make matters worse he had that cheesy grin on his face. You know, that grin that says, "Oh ya... I know EXACTLY what you did, and I'm about to tell you EXACTLY what I think about it."
I continued slowly through the line thinking, Ok I'll just stay in line, grab my drink at the end of the table, and exit the building as fast as I can. I never got that chance. Only moments after first making eye contact, Paul maanaged to skip another few places in line and put his hand on my shoulder. I may have pooped in my pants a little at this point. All I can remember him saying to me is this... "You can say whatever you want to Nick, but DON'T YOU EVER lay your hands on him! You understand me?!" Now at this point you'd think I woulda just shook my head yes and been done with it, but the little bit of arrogance I had left in me shined through as I said, "Dude, Nick sta-" but before I could finish my sentence he interupted me by saying "I don't wanna hear it Scott! Just don't put your hands on him!"
And that was the end of that. I thankfully managed to make it through the line without any unsuspecting bowell movements, after which I found a quiet spot in the corner of the gym where I could avoid eye contact with Paul the rest of the night. My anger in this story... not so justifiable. Pauls anger? In hindsight, completely justifiable.
Great times I tell ya.... Great times!
Allow me to prelude this story by sharing a few experiences that will hopefully demonstrate that I posessed 2 distinct types of anger growing up. Justifiable, and not so justifiable.
In elementary school I punched a kid in the face repeatedly for making fun of a handicapped kid. I would call that justifiable.
On a seperate occasion, I exemplified "not so justifiable" anger. In 7th grade A small crowd had gathered in my driveway anticipating a fight. The fight was supposed to be between me and Mike Guard. Mike Guard had to be the fattest kid in the city of Phoenix. He could have crushed me! He had 1 year and about 180 pounds on me, and I have absolutely zero recollection of why he even wanted to fight me. However, I do remember calling "time out" just before the fight started and running inside. My heart was racing and I was shaking like crazy. My purpose in retreating in doors was to try and convince my older brother Clint to help me out. Our conversation went something like this:
"Clint you gotta help me dude, I'm about to fight Mike Guard and he's gonna kill me."
"Why are you fighting Mike Guard, that kid is huge?"
"I don't know, but he's ready to fight me and I was thinking because you're huge you should fight him for me."
"Bucky just tell him you don't wanna fight him, I don't understand."
"Dude he's in our driveway right now and there's a bunch of other people waiting to watch the fight."
"Well...Bucky....go be a man and fight him, I'm not gonna help you."
Some brother he was huh? I nervously made my way back to the driveway, thinking the entire time, "I could probably punch this kid in the face 20 times and he'd just laugh at me, pick me up by the neck, and throw me around like a rag doll." So what did I do? Well, I did what I would encourage anyone to do when fighting someone 3 times their size. I walked casually towards him, trying to appear as non-violent as possible, and then, in the blink of an eye, I kicked him as hard as I could in the balls.
The only thing I remember after that is running as fast as I could into my house, closing the garage door, locking the front door, and sitting on the couch scared to death that Mike Guard was gonna kick down my front door and sit on my face!
Sooooo... Now for the story involving me, Nick, and Paul. That's right, NOT me Nick and Russ... Me Nick and PAUL. The one and only PAUL! Nick's dad, Paul. Now according to Nick this entire ordeal began because I'd borrowed his scooter and he wanted it back. I basically thought that because he didn't ask for it back for a couple weeks than he was obviously not interested in EVER getting it back.
I thought wrong.
Nick came over one day thinking that he'd simply ask for what was rightfully his and it would be given to him.
Nick also thought wrong.
For one reason or another, I absolutely refused to give him his scooter back. I probably said something like "Dude, why do you want it back all of the sudden, I've had it for like 3 weeks. You never said a word until now! Just freekin let me have it Nick, you probably have like 5 more scooters in your garage anyways!"
Whatever I said, but more importantly, whatever HE said in return, made me SNAP! I started screaming at him and after I'm sure threatening to beat him up, he retreated quickly to my bedroom, locking the door behind him.
I began beating mercilessly on my bedroom door beginning a conversation that sounded something like this:
"Open my freakin door Nick or I'll beat you up!"
"Suck it fag! Gimme back my scooter!"
"Nick, freekin open my door!"
"No dude, not until you gimme my scooter!"
"Nick! Seriously! You're freakin askin for it dude! That's my room, now open the freekin door!"
"Suck it dude, I want my scooter!"
"Nick you got three seconds to open this door or I'm gonna break it down and freekin punch you in the face! 3... 2..." I heard the lock turn and I burst open the door.
Nicks face looked like he was about to wet his pants. Another heated exchange of words took place during which Nick, to his credit, did NOT back down. He insisted I was overreacting and that he just wanted to get his scooter and go home.
I don't know what the final thing he said to me was but I'd obviously had enough of his lip! I pushed him as hard as could causing him to lose his balance and fall directly into an empty laundry basket behind him. I believe he sustained "mild" injuries from the fall after which he held back the tears long enough to run out of my house and go home.
BUT... The fun didn't stop there. Oh no. Nobody messed with little Nicky without hearing from Big Paul. Precursor... Growing up Nicks dad Paul scared the ever living day lights out of me. The man could make you pee your pants without ever saying a word. I swear his half asian eyes could pierce my soul and tie my throat in knots, leaving me speechless. I wasn't even his child and I was convinced he had complete mind control over me.
Sooooo, after nick went home crying I knew I was in trouble. At any moment I expected his dad to just waltz into my house, without knocking, kick down my bedroom door, give me "the look," and then who knows what. Probably throw me into the same laundry basket I threw Nick into and say something like, "Try pickin on someone your own size."
Well, this isn't exactly how it all unfolded. That night there happened to be a social activity at the Church. It was a potluck dinner and from the time I walked into the building I had my eyes peeled for Paul. I wasn't even gonna try and stick around if he was there. A short time passed, and still no sign of Paul. I decided it was safe to get in line, get some grub, go back to my table, eat and relax. When I was about halfway through the potluck line I remember casually looking to my right and almost dropping my food plate.
THERE HE WAS! THERE WAS PAUL! IN LINE! WHERE THE CRAP DID HE COME FROM?!?! Not just in line though. The man had cut in line, as if to strategically place himself within "talking" distance of me. To make matters worse he had that cheesy grin on his face. You know, that grin that says, "Oh ya... I know EXACTLY what you did, and I'm about to tell you EXACTLY what I think about it."
I continued slowly through the line thinking, Ok I'll just stay in line, grab my drink at the end of the table, and exit the building as fast as I can. I never got that chance. Only moments after first making eye contact, Paul maanaged to skip another few places in line and put his hand on my shoulder. I may have pooped in my pants a little at this point. All I can remember him saying to me is this... "You can say whatever you want to Nick, but DON'T YOU EVER lay your hands on him! You understand me?!" Now at this point you'd think I woulda just shook my head yes and been done with it, but the little bit of arrogance I had left in me shined through as I said, "Dude, Nick sta-" but before I could finish my sentence he interupted me by saying "I don't wanna hear it Scott! Just don't put your hands on him!"
And that was the end of that. I thankfully managed to make it through the line without any unsuspecting bowell movements, after which I found a quiet spot in the corner of the gym where I could avoid eye contact with Paul the rest of the night. My anger in this story... not so justifiable. Pauls anger? In hindsight, completely justifiable.
Great times I tell ya.... Great times!
May 21, 2011
Livin in Dixie...
My blog's been lacking some serious visuals lately, so sticking wth the theme of my mission to Georgia, let me tickle your eyes with a few people, places, and things that I do and DO NOT miss about "Livin in Dixie."
I suppose it's only appropriate we get the negative stuff out of the way first. Here's a few things I do NOT miss...
Seeing people doing this...
Road kill...
Road kill...
And more road kill...
And finally.... Spending time with missionaries that lacked common sense...
Moving on to the people, places, and things I DO miss, allow me to start this off right with the sisters... HAHAHAHA...
The Beach's...
The Meredith's...
"Mama Johnson..."
The hammonds... R.I.P. "Papa Hammond" - Hopefully you found someone to play you a little Johnny Cash up in Heaven!
The Honeycutt's... Hands down, far and away, the craziest family I've ever been around...
The group of true blue rednecks that would constantly invite us to hang out, eat, and watch college football with them in this "parking lot palace." This picture speaks volumes even with nobody in it. Notice the fishing poles, the exercise bike, and the 10 inch black and white television that ran on stolenpower from the lines above their tent. HAHAHAHA! I really do miss those guys!
Accidentally putting dish SOAP instead of dish DETERGENT into the dishwaser. For reals though... I'll miss stupid thing like this...
Taking a nap every morning during scripture study... HAHA!
Unusual house pets...
Seeing cops that can't make a successful U-turn...
Seeing things like this...
Catching banana spiders in a tupperware container...
And then lighting a pack of fire crackers inside that same container...
Using tree swings. Both UNsuccessfully...
And successfully...
Meeting "Black Santa"
Being able to get my hair cut AND order a pork chop sandwich AT THE SAME TIME...
And saving the best for last... I REALLY miss service days at the nursing homes. Like, I REALLY do. From calling bingo to gospel sing-a-longs, it was ALWAYS a good time!!!! That was my homey Curtis on the right! The lady on the left refused to tell me her name. HA!
Well, this makes 28 days straight. 16 more and I'll have done the impossible. 44 posts in 44 days...
I suppose it's only appropriate we get the negative stuff out of the way first. Here's a few things I do NOT miss...
Seeing people doing this...
"Taco" tires...
Road kill...
Road kill...
And more road kill...
And finally.... Spending time with missionaries that lacked common sense...
Moving on to the people, places, and things I DO miss, allow me to start this off right with the sisters... HAHAHAHA...
The Beach's...
The Meredith's...
"Mama Johnson..."
The hammonds... R.I.P. "Papa Hammond" - Hopefully you found someone to play you a little Johnny Cash up in Heaven!
The Honeycutt's... Hands down, far and away, the craziest family I've ever been around...
The group of true blue rednecks that would constantly invite us to hang out, eat, and watch college football with them in this "parking lot palace." This picture speaks volumes even with nobody in it. Notice the fishing poles, the exercise bike, and the 10 inch black and white television that ran on stolenpower from the lines above their tent. HAHAHAHA! I really do miss those guys!
Accidentally putting dish SOAP instead of dish DETERGENT into the dishwaser. For reals though... I'll miss stupid thing like this...
Taking a nap every morning during scripture study... HAHA!
Unusual house pets...
Seeing cops that can't make a successful U-turn...
Seeing things like this...
Catching banana spiders in a tupperware container...
And then lighting a pack of fire crackers inside that same container...
Using tree swings. Both UNsuccessfully...
And successfully...
Meeting "Black Santa"
Being able to get my hair cut AND order a pork chop sandwich AT THE SAME TIME...
And saving the best for last... I REALLY miss service days at the nursing homes. Like, I REALLY do. From calling bingo to gospel sing-a-longs, it was ALWAYS a good time!!!! That was my homey Curtis on the right! The lady on the left refused to tell me her name. HA!
Well, this makes 28 days straight. 16 more and I'll have done the impossible. 44 posts in 44 days...
May 17, 2011
If at first you don't succeed...
Fuddruckers. Home to "The World's Greatest Hamburgers," (their self-proclaimed slogan) and home to the 2nd job I ever held. My first was at Safeway, where I raked in a staggering $5.15 an hour bagging groceries, pushing carts, and nearly losing my voice saying "hi, how are you, can I help you find anything?" to everyone I saw - per Safeway's strictly enforced "In your face but friendly" policy. Run on sentence? Possibly.
I seriously hated working at Safeway. I loathed my boss(es), which was pretty much any employee not pushing carts, and to top it all off it was company policy to wear a shirt and tie. Extremely inconvienant for pushing carts around in triple digit weather. I made it a month before being called into the managers office and confronted about dust mopping an aisle without saying hi to any of the customers. I explained honestly that I had greeted every one of them on the trip down the aisle and didn't feel the need to greet them again, only seconds later, on my trip back up. Apparently the trip up was when they were "watching me" on there little spy cameras. I have a serious pet peeve about being accused of wrong doing when I was blatantly NOT in the wrong. So I took my 25 cent name tag off and my "career" at Safeway came to a close. Ha ha.
SOOOOOO... that brings us to Fuddruckers. I had 3 bosses at fuddruckers. I loved 2 of them and would avoid the 3rd at all cost. His name was Jeff. He was your stereotypical "jerk" boss. You know... the type of boss that can't walk past you without telling you that you're doing something wrong.
Well one particular friday night, rather than avoid my boss, I found myself doing quite the opposite. You see halfway through my shift I realized I'd forgotten all about a party I wanted to go to. I needed desperately to go home early. Had either of my 2 other bosses been managing that night I would have simply walked up to them, told them I wanted to go home early, and there would've been no argument. But Jeff was no pushover. I knew I'd have to get creative.
I came to the conclusion that my only real chance at an early exit was convincing Jeff I was sick. My first few attempts were pathetically juvenile. I'd stand within "hearing" distance of him and make your stereotypical coughing noises. Or tell other employees how "I feel like crap" in hopes that they might mention it to Jeff. All of these failed.
While continuing to brainstorm, I was carrying some dirty dishes into the back when I spotted Jeff heading into the men's room. As I stood there chucking the dishes in the sink a light bulb went on in my head. If Jeff wouldn't "take my word for it" that I was feeling cruddy, I'd have to prove it. I made the decision that I would frantically run into the bathroom, head straight into the stall, shove my finger down my throat, and ralph into the toilet. He'd have no choice but to send me home right? Riiiiight!
Long story short, I executed my plan to perfection. As I entered the mens room I saw Jeff standing at the urinal. I headed straight for an open stall, slid my finger down my throat and completed the unthinkable on the first try. Within seconds of sharing my lunch with the toilet I heard Jeff say, "Scott, is that you?" I put on my best "sick voice" and mumbled "Ya man, I feel like crap, " to which he responded, "Well, you better head home, I can't afford to have you throwing up on the job."
BAM! Before Jeff had the chance to rethink his decision I hopped on my bike and headed to the party. Dang straight I road my mountain bike to parties in high school! hahaha. So the moral of the story is "if at first you don't succeed.... try sticking your finger down your throat." Or don't, I won't judge.
I seriously hated working at Safeway. I loathed my boss(es), which was pretty much any employee not pushing carts, and to top it all off it was company policy to wear a shirt and tie. Extremely inconvienant for pushing carts around in triple digit weather. I made it a month before being called into the managers office and confronted about dust mopping an aisle without saying hi to any of the customers. I explained honestly that I had greeted every one of them on the trip down the aisle and didn't feel the need to greet them again, only seconds later, on my trip back up. Apparently the trip up was when they were "watching me" on there little spy cameras. I have a serious pet peeve about being accused of wrong doing when I was blatantly NOT in the wrong. So I took my 25 cent name tag off and my "career" at Safeway came to a close. Ha ha.
SOOOOOO... that brings us to Fuddruckers. I had 3 bosses at fuddruckers. I loved 2 of them and would avoid the 3rd at all cost. His name was Jeff. He was your stereotypical "jerk" boss. You know... the type of boss that can't walk past you without telling you that you're doing something wrong.
Well one particular friday night, rather than avoid my boss, I found myself doing quite the opposite. You see halfway through my shift I realized I'd forgotten all about a party I wanted to go to. I needed desperately to go home early. Had either of my 2 other bosses been managing that night I would have simply walked up to them, told them I wanted to go home early, and there would've been no argument. But Jeff was no pushover. I knew I'd have to get creative.
I came to the conclusion that my only real chance at an early exit was convincing Jeff I was sick. My first few attempts were pathetically juvenile. I'd stand within "hearing" distance of him and make your stereotypical coughing noises. Or tell other employees how "I feel like crap" in hopes that they might mention it to Jeff. All of these failed.
While continuing to brainstorm, I was carrying some dirty dishes into the back when I spotted Jeff heading into the men's room. As I stood there chucking the dishes in the sink a light bulb went on in my head. If Jeff wouldn't "take my word for it" that I was feeling cruddy, I'd have to prove it. I made the decision that I would frantically run into the bathroom, head straight into the stall, shove my finger down my throat, and ralph into the toilet. He'd have no choice but to send me home right? Riiiiight!
Long story short, I executed my plan to perfection. As I entered the mens room I saw Jeff standing at the urinal. I headed straight for an open stall, slid my finger down my throat and completed the unthinkable on the first try. Within seconds of sharing my lunch with the toilet I heard Jeff say, "Scott, is that you?" I put on my best "sick voice" and mumbled "Ya man, I feel like crap, " to which he responded, "Well, you better head home, I can't afford to have you throwing up on the job."
BAM! Before Jeff had the chance to rethink his decision I hopped on my bike and headed to the party. Dang straight I road my mountain bike to parties in high school! hahaha. So the moral of the story is "if at first you don't succeed.... try sticking your finger down your throat." Or don't, I won't judge.
May 13, 2011
The Missing Sleeping Bag
When I was 13 I was hanging out with 4 or 5 other guys at my buddy Devin's house. His parents and the rest of his family were out of town for the weekend so naturally, we all lied to our parents and told them Devin's parents said it was ok if we slept over. What great childhood story doesn't start with lying to your parents? haha
The fact that none of us were old enough to drive hardly deterred us from raising the “fun factor.” I remember walking with my buddies to Walgreens just before sun down, with a pocket full of change and a serious craving for candy and orange soda! But not just any orange soda. I was in search of the stupidly-large, mecca of dry ice bomb containers, 3-liter! It was hot and I was THIRSTY!
After returning to Devin's house and emptying the ridiculously adolescent contents of our pockets, we put Tommy Boy in the VCR. By the end of the movie I'd polished off the entire 3-liter, a pack of airheads, and a few handfuls of cheese-its! All of us were sick to our stomachs but managed to stumble upstairs, steak claim to a sleeping bag, and hit the hay.
A few hours into some seriously deep sleep I woke up with the weirdest feeling. I thought I was dreaming. I had PEED ALL OVER MYSELF! All 3-liters and then some. I laid there patting the outside of my sleeping bag still partially thinking I was dreaming. Who pees the bed at 13??? I was freaking out but couldn't exactly scream out loud for fear of revealing my “accident” to everyone else.
I spent the next 5 minutes carefully maneuvering myself out of my sleeping bag, gathering the soaking wet sleeping bag in my arms, and hurling it over the railing behind me. I chose to chuck it overboard so that if I happen to trip and fall while stepping over any of my buddies during my escape, I wouldn't smother their face with urine.
Just before attempting my escape I remember touching the carpet where I'd just been laying. It was dry. Somehow, someway, it was dry. It gave me an awkward sense of relief as I thought to myself, “Ok, I might actually pull this off without anyone knowing.” I crept like a ninja out of the loft, maneuvering my size 12 feet carefully through the maze of bodies. Upon reaching the stairs I breathed a sigh of relief as I made my way quietly to the bottom where I was forced to once again embrace the wet sleeping bag.
I devised a plan. I would quietly sneak out the front door, walk the half mile to my house, sneak into my house using the garage code, shower, go to bed, wake up, and if any of my buddies asked what happened I'd just tell em I got sick and went home. BAM! Full proof! Or was it? What about the sleeping bag? I decided I had no choice but to take it with me.
So there I was, 13 years old, 3 in the morning, and I'm walking down a residential street carrying a sleeping bag drenched in 3-plus liters of my own piss. What a pathetic sight! Wanna know something even more pathetic. As I began my walk home I immediately started thinking of where to stash the sleeping bag. Like I was getting rid of evidence in a homicide or something. A block away from Devin's I passed a pond and thought, “Heck ya, I'll chuck it in the pond. Wait, crap! It won't sink! It'll float, and someone will find it!” I continued walking and approached the stoplight at the intersection of 67th Ave and Utopia still yielding the pee bag. I remember sprinting across the intersection after seeing headlights coming at me in the distance.
A couple minutes later as I rounded the corner onto Oraibi Dr. I made up my mind. I would sneak into my house via the garage. Once inside the garage I would dispose of the sleeping bag in the trash can. I punched in the code, pressed enter, watched the garage open a couple feet, then pressed enter twice as fast as I could to get the garage to hold it's position. I nervously crawled under the partially opened door, dragging the bag behind me. Then I weaved my way through the dark, organized chaos my dad called his workshop, and found the light switch. I was so scared. At this point what do I say if my mom or dad comes out in the garage? “Uuuuuuh.....Uuuuuuh......” I had nothing!
I snatched up the sleeping bag, lifted the lid to the trash can, and was greeted with some bad news. It was full. #*($&!!!! I started freaking out! I decided my only remaining option was to carefully, and quietly, remove the contents of the trash can and hide the sleeping bag in the very bottom! So that's what I did, the entire time thinking of possible excuses for my actions if my parents happened to catch me in the act. Thankfully they didn't, and I successfully stashed the sleeping bag in the bottom of the trash can!
The only thing left to do was shower and go to bed. I showered successfully, but when walking across the hall from the bathroom to my bedroom my mom whispers down the hallway, “Scott what are you doing?” It's a miracle I didn't pee myself again! I made up some bull crap excuse about feeling sick, and she didn't ask any more questions.
SOOOOO...THE BEST PART....A few weeks later I was sitting at the kitchen table in Devin's house playing a card game with some of his family. His older brother Greg was pacing angrily through the house as if he was looking for something. “Does anyone know where my freaking sleeping bag is?” he shouted repeatedly. Let's just say it took everything I had not to bust up laughing! Three years ago I told this story at a New Year's Eve party at Devin's house that happened to be attended by that same brother Greg. I didn't get halfway through the story before Greg abruptly screamed, “DUDE THAT WAS YOU?!?! YOU BASTARD!”
Sorry Greg.... HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
The fact that none of us were old enough to drive hardly deterred us from raising the “fun factor.” I remember walking with my buddies to Walgreens just before sun down, with a pocket full of change and a serious craving for candy and orange soda! But not just any orange soda. I was in search of the stupidly-large, mecca of dry ice bomb containers, 3-liter! It was hot and I was THIRSTY!
After returning to Devin's house and emptying the ridiculously adolescent contents of our pockets, we put Tommy Boy in the VCR. By the end of the movie I'd polished off the entire 3-liter, a pack of airheads, and a few handfuls of cheese-its! All of us were sick to our stomachs but managed to stumble upstairs, steak claim to a sleeping bag, and hit the hay.
A few hours into some seriously deep sleep I woke up with the weirdest feeling. I thought I was dreaming. I had PEED ALL OVER MYSELF! All 3-liters and then some. I laid there patting the outside of my sleeping bag still partially thinking I was dreaming. Who pees the bed at 13??? I was freaking out but couldn't exactly scream out loud for fear of revealing my “accident” to everyone else.
I spent the next 5 minutes carefully maneuvering myself out of my sleeping bag, gathering the soaking wet sleeping bag in my arms, and hurling it over the railing behind me. I chose to chuck it overboard so that if I happen to trip and fall while stepping over any of my buddies during my escape, I wouldn't smother their face with urine.
Just before attempting my escape I remember touching the carpet where I'd just been laying. It was dry. Somehow, someway, it was dry. It gave me an awkward sense of relief as I thought to myself, “Ok, I might actually pull this off without anyone knowing.” I crept like a ninja out of the loft, maneuvering my size 12 feet carefully through the maze of bodies. Upon reaching the stairs I breathed a sigh of relief as I made my way quietly to the bottom where I was forced to once again embrace the wet sleeping bag.
I devised a plan. I would quietly sneak out the front door, walk the half mile to my house, sneak into my house using the garage code, shower, go to bed, wake up, and if any of my buddies asked what happened I'd just tell em I got sick and went home. BAM! Full proof! Or was it? What about the sleeping bag? I decided I had no choice but to take it with me.
So there I was, 13 years old, 3 in the morning, and I'm walking down a residential street carrying a sleeping bag drenched in 3-plus liters of my own piss. What a pathetic sight! Wanna know something even more pathetic. As I began my walk home I immediately started thinking of where to stash the sleeping bag. Like I was getting rid of evidence in a homicide or something. A block away from Devin's I passed a pond and thought, “Heck ya, I'll chuck it in the pond. Wait, crap! It won't sink! It'll float, and someone will find it!” I continued walking and approached the stoplight at the intersection of 67th Ave and Utopia still yielding the pee bag. I remember sprinting across the intersection after seeing headlights coming at me in the distance.
A couple minutes later as I rounded the corner onto Oraibi Dr. I made up my mind. I would sneak into my house via the garage. Once inside the garage I would dispose of the sleeping bag in the trash can. I punched in the code, pressed enter, watched the garage open a couple feet, then pressed enter twice as fast as I could to get the garage to hold it's position. I nervously crawled under the partially opened door, dragging the bag behind me. Then I weaved my way through the dark, organized chaos my dad called his workshop, and found the light switch. I was so scared. At this point what do I say if my mom or dad comes out in the garage? “Uuuuuuh.....Uuuuuuh......” I had nothing!
I snatched up the sleeping bag, lifted the lid to the trash can, and was greeted with some bad news. It was full. #*($&!!!! I started freaking out! I decided my only remaining option was to carefully, and quietly, remove the contents of the trash can and hide the sleeping bag in the very bottom! So that's what I did, the entire time thinking of possible excuses for my actions if my parents happened to catch me in the act. Thankfully they didn't, and I successfully stashed the sleeping bag in the bottom of the trash can!
The only thing left to do was shower and go to bed. I showered successfully, but when walking across the hall from the bathroom to my bedroom my mom whispers down the hallway, “Scott what are you doing?” It's a miracle I didn't pee myself again! I made up some bull crap excuse about feeling sick, and she didn't ask any more questions.
SOOOOO...THE BEST PART....A few weeks later I was sitting at the kitchen table in Devin's house playing a card game with some of his family. His older brother Greg was pacing angrily through the house as if he was looking for something. “Does anyone know where my freaking sleeping bag is?” he shouted repeatedly. Let's just say it took everything I had not to bust up laughing! Three years ago I told this story at a New Year's Eve party at Devin's house that happened to be attended by that same brother Greg. I didn't get halfway through the story before Greg abruptly screamed, “DUDE THAT WAS YOU?!?! YOU BASTARD!”
Sorry Greg.... HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
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