Skotterz World

PART 2 -- 10 MORE!

2012-01-29T01:42:00.000-08:00

Here's round 2. Spoiler alert: Da grammar doesn't get no betta!

1) I remember when I was younger I was watching Unsolved Mysteries by myself with all the lights off and during a commercial break I put a frozen capri sun in the microwave to defrost it and then ran back to the couch just in time to see giant blue flashes coming from the microwave.

2) I remember when I was about 12 I found a massive stash of silver dollars amd half dollars in my dad's closet and I spent close to every one of them buying stuff from the ice cream man for me and my friends.

3) I remember dressing up like a complete fool with my buddy Devin to win lower level seats to a suns game and being told by the judges 10 min. before the contest ended "we've never seen anyone dress this crazy, you guys have this on lock" and then losing the contest minutes later to a pair of Scottsdale skanks in mini skirts and skin tight tank tops who simply rolled paint onto their entire bodies.

4) I remember when I was in middle school I covered every square inch of the walls in my room with cut-outs from Sports Illustrated and miscellaneous posters and then one day I came home and saw that every one of them had been cut into tiny pieces by my little brother Russ and my cousin Nick.

5) I remember when I worked with Devin.

6) I remember when Dwight Howard took 6 steps without dribbling and was not called for travel.

7) I remember when I showed my camping buddies the "flamability" of non-dairy coffee creamer.

8) I remember when I saw the remains of a lizard that chose the wrong time to hang out in a door jam.

9) I remember when I attempted to coach a girls volleyball team and every one of the girls knew twice as much as I did about the sport of volleyball.

10) I remember when I was the most sick I've ever been in my life and my incredible fiance came over, cleaned my house, brought me brownies, and made me soup. I love you more all the time Bonnie!

Round 3 coming soon, to a monitor near you!

30 IN 30 IN 3

2012-01-19T20:48:00.000-08:00

From time to time I see, smell, hear, touch, taste, or do something that leads me to say, "I remember when... yada-yada-yada" More often than not, that "yada-yada-yada" is some long, drawn-out story that, if I'm lucky, leaves others laughing as hard as myself. So in an effort to simplify my stories, here's 30 RANDOM memories, told in 30 run-on sentences, delivered 10 at a time! Grammar gurus... close your eyes.... these are gonna burn!

1) I remember when I was about 12 and I was searcing through a tub of 5-cent pogs at Walgreens and a kid my age walked in and took 2 handfuls of pogs and ran straight out the front door screaming "I love pogs #%*(&#$!"

2) I remember when I watched The Mighty Ducks and it inspired me to grab an old purse from my sister's closet and fill it with dog poop and hang a dollar bill out of it and put it on the side of the road and sit in my neighbors backyard with my buddies and watch the magic of the movie unfold in real time, right before our eyes!

3) I remember when I was younger I walked by a neighbors open garage door and saw those hand held velcro nerf ball catcher things and I took them because I was going to san diego the next day and then I returned them to the same neigbors garage the next time I saw it open!

4) I remember riding my bike to the mall and buying the soundtrack to the movie "Selena" on audio cassette and then staying up late at night hitting rewind-play over and over until I memorized every word to the song "Dreaming of You!"

5) I remember when I was in middle school I saved my money from doing chores so I could buy a book of "your mama" jokes called SNAPS!

6) I remember when there was a nickelcade/indoor mini-golf joint in Phoenix, and I wemt with my older brothers and I spent every nickel I was given playing Street Fighter II!

7) I remember sleeping over at a friends house and being woken up by his mom at 8am on a saturday and being told "We don't sleep in on saturday's in this house, we clean" and then immediately grabbbing my sleeping bag and walking out the front door laughing out loud and thinking, "Woman, I'm not cleaning your house on a saturday morning!"

8) I remember going through a break dancing phase where I would come home every day from school and put on a pair of "And 1" warm up pants and an ugly warm-up jacket and practice break dancing in my basement for hours on end!

9) I remember renting the movie "3 Ninjas" no less than 25 times growing up and with the help of my little brother, reenacting as many epic fight scenes as we could!

10) I remember chasing a girl down the halls of church nearly 3 years ago and then inviting her to my house 2 nights later and telling her she looked "so hot" and then drooling over her for the next 30 MONTHS and then FINALLY putting a ring on it! I LOVE YOU BONNIE!!!!

Part 2 coming soon!

CHRISTMAS LETTER!

2011-12-18T17:26:00.001-08:00

**Scott’s “BALLIN” Christmas letter -- 2011**

What can I say? I’m obsessed with Christmas. Everything about it makes me giddy! The entire month of December reawakens my inner 5 year old like a party at Chuckee-cheese...that last 31! But December also brings an opportunity to reflect on the previous year. So with that said, here’s an occasionally witty list of 44 things (My favorite number) that I’ve seen, heard, felt, and/or somehow been a part of in the past year.

1. I FELL IN LOVE! Let’s get that out of the way so you can focus on less important things! ;)
2. I turned 28.
3. I sold my rollerblades. Hang-on... Please join me in a moment of silence for my career as a “blader!”
4. I saw a car hit a kid on his skateboard... on accident.
5. I saw a kid hit a car WITH his skateboard.... on purpose! This = result of #3.
6. I went Elk Hunting. GREAT TIME! No elk.
7. I drove past a strip club and saw a minivan in the parking lot. There’s just no excuse for that.
8. While on a ride-along, I heard a police officer scream for his life over the radio before being shot to death. A night I will not soon forget.
9. I went toilet papering... TWICE! Never gets old.
10. I passed gas in a bathroom and the lights turned off. Coincidence? Who cares, it was HILARIOUS!
11. I bought diamond earrings for my girlfriend. My broken-record line to the salesman??? “Dude, I don’t know man. They all look the same to me.”
12. I posted 82 entries on my blog. To my new, old, and old-school readers, I promise even more next year! www.skotterzworld.blogspot.com
13. According to my CREDIT card statements I’ve eaten at Taco Bell 62 times
14. According to my DEBIT card statements I’ve eaten at Taco Bell 23 times
15. According to my memory I paid with cash to eat at Taco Bell roughly 20 times. That puts me right around 102 visits for the year. That’s twice a week. Not bad... Not bad at all ;)
16. I bagged up and disposed of over 400 lbs. of pigeon poop...FROM A SINGLE ROOFTOP!
17. I shot 6 Eurasian Doves
18. I crippled a ridiculous number of Eurasian Doves. You’re welcome coyotes.
19. I bought a new laptop.
20. I put $30 in ammo to good use on my old laptop.
21. I missed my 10 year high school reunion.... to go elk hunting. This was a no brainer.
22. I bought, decorated, and am currently sitting next to my REAL Christmas tree. Fake trees? BOOOOOO!
23. I “took care of” the woodpecker that woke me up at 5:30 one too many times this year. I don’t know... I walked out in the backyard and he was dead.... I don’t know ;)
24. I applied for jobs. I enjoyed this about as much as popping blisters on my hands and rinsing them in salt water.
25. I made more money than I did last year. I have no complaints about this.
26. I spent too much money.
27. I went to see the Mesa temple lights! They seriously NEVER get old to me!
28. I participated in 2 neighborhood garage sales and made a hair over $300 selling complete “junk.”
29. I bought a gun. Bull-barreled Savage .17 HM2 -- For you curious minds out there.
30. I bought a used engine for my truck.
31. I spent a lot of money. (See #30)
32. I saw a pimp having a verbal disagreement with a prostitute over whether or not her bike was going to fit in the trunk of his Mercedes.
33. I started watching Parks and Rec... HILARIOUS!
34. I have watched every new episode of Beavis and Butthead. Judge not, lest ye be correct in thinking that I nearly pass out laughing at every episode ;)
35. I started to use and abuse the word “ballin!” (See title)
36. I became an Uncle for the 8th time! Welcome to this world Brynn Sorensen! I LOOOOOVE YOU!!!!!!
37. I laughed so hard I cried. The more I do this the happier I am.
38. I danced circles around a professional hula dancer. Literally... I danced in a circle around her. Please don’t think I was a better dancer.
39. I became obsessed with “black light” scorpion hunting. Feel free to judge. I’m not even trying to hide my nerd card on this one.
40. Karma punched me in the face!
41. I stood in line for a half an hour at K-Mart. AH HALF AN HOUR......AT K-MART!!!! I walked in surprised the place was in business and walked out vowing to never return!
42. I watched Ellen... twice. I did not laugh ONCE! Hate on “Ellenites”... HATE ON!
43. I had my entire room “decorated” with Dixie cups full of water courtesy of my roommate Nick. A few weeks ago I lost his keys. I suppose we’re even.
44. Did I mention I fell in Love???

MERRY CHRISTMAS YALL!!!!

-- Scott --

6-Pack!!!!

2011-11-02T19:34:00.000-07:00

Speaking of 6 packs... I'm fresh out of "DEWSKIS" and have been "JONEZING" for one since 3 o'clock. Good thing "WALLY WORLD" has the 24 pack on sale, and I've got some "BENNY BREAD" in my wallet! Hey here's an idea... How about I see how many nick names I can use for "LIQUID COCAINE," "AN ITCH I NEED TO SCRATCH," "WAL-FART," and "BENJAMINS" I can in one post. Nevermind, I'll stop at 2. Just understand that as soon as I'm done writing this I'm going to Walmart to break a $100 bill on a 24 pack of Mountain dew.

PHEW... That was exhausting. Well, what's it been, 5, maybe 6 weeks since I last tickled the keyboard? Allow me to make it up to you. Here's a 6-pack of original literature that has the potential to make your head spin, your heart melt, and your eyes water, and not necessarily in that order. First up...

"DEJA VU"

A week from today will mark the 1 year anniversary of my epic encounter with the infamous drunk emo moron. In order to fully sppreciate the story I'm about to tell I highly suggest you read, or refresh your memory of the following post from last year.

HEY RETARD!

Now rewind time to October 4th of this year. It's approaching midnight in the ghetto of Apache Junction and I've just finished painting the following crosswalk in front of a Big Lots:

Admittedly it was one of the finer paint jobs of my career, but my celebration was short lived. Due to the grade-F quality of the camera on my blackberry it is difficult to see in this picture, but a little ways past the crosswalk is 5 large cones laid out in a manner that to anyone with common sense would represent a "do not drive zone." Emphasis on the "anyone with common sense!" Not even 5 minutes after this picture was taken, as I was painting a nearby speed bumb I saw the headlights of a minivan approaching the cones. I stood up straight thinking in my head, "For the love of everything, don't you dare drive over those cones!"

The van stopped inches from the cones and I began screaming at the driver, "GO AROUND! GO AROUND THE CONES!" all the while, motioning with my arms for the driver to take a simple detour.

I saw the reverse lights come on and breathed a large sigh of relief. That deep breath would be the first of many I would take over the next 60 seconds, as I had scarcely continued painting the speedbump when I saw the van's headlights drawing closer and closer. Now... devoted and non-devoted reader's alike... please recognize that this is a COMPLETELY EMPTY PARKING LOT, and this minivan had just done the unthinkable! After backing up only a few feet, HE DROVE RIGHT THROUGH MY FRESHLY PAINTED LINES! I began running towards the minivan practically doing jumping jacks while screaming at the driver to STOP! When the minivan came to a stop, an old man rolled down his window and said very calmly, "Can I get through here?" I struggled to start a sentence. "Whaaaa... Dude you....How....DUDE YOU JUST DROVE RIGHT OVER THOSE CONES AND RIGHT THROUGH FRESH PAINT!!!!"

Much like the drunk kid from last year the old man looked out his window, acknowledged his mistake, but then quickly played the innocence card. He looked right at me and said, "I thought you were waiving me through. Were you not waiving me through? Do you want me to back up?" I took about 6 deep breaths before responding in the most frustrated voice imaginable: "NO!!!! DON'T BACK UP! Just stay there! You're already dragging paint with you!"

His response? "I'm sorry but I gotta go!" Before I could finish my next deep breath he continued on his merry way, dragging paint with him all the way out of the parking lot. Please excuse me for being so frustrated at this point that I did not even think to take a picture! Adding to my frustration was the fact that I wanted to complete the entire job in one night and within 10 minutes of this happening it started to rain and I was fored to go home and return another night.

So there you have it... 2 people - one drunk, one just plain old - 12 months and 30 plus miles apart from each other... SAME RESULT! The moral of this story??? In my "perfect world" caution tape and cones will be replaced with land mines!

I call this second story "USE THE DOORBELL"

A few weeks ago work took me to a quaint little town home community on the edges of Surprise, Arizona. The work order was rather simple. Touch up the paint on the homeowner's patio where her stucco had been repaired. Seems easy enough right? Well after knocking on the homeowner's door I stood patiently admiring the first nice day Phoenix had seen in quite some time. Apologies to my facebook stalkers who already know what happened next, but a woman opened the door and said (and I quote exactly) "Next time ring the doorbell! Cuz if you're standing on private property and you didn't ring the doorbell, technically I could shoot you!"

My eyes nearly popped out of my head, my heart skipped a beat, and with the little remaining oxygen I had in my lungs I mumbled a fearful, "What the hell?!" I quickly apologized and informed her that I was simply there to touch up the paint. She pointed me in the direction of her patio and told me to, quote, "make sure it's the right color."

So there I was, carefully painting pscho lady's patio, when from inside her home I hear the unmistakable chime of law and order. Y'all know what I'm talking about. That single chime of a deep-toned bell. BWAAAAAAH. Ya I don't know how to spell it but I know you know what I'm talking about. All of the sudden the fact that she could shoot anyone that failed to ring her doorbell made more sense. Then I saw her blinds part a few inches and saw her peeking at me. Needless to say I finished that job as fast as humanly possible and plan on never returning! I feel it necessary to close this story with 3 other facts. This woman was severely overweight, still in her pajamas at noon, and had a rat dog that did not cease to bark the entire time I was there! The moral of this story??? LAW AND ORDER IS NOT REAL!

For all intents and purposes this third story is not a story at all, so I'll spare you the quotation marks and capitol letters. A couple weeks ago I bought a new laptop. My new Dell laptop is not blog worthy. However, my old HP laptop is! It was 6 and a half years old and one day it decided it was just not going to turn on anymore. I'm not exactly a math wizard but I'm pretty sure that's like 126 in computer years. It was the most trustworthy piece of equipment I've ever put my hands on! For you geeks out there, can you remember the last time you worked on a computer that had 512mb of ram? Yikes. The moral of this story??? I have no idea.... R.I.P. to my faithful HP laptop...

I call story #4, "DO YOU SEE WHAT I SEE?"

Almost every day I see things that leave me shaking my head and/or laughing hysterically. In my perfect world everyones eyes would be video cameras and you could download everything you saw that day wirelessly to your computer! Imagine the way it would transform youtube? Ok, I'm done fantasizing. Here's a quick look at some of the random things I've seen the last couple months. Once again, apologies to those who have seen these on facebook...

This first one was taken from the top of my parent's driveway during the neighborhood garage sale. I will say nothing about this picture... I believe it speaks for itself.

Speaking of garage sales, I'm pretty sure every swapmeet in the country sells blankets and t-shirts with this same wolf design on them. Shoot, come to think of it, I bought my dad a giant pocket knife like 10 years ago that had an eerily similar pack of wolves airbrushed on the handle.
The only thing you need to know about this picture is that there was a MAN, not a woman, driving this car. Sorry dude... Not even a bull mastiff ridin shotgun can make you or your ride look masculine.
I snapped this picture driving northbound on Interstate 17 yesterday. Perhaps he was planning on using the carpool lane?
I suppose I owe you a brief background story on this last picture. On 39th Avenue between Southern and Baseline (for those of you that live in Phoenix) lies a beautiful neighborhood with an even more beautiful park. Unfortunately, the neighborhood is surrounded on all sides by old farms and ranch houses. Well, there is apparently a teenage girl that lives in one of the ranch houses that owns a horse. And apparently said teenage girl enjoys riding said horse through the aforementioned neighborhood park and tagging the playground equipment with spray paint. Well a few nights ago, the one white guy that lives in the whole neighborhood, who happens to be the HOA president, called the cops on the girl and had her removed from the neighborhood. That night, the girl decided she would use the side wall to the old man's house to let him know how she "REALLY" felt.

This

The moral of this story??? ALWAYS CARRY YOUR CAMERA! Or your phone.

Story 5 is appropriately titled "ONE LIFE TO LIVE"

Last friday I went on a ride-along with my buddy who is a Glendale Polie Officer. I've probably been on 20 ride alongs over the last 3 years. Never in my life did I imagine I would experience what I did that night. I'll spare you all the details simply because I'm trying to forget them. But around 10pm while I was sitting in the cop car while my buddy went to assist a few other officers I heard a haunting scream come over the radio. Not haunting in the "boo" sense but haunting in the "something is seriously wrong" sense. It was a very short, but very panicked scream. It was the scream of an officer being shot.

I will not soon forget it. I will also not soon forget driving 100 mph en route to the scene, while over the radio hearing "Officer down" and utter chaos breaking loose, before being dropped off on the side of the road so that I was not dragged into anything dangerous. I saw helicopters and cop cars coming from all directions. It's really hard to describe how I was feeling. I was shaking. My roommate waldo picked me up an hour later and brought me to my truck. I drove home much slower than normal still thinking about everything that had just happened. I struggled to sleep that night and my buddy called me the next morning and informed me that the officer had been shot 9 times and died a few hours later in the hospital. The kid who shot the officer, stole the officers gun, and the officers car. He wrecked the car not even a mile up the road and bailed out on foot. He was shot several times by 3 officers and as of yesterday he remains in critical condition at a nearby hospital.

Why do I tell you this? I'm not sure. It's so incredibly sad. The cop was 27 years old and had a wife and 2 kids under the age of 6. The moral of this story??? Earth life is short. You never know when you'll be "moving on." May God bless all those who haved left this great Earth too early!

Now to end on a much brighter, much happier note, it's time to repay the favor to my sweetheart! A couple months ago my girlfriend (NEWSFLASH: Scott's got a SUPER HOT girlfriend) described me in a nutshell with a posts on her blog entitled:

"Person of Interest"

Feel free to read it. She describes me to a "T" and has a fun time doing it! So without further adieu, here's to Bonnie Thompson, a superwoman single mother of 2 (2 and a half if you count me), and to 10 of the many reasons I love her.

1) The mere thought of her puts a smile on my face!

2) Anytime I forget who, what, when, where, and why I was talking about ANYTHING, she ALWAYS remembers! (P.S. This occurs frequently)

3) She lets me go camping.

4) She has a contagious laugh.

5) She is one of the most patient people I have ever met in my life.

6) She is constantly reminding me to wash my hands after I use the bathroom.

7) Every time I spend time with her I leave feeling like a better person!

8) She works tirelessly (severe understatement) as a nurse to support herself and 2 children!

9) She laughs at me when I sing and dance in the car! (And often to her dismay, in public too)

10) She is hands down, far and away, THE MOST BEAUTIFUL GIRL IN THE WORLD!!!!

This concludes this test of the emergency blogger system!

Hmmm... About that...

2011-09-19T20:12:00.000-07:00

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!

Some Things Are Worth Every Penny

2011-08-26T08:51:00.001-07:00

For those of you that didn't see the picture I put on facebook yesterday, or for those that did and perhaps wanted to know the "rest" of the story, allow me to share.

After finishing a side job yesterday for a lady and her husband I went inside their house to use the bathroom. Being the polite gentleman that I am, I took my shoes off shortly after entering. I got a great look at my socks as I placed my shoes off to the side of the front door. They were clean, and NOTHING was on them! I spent about 2 minutes washing my hands in their hall bathroom before returning to the small tiled area near their front door. I stood their chatting with the lady for a couple minutes when suddenly I caught her staring at my feet....over and over. I finally looked down and saw this...

I spontaneously transformed into a 5 year old girl with turrets! She responded to my outburst with, "Is that what I think it is because I thought it was just a design on your sock!?" To which my now shaky horse voice replied, "Ya that's definitely a scorpion!" Now at this point I feel like any normal human being would have done something to get rid of the scorpion. But technology has destroyed the way my mind works in dangerous situations. You see, rather than doing the logical thing and getting rid of the scorpion, I decided I needed to take a picture of it with my phone. The Lady did also!

THENNNNN....I slowly reached down and grabbed one of my shoes and she says, "What are you gonna do?" Admittedly at this point, without her seeing me, I stared at her and thoght to myself, "Woman are you serious? I'm gonna kill it!"

I thought about kicking it off my foot first, before crusing it, but then I got scared thinking that if I flinched it would sting me. So I swatted it off my foot with my shoe and it went bolting for her living room carpet upon which time I executed said scorpion with extreme prejudice!

So all of this leads into my question for the day... When is it ok to spend $52 on a 100 LED Blacklight? When it's called "The Scorpion Hunter" and it helps you find 6 scorpions in your backyard in only one night! I can hardly wait to go hunting again tonight! Freakin peckers...

Uhmmm... Ya... About that...

2011-08-24T16:57:00.000-07:00

Wow, it feels good to be back. Back to laying on the couch listening to the sweet sound of my rickety laptop keyboard, and the high pitched noise my laptop fan makes when it starts to bake my legs!

Last week I joined Nick "Tricky" Sorensen, Ryan "Master Chef" Gardner, Todd "Tanning Booth" McClellan, Daniel "Mouth" Dawson, Andy "Kid in a Candy Store" Haws, and Paul "The Machine" Sorensen for a majestic 3 day vacation to Lake Powell.

Between the multiple wake boarding, wake surfing, and tubing runs, I came home with sore muscles that I didn't even know existed.

I'll allow Nick Sorensen to provide the visual proof of happiness that made up our trip when he's done editing the photos. Until then, allow me to share the greatest of my A.D.D. moments from the trip. One afternoon with the help of Ryan and Todd, we set up a caveman-esque bait trap in an effort to catch one of the many chipmunks that littered our campground. After about a half hour, Ryan and Todd got bored and left me to my lonesome. I sat motionless for almost an hour holding a piece of string attached to a small stick that was holding up a large rock that was resting just above the opening to a large bag of peanuts. As the minutes rolled on, and the chipmunks became more brave, I became more and more excited.

Then, finally, one crawled into the bag in hopes of snagging the mother load. One swift pull of the string led to one swift dropping of the rock, blocking the chipmunks exit. I have to admit I nearly leaped from my seat with childhood excitement and shouted, "Wooooooo! I got one!"

Todd was nice enough to send me this video he took of the chipmunk stuck inside the bag. Oh and just so you PETA sympathizers can breath easy, no sooner had Ryan poked a pencil sized breathing hole in the bag, than the chipmunk broke through said hole like freakin Superman and disappeared! Enjoy...

Has It Really Been 10 YEARS?!?!

2011-08-03T21:18:00.000-07:00

Now I've previously written about 2 events in my life, that I believe, adequately portray the "HUGE EMBARASSING FAILURE" that Middle School really was.

The first was "A Giant Waste Of Helium"

The next was "Huge Embarrassing Failure... Chapter 2"

Tonight, in honor of the fact that I graduated high school 10 years ago, I'm going to tell you why High School, much like Middle School, was a HUGE EMBARRASSING FAILURE! More specifically... my senior year.

Sure senior prom was cool.... If you could see past the fact that I looked like the Oklahoma City Bomber, Timothy Mcveigh!

As if going to prom looking like a terrorist wasn't enough, some punk kid on the yearbook committee thought they'd get their jollies out of changing ONE WORD in the Senior Ad that my mom made for me. That one word??? Well, for those of you that can't read the text below it says, "You were such a happy child. Along the way you have experienced challenges and disappointments, but you have "hung in there" and done your best to become a fine young WOMAN......" That's right... WOMAN! Not man... WOMAN! See for yourself...

Now I knew this would upset my mom but I remember my dad getting way fired up over the whole thing too! I can't prove who did it, but I remember I was SO TICKED OFF! There is no way it wasn't done intentionally! PHEW... Still bitter!

Then, as if these 2 ego-devouring incidents were not enough, the newspaper committee did their best to pour salt in my wounds with this picture of me in the school paper! Nice "short-shorts crotch shot" Mr.......... Mr. John Dalton! Whoever you were. HA HA!

Weight Loss Update

2011-07-31T19:56:00.000-07:00

Well, it's been 8 days since I started the weight loss/beard reward program and I passed week one. For those of you that didn't catch the full scoop last week here's the "little people" version. I hate shaving and I hate the fact that I weight more now than I ever have in my life. So last saturday, the 23rd, I bought a scale and weighed myself. I clocked in at 220.6. I also stopped shaving on that night. The deal I cut with myself was I would weight myself at the end of each week for six weeks and as long as I was 2.5 pounds lighter each week than I get to keep my beard. 6 weeks, 2.5 lbs per week, equals 15lbs, and one burley beard!

Here's the initial weigh-in...

Target weight for yesterday was 218.1 and I clocked in at 217.4. Target weight next week will be 215.6 so I've got a head start already!

1 week of bearded goodness...

P.S. I just realized that yesterday marked another end to 44 posts in 44 days. Admittedley they didn't come everyday this time around but I gave it my best to made up for missed days with doubling and tripling my entries. Fear not though, the stories are plenty, and they'll keep on coming... from time to time. Laterzzz!

A Jill for EVERY Jack & A Little More

2011-07-28T19:18:00.000-07:00

There comes a point in every man's life when..... well..... not every man. But in 2005 I realized that there came a point in the life of one of my roommates when he recognized that no matter how bad he smelled, no matter how greasy his hair was, and no matter how many times he stayed up watching star trek until 3am... SOME WOMAN.... SOMEWHERE.... was going to look at him and say, "Now that's the kind man I'm lookin for!"

At the risk of sounding like I'm attacking this kid from all angles I will just give you the facts. By facts, I mean things that I personally observed, on MULTIPLE occasions. I called this particular roommate "home boy." Apologies for not remembering why I called him that. If I had to guess it was one of two things. Either he had some hard to pronounce name and I found it easier to call him that, or I was still easing out of my "wanna be black" phase in the which I referred to 80% of the people I met as "home boy." Also, please note that I moved apartments about 6 weeks into the semester when home boy crossed the line for the final time!

Homeboy's Bio:
Name: Unknown
Height: Roughly 6'1"
Weight: Around 160
Employment status: Part time -- evening shift
Employer: Burger King
Shower Frequency: Maybe every 4 days
My Typical Day Includes: Wearing the same fry grease and Dorito stained black pants I wore to work at Burger King the night before (and slept in) to class. I traditionally pick my shirt out from under a pile of dirty clothes stacked higher than my desk. After class I return home and open the door to my room that smells like my dirty laundry and rotten fruit had a baby. Once inside I take a seat on my sweat stained chair and play World of Warcraft for a few hours while I throw down a pack of Lays potato chips making sure to shine my hair with my greasy fingers every few minutes. When 6pm rolls around I begin to searching through my pile of dirty clothes for my official Burger King employee T-Shirt. After it is found I begin the painstaking search for my hair net that I tend to leave on the family room floor but usually ends up somehwere else. After I find my hair net I head to work at Burger King from 6:30 pm to 11:30 pm at which time I head straight to the gas station for a refill on Doritos. Upon arriving back at my apartment I kick off my shoes, THROW MY HAIR NET ON THE FLOOR, sprawl out on the couch, put one finger in my nose, another finger in my mouth, and spend the next 3 hours watching Star Trek re-runs and wiping my boogers on the couch, not realizing that my roommate Scott Sorensen is taking a picture of me with his phone!

Here's to you home boy!

AND HERE'S THE KICKER...
Relationship Status: IN A RELATIONSHIP! Yup... you better believe home boy had a little home girl. I didn't stick around long enough when the two of them were snuggling together on the couch to really meet her but I stand by the saying there's a Jill for every Jack!

Now this second post tonight comes from an e-mail that my dad sent me yesterday afternoon. Admittedly, while stuck in traffic on I-17 I opened the youtube link in the e-mail and nearly wrecked my truck laughing when I saw this...

My initial reaction was as previously mentioned... pure laughter. Then a light bulb went off in my head? Perhaps we could replenish our Border Patrol with a few Apes and some Ak-47's! I'd gladly have them on my team with Greg Boam and the guy from No Country for Old Men...

Until tomorrow...

Small Town Stories

2011-07-26T18:57:00.000-07:00

I've previously written about various comedic moments that took place while attending college in small town Idaho, but let's be honest... There's plenty more to write. Hope you enjoy these 3 classics. If you don't, shame on you.

There ain't much better than an Idaho summer. That's a very general statement but it's directed mostly at the weather. Every weekday night between June and August (I spent nearly every weekend camping) I would ritualistically (relax, it's a word) drag my mattress from my bedroom to the family room and place it directly in front of the tv. This event was usually followed by a quick drive to the nearest Maverick gas station for a pack of starburst, some chocolate milk, and a delicious BIG AZ spicy chicken sandwich!

Upon returning to my apartment I would open every window, crack the front door about a foot, manually tune the tube to ESPN (our remote never worked), nuke my BIG AZ chicken sandwich, and then lay on my bed in front of the TV and woof down my "4th meal" while watching Sportscenter. Come on people... this was college! Did you think I spent my nights studying?

Well one particular night, after passing out on a pile of my own starburst wrappers, I awoke rather routinely with an incredible urge to use the bathroom. However the combination of the 60 degree air blowing through the open windows and door and the incredible warmth provided to me by my handi-down comforter had me hoping I could just go back to sleep, and the urge to pee would receed. Come on, we've all been there, and short story short... It never happens.

This night was no exception, so after multiple attempts to fall back asleep I decided it was time to get up and stumble to the bathroom. But you can't just jump right out of bed when you're that comfortable so the first thing I did was roll over on my back. Side note, I'm a side sleeper. Then I stretched my arms straight back behind my head and yawned. I immediately felt a strange sensation on my left forearm. Like something was touching it. Something furry! Being half-conscious though I quickly dismissed it and began to sit up. My next move was to lean on my left arm and use my right arm to throw my comforter off my body in one swell motion.

Little did I know what awaited me as I placed my left hand on the ground and began to turn my body that direction. For no sooner had I done so then I was face to face with a disgusting black cat! How did I know it was disgusting? All cats are disgusting! How did I know it was black? I didn't know, but the lights were off and everything was black. That's not important. What is important is that there was a cat... in my apartment... inthe middle of the night... and it touched me! IT WAS WAR!

My first attempt to destroy it was a bare knuckle punch that caught nothing but air as the cat quickly ran towards our kitchen. I frantically leaped to my feet, found the nearest light switch, and then flipped on the light without thinking about the consequences. AAAAAH! I was now temporarily blinded searching for a cat that I was positive was still in my apartment. With one hand shielding a majority of the light from my eyes I began making my way towards the kitchen. Just then I spotted the cat wedging itself under the back of our couch.

I knew instantaneously it was a bad move on the cat's part. Now I had him trapped because the only way in and out from under the couch was the back side of it. My next move was to wake up my roommate Ben in hopes that he would assist me in my quest. That didn't really go as planned as I violently swung his door open and screamed through his dark room, "BEN GET UP AND HELP ME KILL THIS CAT! ..... BEN, DUDE HURRY UP I NEED YOUR HELP .... BEN SERIOUSLY THERE'S A CAT IN THE APARTMENT AND I'M GONNA JACK IT UP BUT I NEED YOUR HELP!"

All of my screaming produced a very meager response as Ben mumbled from his bed, "What are you talking about, just let me sleep!" I didn't want to miss my chance at the cat escaping so I bolted back into the family room and began improvising a plan B. I grabbed a small couch pillow and decided that in one swell motion I would stand behind the couch, flip it forward - exposing the enemy - and then proceed to beat the cat with the pillow until -- shoot I don't know, I didn't really think that far.

So I executed plan B, ALMOST to perfection. I took one hand and placed it under the back of the 2-seater couch. Then I flipped it over as fast as I could, but before I could even think about taking a swing with the pillow the cat bolted around the corner of the couch and straight for the still open front door! This was my chance! As fast as I could I hurled the pillow violently towards the cat, and nay do I crap you... I HIT IT SQUARE IN THE HEAD!!!! It did some sort of awkward front flip and landed on it's side up against the door. I thought I killed it! But before I could even think about celebrating, it stood up, made some kind of "I'm hurt" noise (I don't know, I don't speak cat) and disappeared out the front door! Apparently a fiercely thrown pillow to the dome has little to no effect on cats!

The moral of this story? If you're gonna sleep with your front door open, make sure you have an inside dog!

These next 2 stories are quickies... I promise.

Anyone who's been late to class at BYU-IDAHO between November and March knows that running on to class is not a good idea. They rarely scrape the snow from campus sidewalks and more often than not the snow freezes, turns to ice, and the maze of concrete that weaves through campus becomes... well... dangerous, to say the least! I don't believe there is a single BYU-Idaho student that has made it an entire fall or winter semester without slipping on a patch of ice. However, I am confident that their are far less students that have had the same unfortunate experience of slipping on the ice... while riding their bike.

Now let's clear the air on a few things before you say to yourself, "Who rides their bike in the snow?" I used to LOVE riding my bike! Rain, snow or shine! I also attended school for 6 semesters without a means of transportation that didn't require peddaling.

Soooo, with that said, one late fall morning I found myself peddling my mountain bike frantically up a pretty steep hill near campus. After reaching the top I decided that since I was late to class that I'd take a downhill short-cut through campus to reach my class faster. I knew there was probably a patch of black ice or two hidden under the freshly fallen snow but failed to really take any precaution. I set off down the hill and didn't make it more than about a hundred yards before the back tire of my bike whipped completely sideways and the right side of my body SLAMMED the ground as both me and the bike I was now pinned under slid "gracefully" until coming to a painful stop. By painful I mean my bike and I were stopped by the rear tire of a huge maintenance truck that was "conveniently" parked on the sidewalk. I got up slowly and noticed a rther large group of people standing nearby that were clearly debating on whether or not it was ok to laugh! After cracking a smile as I brushed the snow of my face, they did just what I expected them to do and began busting up laughing!

The moral of this story? Sometimes it's better if you just don't go to class!

The final chapter in this "threefer" is yet another story involving me and my mountain bike and being late to class. Only this one took place on a beautiful summer afternoon. I was cruising down 1st west, just on the edge of campus, and I mean I was CRUISING! I was doing probably close to 30 mph, flying by cars liek they were standing still. Actually most of them were standing still as the crosswalk that led to the gym created a traffic nightmare in between classes. Now typically I'd be on the right side of the road but on this day, without thinking of the consequences, I found myself on the left side. As I got near the bottom of the hill where I would normally just slow down a little bit and veer right into the stadium parking lot I found myself in a bit of a dilemma. I could come to a complete stop and use the cross walk. ORRRR... I could take advantage of the typical cross walk cluster-F that had 1st West traffic at a stand still, take a hard right through the middle of the intersection, and then hop the curb into the parking lot.

Well... I can honestly say I gave it my best shot. However, I quickly realized after hopping the curb that I was headed straight for a plantern. I SLAMMED on both my front and back brakes but to no avail! My front tire jacked the curbing that surrounded the plantern box and I went flying over the handlebars. I managed to land on my feet before momentum carried me face first into some freshly planted flowers. Once again, upon standing up, I found a large group of people staring awkwardly, debating in thier own minds whether or not it was ok to laugh. And once again... after cracking a smile... they ALL began to laugh!

The moral of this story? Always choose the right!

Rather AMAZING!

2011-07-23T17:55:00.000-07:00

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...

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!

Call It What You Want...

2011-07-21T21:22:00.000-07:00

Call dry heat whatever you want to... I call it HELL!

I've been to Miami twice, Tennesee once, and I lived in South Carolina/Georgia for 2 years. During those 2 years I dawned a white collored shirt and tie while riding my bike in the summer heat and humidity. I had no idea my body was capable of sweating that much. I can't stand heat, and I can't stand humidity. However, I don't believe there is anything that compares to a raw 115 degrees. I don't care how dry it is. I used to try and explain to people what 115 degrees feels like and they'd always say, "Well at least you don't have humidity! Dry heat isn't that bad." To those people I would always pose this question.... would you rather sit in an oven or a sauna?

Now don't get me wrong... I understand that the average high temperature in July in Houston is 95 degrees and that there is more than likely something like 90 percent humidity that accompanes it. But that still only brings the heat index to around 105. The average high temperature in Phoenix in July is 107. Although summer came a little late this year, we've had plenty of days that were 110 plus.

Why do I say all this? Well, I work outside, and lately I've been working A LOT outside. Its not uncommon for me to drink almost 2 gallons of fluid before having a even the slightest urge to pee. Many days I've been on the rooftops of commercial buildings on which the temperature is a solid 8-10 degrees hotter! I can't really describe what it feels like to be on a roof at 2pm and it's over 120 degrees! Am I complaining? Slightly. Do I love my Job? ABSOLUTELY! I just wish I didn't have to look like I just went swimming before it's even time for lunch!

However, as much I complain, there is something distinctly rewarding about coming home from a long hard day of work in the heat! I feel I've accomplished something great just by making it through the day! So here's a look back at some of the "good times" I've had working in that "not so bad" dry heat!

Doing any kind of block work is terrible in the summer time. Unless that "block work" consists of picking up the remnants of a drunk driver that drove through 2 residential fences in the middle of the night. Then I spend more time shaking ym head and laughing than I do worrying about hwo freekin hot it is!

Wow... welcome back to my jihad training days! haha. This gem was taken smack in the middle of the summer in some rich "club house" neighborhood in North Scottsdale. If there's one things that really bugs me when I'm working, it's old people walking by that just can't help but stop and tell me how to do my job! And when it's roasting hot outside I get twice as frustrated with them!The picture below was taken just moments before some old guy began telling me how do to my job! The picture after this one was taken after I got so frustrated with the old man I through my shovel down, it hit a cactus, and one of the cactus balls stuck in my leg! I suppose he got the last laugh on this one...

Who can forget the countless days on 120 degree rooftops cleaning up dead pigeons and their feces...

... or the summer months spent cleaning out a Jack-In-The-Box that had been vacant for 3 years!

And last but not least, a couple pictures taken yesterday morning... let me say it agin...yesterday MORNING... after a few hours of outdoor drywall repairs. I'm still trying to figure out why they call it dry heat?! I didn't feel so dry...

The moral of this vent session??? I need to move to Montana!

3 Classics... 1 Post

2011-07-20T19:37:00.000-07:00

I gotta apologize for taking 2 days off. Long hours of work in the Satan's weather has taken it's toll on me. About the only thing I wanna do after a 12 hour day in the sun is take a cold shower, drink ridiculous amounts of gatorade, eat 9 bowls of cookie crisp, and catch up on Sportscenter. Tonight I'm attempting to make up for my 2 day absence with 3 classic stories from my ever-adventurous life.

I call this first story, "Saturday Mornings"

Outside of the occasional church service project I can think of 3 things that would drag me out of bed before 9am on a Saturday morning. They're all convienantly intertwined... Shooting, hunting, and hiking. So about a year ago when I found myself in the parking lot of Wal-Mart, slightly delirious, at 7am, for a reason that WASN'T one of those 3.... I was naturally in a bad mood.

As I left Wal-Mart with a few items, my eyes still half open, I spotted a 50 something year old man exiting his stereotypical Buick. I didn't make much of his "angry old man" demeanor as I made the short journey to my truck. I quickly threw my purchases in the bed, and without giving it a second thought, I placed my shopping cart smack in the middle of the empty space next to me.

I had not even turned around when I made eye contact with that same angry Buick owner. He stopped dead in his tracks and while extending his arms towards my "misplaced" cart in a rather violent "I can't believe you just did that" motion, he looked me square in the eyes and said, "What, you can't put the cart back in the bin?!" Ladies and gentleman I don't know what to blame for my response, but If I had to choose something I'd say it was the mere fact that I was awake at 7am on a Saturday and I wasn't on my way to shoot something. The man had scarcely uttered the word "bin" when out of my mouth shot 2 words, spoken very clearly, with a very subtle pause between them...... "WHAT... FAG!!"

I don't believe I've ever seen a more frustrated and confused look on another human beings face in my entire life. "What, you can't put the cart back in the bin?!" "WHAT... FAG!" We stared awkwardly at each other for what seemed like 5 seconds before he made a classic "you're ridiculous" gesture. You know... that gesture that sports coaches make when they've exhausted themselves arguing a call and then, as they turn to walk away, they throw both hands simultaneously towards the official like they're shoving a midget. Well that's what he did!

Moments later I sat in my truck and replayed the previous 30 sconds of my life. I shook my head and then BURST INTO LAUGHTER! All I could think was, "Dang, I'm a grumpy dude on Saturday mornings!"

I call this second story "Lessons Learned," and it takes place on a not-so-surprisingly warm April afternoon in Glendale. I was at track practice, participating in a very light long jumping work-out, preparing for regionals. The distance runners were "relaxing" by their standards, running 400 meter reapeats. After a little while I noticed some of the distance runners had taken their shirts off. This was fairly common practice for them, and never caused much of an issue because their work outs usually didn't take place on campus.

Well I decided that even though my work out was light, the temperature was hot enough, and the "atmosphere" of practice was relaxing enough that I'd take my shirt off too. So I did. Not only 5 minutes later coach Sample walked out onto the track. He obviously noticed something "diferent" because he immediately approached me inquiring as to why my shirt was off. He wasn't mean about it and in fact was almost laughing.

So anyways, just as I was about to answer his question with something totally predicatable like, "It's so hot outside" or "I can't stand this heat" I noticed the distance team had just finished another 400 and were standing nearby. So I quickly changed my excuse, and as I pointed at the crowd of distance runners I said to coach, "Why can't I have my shirt off?! All the girls on the distance team are runnin around in nothin but their shorts and training bras!?"

I thought nothing of my comment. To the best of my knowledge I was ponting out the facts. Within seconds I had nearly ever girl on the distance team screaming things at me like, "Oh ya real funny Scott" and "Ha ha-- SHUT-UP SCOTT!" I remained confused as laughter broke out all around me. I swear on my life it wasn't until 2 or 3 days later, when the story was being re-told by a close friend, that my mistake was brought to my attention. You see I never knew there was a difference between a "training bra" and a "sports bra." I honestly had no clue. I had innocently assumed that because the girls were "training" in them that they were called training bra's. I suppose that's my bad... sorry ladies!

This third story is short, sweet, and "tasty" in it's own right. I call it "Wow, really!" Over a decade ago McDonalds went through a phase where their "large" choclate shake was as big as you could get. They did away with the extra large. If I recall correctly, the large was something around 20 oz. I should know because I spend my fair share of money at McDonalds!

So one night while I was out with my friend Jen, I developed a serious jones for a chocolate shake! I asked her to swing into the nearest McDonalds drive thru. I must have been going through "withdrawls" because I asked her to order me 3 large chocolate shakes! She did so with a look on her face like, "You gonna drink all those buddy?" "My response was something like, the larges aren't even that big, they didn away with the extra large!" Now before I go any further, you have to understand that I had polished off 2 large shakes plenty of times, so I really didn't think much about ordering 3. That is, until they handed them to us through the window.

Lo and behold, McDonalds had not only re-introduced the extra-large chocolate shake, but they had misheard our order, and thus I found myself with 3... count em... 3 large chocolate shakes in my lap! I was suddenly faced with a "tasty" little challenge, and instictively decided that I was not going to let the shakes win! I was going to down all 96 ounces of McDonalds artificial goodness!

I finished the first one in what must have been record time. I drank the second much slower while chit-chatting with Jen's parents back at her house. I began sipping the third, and final shake while laying flat on my back in the rear seat of her car while she drove me home. The third shake had severely melted at this point, and even by my own alter-picky standards, had lost it's flavor!

Nevertheless... I kept on sipping. Notice I did not say chugging, for if I chosen to do anything but sip at that point I would've ralphed all over the back seat of her car! Alas though, only blocks from my home, I downed the remaining few ounces in one giant gulp! Predictably I was a little slow getting out of her car, and spent much of the next few hours laying on my bed re-evaluating my love of chocolate shakes.

So there you have it... 3 classics! See you tomorrow!

One Too Many Times!

2011-07-17T18:53:00.000-07:00

Back in the summer of 2006 I convinced a WAY small town, WAY northern California cow girl, that I was worth taking seriously. By "small town" I mean population less than 1,000. By "I was worth taking seriously" I mean I somehow convinced her to be my girlfriend. Believe it or not, my next girlfriend came from the same small town too. Small world eh?

Anyways, her name was Kelli, and being a small town cowgirl attending the same school as me in small town Idaho, it wasn't hard to find fun things to do. She had a little bit of redneck in her so she was totally down with "mudding" "4-wheeling" or "romping" -- depending on where you're from. On one particular night I found myself attempting to show off a bit driving through the same mud puddle 3 times. Each time I took a slightly different path. I probably should've stopped after pass number 2. The 3rd pass proved to be rather unfortunate, as my front right axle got caught on an enormous tree branch that was buried under the water. I found myself in 4-low, 1st gear, pedal to the floor, and still not moving.

Long story short, I never made it out and sunk deeper and deeper until the bumper was resting on the mud. It was an incredibly expensive -- $180 to tow me 10 feet backwards -- attempt to look "cool!" Here's the aftermath AFTER being pulled out....

Much to Kelli's credit, rather than be annoyed, complain, or sit in the truck and text her friends about her terrible date, she hopped right out in the disgusting mud and tried to help me free my truck! Kudos Kelli for being a good sport! Even if your feet looked like this at the end...

Moral of this story? Always bring your camera...

Shady Behavior

2011-07-16T19:33:00.000-07:00

A few days into September, 2008, my cell phone rang. I was sweating to death painting my parents house and looked something like this...

... only I was 12 feet up on a ladder. I hesitated to answer it because it was a number I didn't have in my phone. However my truck was currently for sale on craigslist so I went ahead and answered it. The following conversation ensued between me and a Mexican that spoke broken english.

"Hello"
"You still sell toyota?"
"What?"
"Toyota four wheel drive with camper?"
"Are you calling about my truck for sale?"
"You still sell toyota?"
"uuuuuhhh... I can hardly understand you, but yes my truck is still for sale do you want to come look at it?"
"I am coming from San Diego to buy your truck. I will be buying truck in a few hours."
"Wait you're gonna but my truck?"
"Can I ask you questions?"
"What? Ya... sure."
"It have camper?"
"Ya dude, it's got a camper"
"It have four wheel drive?"
"Ya dude, it's got 4 wheel drive."
"Ok, I come to buy your truck, I call you when I'm close."
"Uhmmmm... ok"

Soon after my college roommate Tommy who'd been staying with me during the break between semesters inquired as to what all the confusion on the phone was about. I told him some mexican that spoke broken english said he was coming from San Diego, right then, to buy my truck.

I waived it off as another "partially" interested craigslist inquiry that wouldn't ever come to anything, and kept on painting. That was, until the man called back and told me that he was around the area of 59th and Glendale and he had 2 guys with him and they were coming to pay cash for my truck. I had recently dropped the price from $5,000 to $4,500 and they offered me $4,300 cash. I told him that'd be fine and gave them directions to my parents house. The whole thing was already looking pretty shady.

About a half hour later a beat up green Chevy pick-up truck pulls up and three mexicans get out. Two of them spoke little to no English so thankfully Tommy knew some espanol. The third was the man I had talked to on the phone. I immediately offered for them to test drive my truck but instead they just sort of looked it over, I told them it ran like a champ, and my dad invited them all inside.

Once inside one of them pulled out the fattest wad of cash I've ever seen in my life. Now as this is going on the two guys that spoke broken English are talking about how they were in a hurry. Then the one that spoke the best english said that they had to be back in San Diego with the truck by 5am. This was somewhere around 8pm.

So back to the cash. Now you'd think that the $4300 would be handed to us in 100's and 50's but no, they handed my dad $4,000 in 20's, and 3 $100 bills. Who asks for 4 G's in 20's from a bank??? I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that the $4300 didn't come from a "bank" per say. Either way they whole thing was turnign out to be shady but hey, they paid for it, so it was there's. That wasn't the end of the shadiness though.

A few minutes later my dad explained attempted to explain to them that in Arizona you got to keep your license plate and use it on your new vehicle. They were not understanding and suddenly became panicked. One of them spoke up and said, "We have to have license plate! We cannot get pulled over!" I almost started busting up laughing. My dad printed them off a temporary one from the DMV website and next thing you knew they were on their way back to San Diego. They never even test drove the thing! From San Diego... who knows where they were going?!?!

Here's a picture of the cash they handed over...

The moral of this story? Don't ask questions... just get paid! haha!

A couple shout outs

2011-07-15T22:34:00.000-07:00

I have pondered on creating a completely different blog called something like "You Can't Make This Stuff Up" and fill it entirely with the ineveitable bad luck that comes with chasing women. Then I'd give out the password to a few buddies so they can contribute their own gems. Dudes tell me all the time how much they can relate to stories I've told in the past like
"From Whatever You Wanna Do To Flat Broke In 5 Hours"
or
"The Number You Have Dialed"
or my most recent...
"The Dating Trifecta"

I'll work on this seperate blog plan but in the mean time I've got another failed interaction with the opposite sex that I was trying to post yesterday but blogger was being lame. This was one of those moments where I would've given almost anything to have the power to disappear. Oh and following this short story is a quick roast of my cuz and roommate Nick in celebration of his 26th Birthday.

Have you ever walked into your place of residence following a date with a blank stare on your face that you can't wipe off. You know the look that's often coupled with the uber slow moving of your head to the left and right while you incoherently mumble something like "What just happened?"

I apologize in advance that some of the details of this night are a bit foggy, therefore shortening this entry significantly but hopefully I can still properly illustrate my frustrations.

My date and I went to the Idaho State fair. It's important to note that this was her idea! It's also important to note that she had text me throughout the day of our date telling me how excited she was to go with me to the fair! Like I said, that's important to keep in mind as you continue reading! I actually found her desire to go to the fair rather strange considering she very openly and very frequently discussed her low tolerance for "white trash."

The night was terrible from the get-go! When I went to pick her up at her apartment there must've been 10 other people in there. Which wouldn't be a big deal at all if she didn't come out and explain to me just moments later that all of those people were coming to the fair with us. As I sat there basically speechless, I did a quick "brod's to bro's count" and realized that not only had our one-on-one date become a group date, but the group was a majority dudes.

Here's 5 things I remember from the remainder of that night...
1) A very awkward care ride in which she sat in the front passenger seat of her friends car while I was sandwiched in the back between two people I'd never met.
2) Within an hour of arriving at the fair she'd said twice as many words to every guy in the "group" as she had to me.
3) At one point she turned down my offer to get food explaing how she "wasn't that hungry." 10 minutes later she's practically sitting on another dude's lap helping him polish off his Indian fry bread.
4) We stopped at the casino on the way home (her idea) and after explaining to her my lack of desire to follow her and her friends inside she said, "It's all good you can just hang in the lobby til were done."
5) When everyone got back to her apartment they popped the first season of "Nip/Tuck" into the DVD player and I made an abrupt exit!

Who sits around with a bunch of people and watches Nip/Tuck?!?!?! I literally celebrated my safe arrival home that night!
The moral of this story??? If you're taking a date to the fair... DRIVE YOUR OWN CAR!!!!

They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Tonight Nick Sorensen was worth exactly 1000 characters. Here's to you on your birthday Cuz...

Who is Nick Sorensen? According to his self created and conveniently worded website... ThisIsNick.com he's a grade-A right-brained photographer But that's just a front he puts on to conceal his true identity. Nick is a strange specimen. He has a perma-jolly for anything with a Canon, Apple, or J-Crew stamp on it. His room is littered with GQ magazines, abstract art, and vinyls! Not cd's. His I-Tunes library is overflowing with music HE'S proud YOU'VE never heard of! His Math skills rival Rosie O’Donnell's people skills. His car's ALMOST as manly as a tampon! I am convinced he would clean the lint out of a strangers belly button before he cleaned his own toilet! As of 10 minutes ago Nick is officially 26. The number 26 holds special meaning for Nick. It represents his average grade in math class and the number of times he's watched “The Notebook.”... BY HIMSELF!

But all joking aside he's a good friend, a good roommate, and dog-gone-it... people like him!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY NICK!

It's My World

2011-07-13T20:43:00.001-07:00

As I woke up from a nap this evening after a long day of working in the sun, a thought occured to me. This particular thought has occured to me MANY-A-TIMES throughout my life, particularly when I'm hungry. This thought has also lead me to wonder, "What would life be like in my perfect world." You know... if I could create a real life "Skotterz World" what would I throw in and what would I throw out?

So as I sit here hung over from the not one, but two 14oz New York Strips I just inhaled, I'm going to tell you 4 things about my dream world, starting with the one I thought of as soon as I woke up! Feel free to add a 5th yourself.

1) Taco Bell would deliver!!!! -- Just imagine it. No seriously... IMAGINE IT! 2 Bean Burritos and a Chicken Soft Taco delivered to your door whenever you want!

2) My eyes would be video cameras -- Every day I would come home and download everything I witnessed that day onto my computer. I'd walk around Wal-mart just for the quality footage I'd obtain.

3) I'd have a Frosty machine in my house -- Enough said

4) Lowes would not exists -- Only Home Depot! I can't stand Lowes. I can't stand that the Exit doors WON'T open from the outside. I can't stand that nobody inside has a clue what's going on! I can't stand how they make you slide your credit card in upside down and then manual type in the last 4 digits at the self-checkout! Phew... glad I got that out of the way!

There you go... 4 things from my dream world without ever mentioning Mt. Dew!

My Bad...

2011-07-12T21:49:00.000-07:00

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!!!!

The Dating Trifecta

2011-07-11T18:57:00.000-07:00

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!

Cracking Me Up

2011-07-08T23:07:00.000-07:00

Recently, Volkswagon released a gem of a commercial for their SUV that has me laughing every time I watch it. So I started thinking today about some of the funnier commercials I've ever seen over the years and came up with these 5 others. The first one is the volkswagon one, and when you watch it try and watch the kids in the background too. HILARIOUS! Anyways, enjoy...

The last one wouldn't let me embed the code but you've GOT to click on the link and watch it! HECKA-FUNNY!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Btb4_b-U_EM&NR=1&feature=fvwp

"Bucky, go get the controllers!"

2011-07-07T23:15:00.000-07:00

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!

HornING, and so much more

2011-07-06T18:59:00.000-07:00

When it comes to pranks, you name it, and I've probably participated in it. Some more than others. Post-secondary education in small town Idaho provided the perfect environment to dig into my prank bank and let the good times roll! However, I credit the A.D.D. that comes from living in one of those "two prison beds, two closets, and a sink" style dorm rooms for adding yet a few more pranks to my vault.

The first of the newcomers was a prank I've named "enveloping" After all, the anatomy of a prank name is nothing more than the primary object in use with an “ing” at the end. For example, toilet paperING... ceran wrappING! Now there's pros and cons to this prank but before I give it an official review, I guess I should explain how to physically accomplish the prank itself.

Enveloping is performed by squirting shaving cream into a manila envelope at least 4 inches wide and 8 inches in length, but the bigger the better! CAUTION: Make sure you use shaving CREAM... NOT shaving GEL! And don't be shy with it... the more the merrier! After adding the shaving cream fold over the top of the envelope and shake it gently allowing the shaving cream to settle in one big clump on the bottom of the envelope. Then open the top of the envelope and VERY CAREFULLY place the envelope, open side forward, on the ground just outside of your "victim's" closed door. Then quickly, but carefully, slide all but a few inches of the envelope under the door, stand up straight, lift your strong leg in the air, and STOMP on the envelope, sending the shaving cream out of the envelope and flying all over the person's room! At this point you have two options. Stick around and wait for a reaction, or run, knowing what's coming. I often found myself running, in an attempt to make it back to my dorm room before they knew who did it. Now let's give this gem an official review.

Pros:
** It's completed behind "closed doors" so I give it a solid 10 out of 10 in the "stealth" category.
** It's virtually harmless. A little shaving cream never hurt noone!

Cons:
** You don't get to see it happen. Only the person on the other side gets a true front row seat.
** While shaving cream can be found in almost any home, manila folders cannot, so if you plan on doing this more than once I suggest purchasing a large quantity of envelopes and traveling with them if necessary.

The second newcomer made it's way into my prank bank courtesy of my roommate. I call it “horning!” Not to be confused with horny, although both words represent something that can be both risky and rewarding. The first step to horning is to locate the nearest roll of duct tape. Then, with duct tape in hand, skip, run, or walk on your hands to the nearest apartment complex. Preferably one that is occupied entirely by women. For me, this was easy to find considering I attended a university that was chuck full of gender-segregated housing. If you live in a normal town, than throw out the idea of an apartment complex and start scrolling through the friends list on your phone looking for the person that drives the biggest P.O.S. car that you know they leave unlocked in hopes that somebody steals it.

Once you've found your car with an open door (and no alarm of course) take a strip of duct tape about 18 inches long and center it over the horn on the steering wheel. Then, as quickly as you can, using the duct tape, press down the horn until it begins to honk. Then, press the two loose ends of the duct tape firmly on the top and bottom of the steering wheel keeping the horn in the “honk” position. Then, and this is important if you're in an apartment complex... LOCK THE CAR DOOR, and then RUN....and HIDE! If you put the duct tape on correctly and the steering wheel isn't too dusty, the horn will continue to go off until usually one of two things happens. Either the horn shuts off on it's own for who knows what reason, or you get 20 girls standing around the same car at 2am screaming things like, “Who's freekin car is this, the horn won't shut-off?!” or “Someone put like tape on the steering wheel or something so the horn can't shut off!” But no matter what happens it's guaranteed to produce some serious laughter on your end! Now let's review it...

Pros:
** It's a "wide-angle" prank. It's intended for one person but can aggravate so many others in the process.
** As previously stated... produces an ENORMOUS amount of laughter!

Cons:
** It can be difficult to find a car that's unlocked. You might start to look slightly "tweaker-esque" walking around an apartment complex lifting door handles.
** It might be hard to find a place to hide and still watch the people gather around the car.

SOOOOO... with all this talk about pranking, let's go ahead and add "cupping" to this list! Big-ups to Nick for decorating my room with plaastic cups full of water. The best part??? He put every ice chest, and trash can in the house into his car so I wouldn't have an easy way to dump them out. The problem? He forgot one ice chest! Kudos Nick... But this means war!

7-4-11

2011-07-04T23:03:00.000-07:00

I celebrated the 4th with a small portion of my family in Salt Lake City. We enjoyed a high scoring (10-9) minor league baseball game followed by one of the greatest fireworks shows I've ever seen! Part of that is due to the fact that I've never sat so close to the fireworks! My only regret is not taking more pictures tonight. Enjoy the 3 I have and a video with my adorable niece Ruby in it!

Me and Rooby-Dooby-Do...

Nice face Marcus! haha...

The video is much better full screen...

Old Fashion Fun

2011-07-03T19:29:00.000-07:00

In the words of Poison, this weekend has been "NOTHIN... BUT A GOOD TIME!"

It'd be difficult to describe it any other way when it's been chuck full of playing with my nieces and chillaxin with a couple old buddies that are still young at heart.

My niece Ruby "Cheeeeeesin it up"

My other niece Lola... Can you tell it's her mom?

ROOBY-DOOBY-DOO... At Firehouse Subs

Oreo mouth...

2 and 3 going on 16...

These are pics I took from video footage of jumping around on the trampoline with my old roommates James and Shane...

James doing a backflip with my sister dog Bentley in his hands. HAHA!

I screwed up the double bounce and sent Shane flying off the tramp...

This time I get it right...

Take 2

2011-07-03T08:21:00.000-07:00

Because society and those closest to me have deemed me "ignorant" "insensitive" "ridiculous" "homophobic" and many other things for believeing strongly that people are not "born gay," and because apparently it's a "sensitive subject" that only gay people are aloud to speak out about I'll just let Elder Dallin H. Oaks do the talking!

“Beware the argument that because a person has strong drives toward a particular act, he has no power of choice and therefore no responsibility for his actions. This contention runs counter to the most fundamental premises of the gospel of Jesus Christ.

“Satan would like us to believe that we are not responsible in this life. That is the result he tried to achieve by his contest in the pre-existence. A person who insists that he is not responsible for the exercise of his free agency because he was ‘born that way’ is trying to ignore the outcome of the War in Heaven. We are responsible, AND IF WE ARGUE OTHERWISE, OUR EFFORTS BECOME PART OF THE PROPOGANDA EFFORT OF THE ADVERSARY." (His words, my emphasis)

“Individual responsibility is a law of life. It applies in the law of man and the law of God. Society holds people responsible to control their impulses so we can live in a civilized society. God holds his children responsible to control their impulses in order that they can keep his commandments and realize their eternal destiny. The law does not excuse the short-tempered man who surrenders to his impulse to pull a trigger on his tormentor, or the greedy man who surrenders to his impulse to steal, or the pedophile who surrenders to his impulse to satisfy his sexual urges with children."

AMEN ELDER OAKS!

Flying Frogs and "What the #&*@"

2011-06-30T23:28:00.000-07:00

They don't call it the dirty south for nothing. While serving my two year church service mission in the great state of Georgia, I had a plethora of comedic experiences. One I'll tell you about in words because unfortunately I don't have it on video. The other... well, I'll let the video do the talking.

The first took place on a cool spring night in the thriving metropolis of Cochran, population 5,000. My two companions and I had a serious jones for some Taco Bell. As we pulled into the drive thru we were positioned behind two cars. The front car was obviously ordering food. The second car was a puke green white trash pinto that housed what looked to be one occupant. As we sat there discussing our individual orders, the passenger door of the vehicle in front of us suddenly opened. A small black kid, 5 years old at the most, began walking towards our vehicle. He was "holding himself" as if he was about to take a leak in his pants.

Rather than walking past our car though, the kid wedged himself between the front bumber of our car and the rear bumper of the car he just got out of. He was like a deer in the headlights, only he was little black kid that had to pee. The 3 of us started busting up laughing as he just stood there waiving at us with one hand and "pinching it off" with the other.

My companion noticed a bathroom attached to the outside of the building, but it quickly became apparent that the kid either didn't know it was there or didn't think he could make it there on time. So he did what any 5 year old would do in that situation. He dropped his pants and began to pee on the front bumper of our car! The most awkwardly amazing part? He continued to wave at us the entire time! I was in tears I was laughing so hard! Then, as quickly as he'd wedged himself between our cars, he returned to the passenger seat just in time for the driver to pull up and place an order. EPIC!

Now, for video. I will say two things about this before posting it. The first is the frog lived and we watched him hop away. The second is that you excuse the accent... I'd lived in South Georgia for a year and a half at this point!

"I didn't see you either"

2011-06-29T16:30:00.000-07:00

A little over 6 years ago I returned home from my mission to the great state of Georgia. It took a couple days before I was allowed to drive because my parents had to put me back on the insurance. Nevertheless, in due time, I was given the green light. My first item of "business" with my moms new car? A trip to an institute activity/dance. What a terrible idea huh? We'll just call it anhonest mistake.

The activity was at the institute building on Olive Ave. The dance was farther to the East on Olive at another building. Thus, somewhere around 9pm I began driving East on Olive. Just shy of 51st Ave I was detoured by police to a parking lot on the North side of the road, due to an accident at the intersection just ahead. I idled through the parking lot, with Pink Floyd blaring from the speakers, rubbernecking the entire way. I was the only car in the parking lot that was driving in any direction so i didn't worry about holding up traffic.

As I approached the edge of the parking lot I stopped about 20 feet short of the street. I had a perfect view of the intersection, and most of the accident. It looked horrible!! As I let my foot off the brake and began creeping towards the street I started looking to my left. That's the direction you look when you're about to make a right hand turn. You don't look right. I noticed 3 cars coming up the road to my left so I came to a complete stop and waited for them to pass. As soon as the last car went by me I took my foot off the brake and had barely tapped the gas when- SLAM! I whipped my head straight forward and found myself eye to eye with a cop.

I was speechless. Where did he come from? How did I not see him? Exactly how much trouble am I about to get in? I rolled down the window of my mom's car as the cop continued staring at me. Eventually he made his way to my window and much to my surprise he was almost laughing. He said, "Don't worry about your license or registration right now, this is crazy, I can't even believe this just happened."

I almost started laughing too, as I stepped out and said nervously, "wow, I seriously didn't even see you!" He laughed and said, "I guess this is what I get for driving on the wrong side of the road." I took a a quick look at his car that I had just T-boned and realized that he was indeed facing the wrong direction on the road. He looked at me and said he had his sirens flashing and was trying to take the quickest route into the parking lot. He explained that he'd been waiting for the same 3 cars I was waiting for and we both hit the gas at the same time.

We shot the breeze for a little bit as we waited for a supervisor to take the accident report. I made an incredibly uncomfortable phone call to my parents who were also able to arrive on scene and join in some casual conversation before someone finally took the accident report.

I felt like the biggest tool! Who hits a cop! But when I want to feel a little better about the whole thing I remind myself that he was driving on the wrong side of the road. So long story short, I was issued no ticket, but due to the fact that he's a cop and he had his sirens flashing it went down on my insurance as an at fault accident.

So the moral of this story??? DON'T GO TO INSTITUTE ACTIVITIES! Or do... it's cool!

Really Mom?!?! REALLY?!?!

2011-06-28T18:42:00.000-07:00

Who can forget the social disaster that were school pictures? Remember that 8 X 10 nightmare staring back at you a few weeks later through that clear plastic film, perfectly centered in that giant white envelope? I sure do! I hated school pictures! I hated sitting on those rickety old studio stools with my hand on my chin dishing out fake smiles while some wanna-be photographer verbally assaults my lack of studio photogenics. Is that even a word? It should be. To make matters worse, I always seemed to be dawning some atrocious handy down collared shirt that my mother forced me to wear. As of this day I own 4 collared shirts, exluding those I wear to church. Back in the day I owned a whopping ZERO! I've been "anti-preppy" since the first grade.

One particular collared shirt stands out from the rest though. In 7th grade my mom hand picked this "pimp-esque" gem from somewhere down in our storage room and the results speak for themselves. Perhaps she was trying to take the attention away from my buck teeth. HA-HA!

Compare that to the picture below taken the same year.

Why couldn't that just be my school picture? That picture would have been so much easier to hand out to girls. I mean think about it that conversation... "Hey do you want this picture of me in an everyday outfit with a broken arm that I got from doing an everyday activity?" "Ya sure." Now compare that to the conversation that typically ensued when attempting to hand out my ACTUAL school picture from that year. "Hey do you want this picture of me in a horrendous shirt that my mom forced me to wear?" "Uhmmm... I don't know." "Oh come on... When people ask who I am you can just tell them I'm your pimp." HAHAHA!

The Anatomy of a Nickname

2011-06-28T00:09:00.000-07:00

Let's face it... nobody's perfect. Imperfctions birth a variety of consequences. One of which is nicknames. Sometime in the late 80's after losing a majority of my baby teeth to case after case of falling down, my permanent teeth began to take their place. A short time later I began to notice something a bit "different." An imperfection if you will. Otheres seemed to notice it too. You see my two front teeth had apparently missed the "quite growing" memo!

This dental tragedy paved the way for my first nickname, "Bucky!" The name was taken directly from the star character of the nostalgic TV series, Bucky O'hare and the toad wars. See pics below...

Now I'd be lying to you if I told you that I immediately accepted my imperfection for what it was, and didn't let the comments that came with it bother me in anyway. I hated the nickname, and every negative thing that came with it. I hated that my older brother Clint would always tell me to "get a file Bucky, and file down those buck teeth." I hated the small army of friends and family that would bite their bottom lip with their two front teeth over and over in a "chomping" motion,kindly reminding me of my resemblance to a beaver.

I can recall one occasion rather vividly during a Sunday dinner in which my older brother Clint and I were exchanging words. My parents told us to stop fighting repeatedly but to little avail. I was boiling inside. I think Clint knew this, and went for the jugular. After my dad said, "I don't wanna hear another word out of either of you," Clint decided that the making the infamous chomping motion with his teeth was not considered talking. Perhaps it wasn't, but I'd had enough. I flipped my lid! I slammed both hands on the table, stood up and said, "SCREW YOU CLINT! QUIT MAKIN FUN OF MY TEETH! YOU WANNA FIGHT ME BRO?! FREEKIN BRING IT ON DUDE, I'M NOT SCARED OF YOU! I DARE YOU TO MAKE FUN OF MY TEETH AGAIN! I'LL FREAKIN JACK YOU UP DUDE!"

The fight never happened, and I quickly exited the kitchen making sure I was completely in my room with the door locked before letting the tears flow. I can't really tell you when I decided to stop caring about my beaver teeth and the never ending insults that accompanied them, but at some point I indeed stopped caring. Years later, my other permanent teeth began to grow larger, making the size of my two front teeth less noticeable. My nickname however, still stands. Mostly with family and close friends.

Whether or not I should have reacted the way I did to being ridiculed for something that was completely out of my control is obviously up for debate. Want to know what's not up for debate? Whether or not I really had buck teeth. The pics say it all.... YIKES!

We got that fire...

2011-06-27T00:15:00.000-07:00

I'm starting to believe there's something about about a bon fire that just makes people wanna dance.... And there's something about listening to Pink Floyd on the way home from camping that just makes people wanna sing. Visual proof below... Its much better full screen!

P Dizzy in the Hizzy

2011-06-25T21:13:00.000-07:00

i spent the day helping ranchers... it was fast.

Not Looking Forward To This...

2011-06-24T12:29:00.000-07:00

Here is just a portion of what I'll be doing Monday for work. Everything brown is pigeon crap. This makes up about 1/10 of the entire mess I'm responsible for cleaning up. I suppose it's one more reason to hate Mondays...

THE BIG 100!

2011-06-23T21:55:00.000-07:00

A little over 2 years ago I defied the stereotypes and created a blog. You see most people with a blog are married with children, and their post are littered with hilarious stories of kids saying the "darndest things," and cooking recipes. I started writing as a single college student filling posts with plenty of pictures and very few words. Now I write as a college graduate with a girlfriend and I fill my posts with a plethora of words, and very few pictures.

It took me a little over 22 months to chalk up my first 50 posts. It's taken me less than 2 months to complete the next 49, and that brings me to tonight. This will be my 100th post of all time! In celebration of this fact I decided I would posts a couple links to some of my favorite posts from the first 50. Some of them are a couple years old but I don't think the humor has an expiration date...

This is one of my all time favorites... EVER! Such a classic moment!
http://skotterzworld.blogspot.com/2009/12/are-you-kiding-me-lady.html

This post was made possible by my cousin Nick...
http://skotterzworld.blogspot.com/2008/08/learning-to-fly.html

Last but not least, this post illustrated a typical day for me at college a couple years ago...
http://skotterzworld.blogspot.com/2008/06/summer-review.html

Red Flags

2011-06-22T15:49:00.000-07:00

Attempting to find love on an online dating service is like running full speed towards a tornado hoping that instead of throwing you a few hundered feet onto your head, it gently picks you up, spins you around a few times, and then drops you off at Disneyland with a 3 day park-hopper pass. You know it's a bad idea.... But the uber slim chance that you end up on your favorite ride seated next to some totally hot stranger is enough to make you wanna try. At leat it was for me. The only problem was even after I thought I'd avoided disaster and been dropped off at "Disneyland" I ended up broken down on Space Mountain with a mediocre "4 out of 1o" throwing up on me. I should've seen it coming!

Are you confused??? Allow me to clarify. Almost 2 years ago, after convincing myself that I'd "exhausted" all other options, I did the unthinkable and joined the world of online dating. To be honest with you I didn't know what to expect. I created a profile with 7 or 8 decent pictures and wrote a paragraph in the "About Me" section that included everything from my height and weight to my likes and dislikes. Much of it probably wasn't "essential" at all, but I figured the more I wrote about myself, the less likely I was to get a bunch of e-mails that said, "Hey you seem cool, tell me more about yourself." Although, don't get me wrong, I still ended up with plenty of those.

The first couple of days were a bit rough. I mostly browsed for single women between 21 and 28 that lived within 25 miles of my zip code. What I found was a bunch of verbally and visually deficient profiles that left me with more questions than answers. After further examining a few of their profiles I started to wonder if I was attempting to communicate with real girls, or some 45 year old perv with 9 fake profiles, living in his parent's basement. This should have been my first RED FLAG! I should've just cancelled my account after only a few days.

Needless to say though, I put forth a little effort and started exchanging e-mails with a few girls. 2 of them really stood out. The first was a 34 year old single mom, with 5 kids. Believe me when I tell you that SHE FOUND ME... NOT the other way around. We exchanged only three e-mails before she realized that my part-time salary and my love of the show C.O.P.S. wasn't exactly turning her on.

The second one that stood out was a 27 year old girl from Scottsdale. Our e-mail exchanges and online chats contained so many "haha's" and "lol's" its a miracle I waited so long to go on a date with her. However, I should've been more aware of the RED FLAGS! The first being the fact that she had only one picture on her profile. The second being the fact that her one lone picture was from only the neck up and looked as if it was taken 4 or 5 years previous. Despite the warning signs, I allowed her sense of humor to win me over. I eventually asked her for her number, and called her to set up a date.

Ladies and Gentleman... I've debated for quite some time about writing this story for 2 reasons. The first is I vowed that when I left her house that night I was going ot try my best to pretend like the previous 2 hours "never happened." The second is because it almost falls into the category of "you had to be there," but when has either of those ever stopped me from writing about something. So here you go...

I drove the 40 minutes or so to the North end of Scottsdale and arrived at a very nice looking home, in an equally nice looking neighborhood. I double checked the address, took a deep breath, and made my way towards the front door. I was really uncomfortable. I knew she was funny, but what did she look like? I didn't have much to go on. What was on the other side of that door??? Was it a super model, that was sand bagging her pictures in hopes of avoiding guys that only wanted her for her body??? Was it a slightly overweight softball player with an upper lip full of peach fuzz. You know the kind that doubles in luster when the sun hits it just right?! I mean seriously, who was going to answer the door. I'll tell you who... and just understand that I'm simply describing to you what I saw.

As the door opened I was greeted by a girl that stood about 5 foot 6 rocking a pair of cut-off sweat pants and an oversized T-shirt. You know, the kind you used to wear to bed as a kid? Ya, just like that. How much she weighed is not important, just know that if I was a quarterback, I'd feel safe with her playing left tackle. I'm not trying to be mean, I'm just sayin...

This girl was also talking on the phone when she answered the door. Before I could say Hi, she beat me to the punch and said, "Hi Scott, just come on it, I'll only be a minute" and walked away leaving the front door open. I stepped inside, closed the door, and she disappeared into the kitchen. I followed slowly behind her, admiring the immaculate decor that graced the walls of her home. I made my way into the family room and copped a squat on the couch. I stared at my reflection in the TV for a solid 30 seconds before deciding I needed to "go to the bathroom." I stood up and did my best to whisper across the opening into the kitchen, "Pssst... where's your bathroom?" She getured down the hallway and said something like, "first door on your right."

I entered that bathroom stopping briefly along the way to take a peak into an open doorway. I placed both the toilet seat and the toilet cover in the down position, left my pants in the up position. and sat down on the toilet. After all, I wasn't in the bathroom to actually "use the bathrroom." I was in the bathroom so I could say out loud to myself, "What the crap are you doing here Scott??? Dude, you should just go home, delete her from your friends list, and pretend like tis never happened." As I sat on the toilet staring at myself in a rectangular mirror the hung awkwardly on the wall directly in fron of me, I carried on a conversation with my conscience...

"Give her a chance Scott, she might be really fun"
"Dude, she was wearing cut off sweat pants and a XX T-shirt!"
"Scott, you wear orange camo pants"
"Ya, but they ain't no cut-offs, and I don't compliment them with a sumo shirt!"
"Dude, she's really funny."
"Sense of humor is invalid when you can bench press me"

... and so on and so forth until I decided I would stick it out and see what happens. Before leaving the bathroom though I heard her say something to her mom on the phone like, "No, mom, I can take care of the house, I've been doing it for 6 months now, I'm fine!" I thought back to a few of the things she'd said in our chats. Things like, "I'm a steal Scott, I have my own house, my own car, and a great job!" It was looking more like she had Mommy and Daddy's house, Daddy's car, and who knows what she did for a living.

I made my way back into the family room and no sooner had she hung up the phone than she offered me a tour of the house. I'm not gonna lie, this house was BALLIN! It had all kinds of fancy decorations too. I was impressed. I was also scared as we walked into her room and I had the first of 2, "What the HELL?!" moments. I can't say it any other way. Now let's clear the air on the fact that maybe when I was 16 I would've gotten some sort of adolescent thrill out of seeing a girls bra thrown on the ground, but not at 26! And certainly not THIS girls bra. I quickly found an excuse to leave her room and began discussing dinner plans.

Seeing as how we were in Scottsdale, and she lived in a nice house, I pretty much knew I was about to get stuck with some huge restaurant tab. She suggested a few "higher-end" eateries... P.F. Changs, Ah-So, The Cheesecake Factory. I started getting nervous. Was this even worth it? I had another silent discussion with my conscience and this time my conscience lost. I told her that I was, "sorry, but I ate a late lunch at work and I'm not that hungry so I could go for something real simple." Much to my surprise she suggested In-and-Out burger. SCORE! I agreed before she had a chance to second guess herself. Then as we went to walk out the door she said, "Hey why don't I drive? I got a fast car!"

This should have been a red flag but instead I was intrigued. I agreed to let her drive and I took a seat in her bright blue Nissan 350. It was cozy inside... I was diggin it! Only 2 minutes later though I wasn't really "diggin it" anymore. She was blazing down Scottsdale Road doing 90 in a 50. This lead to the second, and final "what the hell" moment. After peaking at about 90, she finally let off the accelerator and said, "Ya, I better slow down, if I get one more ticket I get my license suspended." WHAAAAAAT???

Let me break down the rest of the night for you in 2 sentences. We ate at In-and-Out, went back to her place, I WATCHED her play X-Box (I was so uncomfortable I didn't even wanna play) and then I made up some excuse about having to get up early the next morning to go hunting. A few minutes later I walked out of her house, got in my truck, shook my head back and forth violently, started my truck, looked at myself in my rear view mirror, and said out loud, "Wow, I'm gonna pretend that never happened."

So the moral of this story... ALWAYS GET A FULL BODY SHOT before you get her phone number!

Homemade Failure

2011-06-21T15:10:00.000-07:00

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!!!!

Wow... 47!!!!

2011-06-10T21:05:00.000-07:00

So I just realized a few minutes ago that I promised a blog a day for 44 days. I've done 47 straight. I've decided I'll take tonight off. I'm not gonna lie, it's been an absolute blast! According to the stats tab the 2 most poplar entries from the last 6 and half weeks are the 2 below. The next 2 are my personal favorites. I'm curious what are your favorite entries from the last 47???

2 Most viewed:

From "Whatever You wanna do" to Flat Broke in 5 Hours

"Scott I Need To Talk To You About Something"

My 2 personal favorites:

"20 Smiles and One Hilarious Accident"

"A Giant Waste of Helium"

That'll do it....

Sometimes You Gotta Look Back and Laugh

2011-06-10T01:56:00.000-07:00

**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!!

Broken Glass

2011-06-08T22:59:00.000-07:00

When my parents moved into the house they're still in now, I was only 4 years old. The basement of the house remained unfinished for several years. The bare concrete floor made for some good times and some "hard times". It was like a giant concrete jungle gym. I remember my older brothers fastening a steel pole to the exposed beams and using it as a pull-up/chin-up bar. I remember having competitions with my brothers on who could do the most, and losing every time. I always blamed it on having long arms. Still do actually.

We had an area of the basement that we called "the big room" that was essentially 1,000 sq. feet of empty play space. The only real vivid memory I have of how we took advantage of our concrete play place is using it as a roller skating rink. I remember having access to a pair of roller skates, and my little sister had a pair as well. If I remember right she would share her skates with my little brother, and from time to time they would take sharing to a more creative level and each wear one skate and one shoe. hahaha.

My roller skates could hardly be called roller skates. I also wouldn't call them mine and not because other people used them, but because they were so awful in every way possible that I really shouldn't claim them as my own. They looked like a pair of faded blue 1970's running shoes that someone had glued a acouple metal frames to and bolted on 8 wheels. They were incredibly uncomfortable and ridiculously unstable! However, that didn't stop me from usin them on a regular basis.

Well, on one particular day I was flying through some sort of goofy "obstacle course" we had created in the big room, and suddenly found myself traveling towards the window well at a rather high rate of speed. Now do you remember that the brake on roller skates was located on the front. Ya-ya... Remember that piece of rubber up near the toe of the skate that had everyone confused on how to really use it!? I mean what kid didn't face plant attempting to use the brakes by leaning forward with both feet at the same time. Come on people, I know I wasn't the only one.

Anyways, since I had face planted myself, and still had not learned the proper way to use the brake, I concluded my only option was to place both my hands against the window and hope it absorbed my momentum. The only problem is windows aren't exactly built to absorb momentum. I extended my arms out in front of me, my hands hit the window, and the window shattered as my hands and most of my upper body fell into the window well. Initially I had NO CLUE I had even been hurt. I was however young, and very scared, and I believe that entitled me to start crying for any reason I dang well pleased! So I immediately let the tears flow. A short time later I felt a slight pain in my left arm and upon examining my left tricep I discovered a large chunk of it was missing. Then I REALLY started crying! To make matters worse it was the type of wound that appears bright white at first, with little red dots on the inside of it. You know the kind that initially doesn'tlok that bad, and then it just starts pouring blood!

Well, long story short (whoops too late for that) I ended up with 9 stitches and a bruised ego!

Fast forward almost 2 decades. The basement has been finished for a number of years. Inside the basement, and more specifically, scattered acros the big room, are a number of my friends. They're playing halo. I am in the backyard with my buddy Tommy painting the house. I am walking along a railroad tie snugged up against one of the window wells on the side of the house. My foot slipped and I began the 5 or 6 foot plunge into the window well. Luckily I stuck my left arm up against the side of the house as I fell. This prevented me from falling completely through the window. However, I did still smack the window with my butt, shattering it, and pretty much scaring the crap out of my friends in the basement. I took this picture before cleaning up the mess. I have to admit, it could've been much, MUCH worse.

So the moral of the storie(s)??? Don't ever roller SKATE... EVER... and watch your step!

"Hang on, just one more jump!"

2011-06-07T18:00:00.000-07:00

It was Friday, March 3rd, 1995. It was my 12th birthday. I had a few friends at my house and we were killing time in the front yard, waiting for the rest of the crowd to show up. My big birthday plans included an all you can eat dinner at Sizzler's (complete with unlimited mac and cheese and ice cream), and then back to my house for cake, even more ice cream, and presents. A fairly typical birthday for a kid my age.

After we played basketball for a little while I decided it was time to strap on my rollerblades and show off my mad skills. I dragged my older brother's ramp down the driveway and placed it on the sidewalk facing directly towards the street. At 12 years old I was deep into the rollerblading thing. I was also deep into building ramps. I used to sit in class and design "sweet jumps" for hours at a time. A few weeks prior to this incident I had helped my older brother Clint build a pretty good sized launch ramp. The same ramp that was now sitting at the end of the driveway.

I took a few warm up jumps, keeping things simple. By simple I mean nothing too extreme. By nothing too extreme, I mean no 360's, no 540's, no misty flips, and no rocket air grab's. By no rocket air grab's I mean -- hahaha... sorry, I was having a "dang I miss rollerblading" moment. Anyways, after only a couple of jumps my brother Clint noticed that the brakes on my rollerblades were leaving scuff marks on the surface of the ramp. In hindsight, the fact that I thought I was going pro rocking a pair of rollerblades that had brakes on them was laughable!

The solution to the scuff mark problem was simple. I grabbed a phillips head screw driver and removed the brakes. No sooner had I done this than my mom came outside and said, "Ok everyone get in the car, were leaving." I quickly replied, "Hang on, just one more jump." BAD IDEA! I stood up at the back end of the garage and prepared myself to fly down the driveway for my final jump. I got the "all clear" from my buddy at the bottom of the driveway and took a deep breath. I pushed off the back wall of the garage, cruised down the driveway, and launched off the ramp. I had WAY TOO MUCH SPEED! Immediately after leaving the edge of the ramp my feet flew straight out in front of me and I found myself staring up at the sky. My arms started flailing around wrecklessly as I began falling to the ground. At the last possible moment I flipped my body face down and stretched my arms out in a push-up position to catch myself.

SMACK!!!! My body hit the ground. CRACK!!!! My left wrist gave way! By gave way I mean it broke. It immediately started to burn. I rolled over on my back, screaming in pain. A couple of my buddies came and helped me up and at this point I of course had to play it off like it was no big deal. "You alright man, that was crazy!" "Oh ya dude, that was nothing. I'm fine man." I wasn't fine!

Fast forward about a half hour as a bunch of us are standing in the all you can eat buffet line at Sizzlers. I grabbed a plate and headed straight for the mac and cheese. I went to place the plate in my left hand so I could scoop with my right, and soon realized I couldn't even hold a plate with my left hand. It hurt my wrist too much. So I placed the plate in my right hand and attempted to use my bad hand to scoop the mac and cheese. I was already not very coordinated with my left hand and the fact that it was broken wasn't helping the cause. I started dropping mac and cheese everywhere BUT on my plate. An observant employee at sizzlers noticed I was struggling and asked if I needed help. I don't remember exactly what I said to her but it was something really rude. I felt like I could do it on my own and I let her know it! I said something like, "No! Does it look like I need help? Geez, just leave me alone!" hahaha. Poor girl!

So all of this happened on a Friday, but I didn't get my cast on until Monday. I remember the Doctor had to "set" the bone before he could do anything. That was an awful experience. I think it hurt more than the initial break!

So the moral of this story??? Just becasue you want to do something "one more time" doesn't mean you have to. Oh and here's me with my 2-tone cast...

"SCOTT WATCH YOUR BACK!!!!"

2011-06-06T22:12:00.001-07:00

A little over a year ago my work buddy Robert and I had to do a painting job on 40th Street and McDowell. Anyone that knows much about Phoenix knows that 4oth Street and McDowell is not a place you want to hang out in the open for any extended period of time. ESPECIALLY when the suns not shining! For those of you not from Phoenix, hanging out in the area of 40th street and McDowell after dark is about as safe as juggling double sided knives... that have no handles.

Perhaps I can paint a better picture of the scene for you. Robert and I had to paint 2 sets of carports located behind a 5 story office building at 4040 E. McDowell. The job had to be done at night when everyones' cars were no longer under the carports. I rolled up just shy of 10:30pm and Robert was already there getting a few things ready to go. I got out of my truck and took a glance around the dimly lit parking lot. Aside from a group of town cars owned by a nearby limo business, we were basically the only cars back there. With the exception of 1 which I'll get to in a minute.

The building itself, as I mentioned previously, was 5 stories. It was littered with gang graffiti. The back parking lot, where Robert and I were located, smelled like a south Phoenix blend of fermented baby diapers and cigarettes. Something didn't look right, and something DEFINITELY didn't smell right. However, this wasn't my first time working at night in "the hood" and I must admit that the combination of that, and having someone else with me, actually had me feeling "just fine" about everything after only a few minutes. I wish I could say it stayed that way the entire night.

I was carrying a hand gun as I do EVERY TIME I work after dark. On that particular night I was carrying a 9mm Glock, secured in holster on my hip. More often than not, when working at night, I choose to wear my gun where it's easily visible to others in an effort to NOT look like an "easy target." This particular night was no exception.

As I helped Robert unload the paint sprayer and a few other things we started discussing what to do about the 1 car that was still parked under the carport. We were told there would be no cars there, and the fact that there was a car there sort of threw a wrench in the plan. The building's doors were locked, but there was a few lights on in some of the offices so we thought maybe it was someone's car who was working inside. Suddenly we heard a voice from about the 4th floor of the caged in, outdoor stair case on the east side of the building. It was a man talking on his phone. The gate to the stairwell was suppossed to be locked too, and nobody should have been on the stairs at that time of night.

We couldn't see who it was, but we decided that we should ask him if he was the owner of the car parked where it shouldn't be. Little did I know the chain of events that would be set off from asking that one man, that one simple question. The man screamed back at us in a drunk voice, "I'm comin down there to help you!" Me and Robert stared blankly at each other thinking, what's he gonna help us with? Moments later the man stumbled out the door to the stair well and headed towards us.

Allow me to describe him. He was a Mexican guy in his 40's that stood about 5'10" tall, and weighed in at about 160 lbs. He had on a cruddy pair of jeans and no shirt. He was holding a beer can in one hand, a joint in the other, and you could smell his B.O. from a block away.

We asked him again if he knew who's car was parked under the carport to which he responded in a highly intoxicated tone of voice, "uuuuuuh.... no...... but I'll go find out for you!" I was already sick of this guy and I had just met him. As he left us to embark on a mission to find the cars owner, I immediately knew he was going to be a problem. He was drunk, high, and unpredictable. We continued to get stuff ready to go, making fun of the guy we'd just met. Then out of left field the man reappeared, but he was no longer alone. He was now holding a dog leash that was wrapped around the neck of a huge pitbull. Classic tweaker! They always have a dog! As soon as I saw him tying the dog's leash to a small tree, I told Robert, "Dude we need to keep an eye on this guy because I can already tell he's gonna be a problem."

We decided we would skip painting the carport with the vehicle parked underneath it until we could have it towed. So the next thing we needed to do before we could start painting was tape up large plastic sheeting all the way around the carports. As we were getting the plastic ready the drunk guy walked directly from the tree straight towards me. He then pointed at the gun on my hip and said, "heeeeey... what is that a pellet gun homez? You don't need no pellet gun to kill nobody! Pellet guns are for panzees! I was in prison for 10 years in Mexico man! I seen people die man! All you need to kill a man is a razor blade! Just a razor homez, you don't need a f****** pellet gun!"

Before I could even respond Robert began screaming at the guy, "Hey bro, you need to leave! We gotta start working, and you're not even suppossed to be here!" The guy turned and looked at Robert, didn't say anything, turned right back towards me and said, "I'm serious homez, that pellet gun ain't gonna protect you man! I'd f'ing cut you up before you could even think about shooting me homez! Don't think you're cool cuz you got a gun! A razor blade is all you need man! I'll show you!" I was beyond frustrated at this point! I took a few steps towards the guy, stared him right in the eyes and shook my hand back and forth towards his face while I screamed, "First off you little pecker... this ain't no pellet gun on my hip! Second of all... you're drunk as hell, and you're ticking me off! The best thing you could do right now is leave! The guy started busting up laughing and fired back with, "Whatever homez! I seen people die man! I seen people cut up with knives real bad! You don't need no pellet gun to kill a man!"

Now it's typical of someone who's both drunk and high to repeat what they say over an over. It's also typical when those same people fail to comprehend anything you say back to them. Realizing this, I decided I'd just walk away and hope he did the same. Much to my surprise, and my liking, it worked. He walked over to the tree, untied his dog, and the two of them wandered off around the corner of the building as he mumbled things out loud to himself. Robert then informed me that there was suppossed to be armed guard security patrolling the parking lot at night and since he had a phone number for them we thought it'd be a good idea to call and figure out where the heck they were. The guy picked up and said that him and his team of security guards go back and forth between two different buildings all night long, and that they would be back at that building within the hour.

All was calm for about a half hour while Robert and I draped plastic sheeting around the entire carport. When we were finished I was standing on the inside of what now looked like a "greenhouse" without windows, and Robert was on the outside. I was also on one end of the carport, while Robert was a good 40 feet away on the opposite end. He fired up the paint sprayer and began priming it with paint. I walked around the inside of the sheeting making sure to tapet all the corners together.

Suddenly I heard Robert scream, "SCOTT WATCH YOUR BACK!!!!" I turned around as fast as I could, already startled by how loud Robert screamed. The first thing I saw was that same drunk Mexican, about 10 feet away from me, walking slowly towards me, waiving something back and forth in his hand! I immediately began backing up as Robert started running up behind the guy screaming "Dude get outta here man! Get outta here!"

He paid no attention to Robert. After only a few steps backwards I hit the plastic sheeting. I didn't wanna take my eyes off the guy so without turning around I tried grabbing the plastic and lifting it over my head so I could get on the outside of it, giving me more room and more light! Meanwhile the guy is still stumbling towards me and finally begans screaming, "You see man, this is all you need! This is all you need to kill a man homez! You don't need no pellet gun!"

He stopped a few feet away from me, and I quickly grew both nervous and angry at the same time. I screamed at him at least five times to "BACK UP! BACK UP!" He didn't move either direction and continued waiving the object back and forth. It was at this point that I realized it was a razor blade. I reached down and unclipped the holster to my gun and placed my hand tight on the grip but did not remove my gun. Robert noticed my hand clasping my gun and moved to the side. The drunk guy either didn't notice or didn't care as he continued mumbling over and over, "You see homez, this is all you need! I can kill a man with this!"

At this point I vividly remember making a very calm, but very conscious decision in my mind. If the man took another step towards me I was going to draw my gun, point it directly at him and continue telling him to back up or I would shoot! As it stood right at that moment, I still didn't feel my life was in danger. Not to mention the last thing I wanna do is shoot some drunk homeless guy. However, if worse came to worse, and the guy attacked me I would not have hesitated to shoot.

The "stand-off" if you'd like to call it that, lasted only a minute or two. Although it felt like an hour or two! The drunk guy just kept screaming, "This is all you need to kill a man," while I continued to scream back, "BACK UP BRO! BACK UP!" Finally I decided to up the intimidation level. In what might have been a stupid move I took a quick step towards the guy, still holding the handle to my gun, still shaking like crazy, and screamed as loud as I possibly could, "BACK UP BRO! BACK THE F*** UP!!!! RIGHT NOOOOOOOW!!!! BACK UP!!!!" The guy immediately started walking backwards, and stopped waiving the blade around. I kept walking towards him continuing to rattle off profanities, like it was my job. I'm not saying it was the right thing to do but it was the only thing that was working.

Robert started screaming too and eventually the guy turned his back to us and casually staggered out the other end of the carport. We followed slowly behind him making sure to watch him leave the entire property before returning to the carport area. We sort of laughed about what happened and I remember Robert saying to me "man you got a lot of patients, I would shot him as soon as I saw that razor blade."

The rest of the night went off without any troubles. The security guards showed up a little while later and after sharing the entire story with them they told us that they knew exactly who the guy was. They said he'd been causing problems in that area for a long time, and had been arrested on several occasions.

Hey security... thanks for the memo!

Curiousity VS Extension Cord

2011-06-05T21:00:00.001-07:00

Before I tell you who won the fight between my A.D.D. and an extension cord a number of years ago, I guess I should follow up on what I wrote about on so little sleep last night. If you care not to read this part and just wanna hear about me almost dying skip to down 4 paragraphs. haha. For the prelude to what I'm gonna say a bit mor about you can read my previous entry. I slept ok last night, but the images are still fresh in my mind. Seeing someone with a gunshot wound, much less three teenagers, is something I thought I'd never see. Ya, they were gang bangers, and maybe they even provoked the gunman, but all I saw was three kids in ridiculous pain! Quite frankly I'm ok with NEVER seeing it again. I don't do well with blood, especially when people are screaming! On the bright side, all of the kids lived so I guess it could have been worse. I'm not sure how I'd ever handle seeing a dead body.

Something people might not understand about me is while I find guns fun, and I have shot many guns, many times, they STILL SCARE ME! Every time I go to a shooting range, even with ear muffs, I shake and cringe at the sound of gun fire. I get uncomfortable. When I'm shooting a gun myself I find it enjoyable. When other's are shooting around me, it scares the crap out of me. Even when it's family or friends casually shooting a very small gun at a pop can in the middle of the desert. I'm always alert to my surroundings. I'm always safe. But still, even after all these years, I'm always scared. But I believe it's a healthy fear.

I am a gun advocate. I love guns. I think they're fun. I think they're therapeutic. I think it's a shame that the careless and senseless choices of so many gun owners (including the gang bangers from last night) have ruined what can be such an enjoyable thing. It bugs me to all end when people want to take gun rights away from good people, because of the actions of bad people. The way I see it, aside from some type of insane military action, you'll never get all the guns away from the bad people. It's too late. There's too many out there. So if you turn around and don't allow good people to own a gun, we've got nothing to protect ourselves with.

Society is crazy. People are unpredictable. I'm glad I live in a state that allows me to carry a gun. Many times I work by myself at night. I ALWAYS carry a gun when I'm working and the sun is not up! ALWAYS! Without exception. Sometimes I conceal it and those I'm working with have no idea I'm carrying one. Other times I wear it in a holster on my belt, out in the open, as a deterrent. Either way, I wear it for protection. I hope I NEVER have to use it. It scares me to even think about pulling the trigger on another human being. I am a panzee. But at the same time, I feel much safer with it, and if ever faced with a situation where my life was threatened, I feel plenty qualified, and would not hesitate to use it. Thankfully, I've never faced a situation like that, although I came rather close about a year ago. I'll tell you about that tomorrow.

For now... OFF THE SOAP BOX... and on to the most "electrifying" fight I've ever been in. Every Christmas my family would pull out boxes and boxes of old school multi-colored exterior Christmas lights, stretch them across the front yard, replace all the burnt out bulbs, and then help my dad put them up. As a kid it was fun, I looked forward to it! Not sure if I'd say the same thing now.

Well one year, during what I call my "curious" phase (you know the phase boys go through where they inisist on either taking things apart or setting them on fire) I was helping my dad put up the Christmas lights and got a little bored. I wandered around the yard kicking rocks and swatting at bugs when my A.D.D. got a little crazy. I started staring at an extension cord that was draped along the side of a small pony wall in our front yard. I began to wonder what was on the inside. Why did I even want to know? I have no idea! Couldn't tell you! But I was determined to figure it out!

I snagged a pair small gardening shears from the garage. They looked like just what I needed. As I exited the garage I obviously knew that what I was about to do was wrong because I remember laying down and crawling as close as I could to the 3 foot high wall, so as not to be detected. Next, I took the extension cord in one hand, pinched it into a "U" shape, placed the shear's blades on either side of the cord, and began cutting very slowly. I'm sure you know where this is going. Before I knew it... POP! All I saw was a bright flash and a tingling sensation throughout my whole body.

I heard my dad and brother scream something but I don't remember what. I dropped the shears that now had a huge chunk taken out of the blade, and crawled as fast as I could away from the wall. I then bolted (no pun intended) through the garage into the house. I vividly remember my mom sitting at the table cutting out coupons as I ran past her as fast as I could directly into the adjoining family room and leaped behind the couch. My mom, who of course had no idea why I was acting so erratically, asked anxiously, "Scott slow down, what are you doing?" I didn't answer. I was now hiding from what I had convinced myself would be a whoopin from my paps. She asked again, a bit more specifically, "Scott why are you hiding behind the couch?" Again I stayed silent. Just then my dad came in the house bellowing, "WHERE'S SCOTT!"

I don't claim to know much of the conversation that insued after crawling out from behind the couch, but to my father's credit I remember him being a bit more concerned about finding out if I was ok, than he was furious about me ruining his extension cord. Sorry paps! I still owe you an extension cord!

SHOTS FIRED!

2011-06-05T05:56:00.000-07:00

Technically it's 5:56 am on Sunday morning but because I haven't been to sleep yet, I'm still counting this as Saturday's post, keeping up with my one a day. I went on a police ride along with mybuddy last night and I told him that I hadn't written an entry today and something good better happen so I could blog about it. I'd hesitate immensely to call what happened good. I would however call it, interesting, scary, and disgusting if I was limited to 3 words.

We were responding to a noise complaint when a call came out about shots being fired only a few blocks away from where we'd just arrived. We'd only driven for a few seconds when it came over the radio, "One victim with gun shot wound to the head." I started to get sick to my stomach but did my best to not let it show on the outside. We spead down another block or two and pulled up to the scene. I'm so tired right now I cannot take the time to appropriately describe it but let me try.

I've watched The first 48, and COPS, for quite some time and seen real life crime scenes, but on television. It was VERY different in real life. So in a nutshell, it was a gang related shooting. There were 3 victims, all teenagers. Two boys, one girl. I saw the girl holding a towell to her mouth and her entire face was covered in blood. When she moved it there was a large hole in her cheek. She'd been shot through her cheek, exiting out the other side fo her mouth near her nose. One boy had his pants already off sharing time between putting pressure on his wrist, and on his thigh. He had holes in both. The 2nd boy also suffered a shot to his leg.

I cannot really describe the next 4 hours as they searched for the suspect, interviewed potential witnesses, and detectives arrived with CSI to collected evidence. It was fascinating though. It was fascinating to see the reaction of on lookers, most of which were intoxicated and didn't seem to be affected by it at all. Minus the father to one of the victims, that is, who began riding around the neighborhood on his bike looking for revenge. It was fascinating to see the reaction of the many cops responding to the call, and their eerily calm demeanors about the whole situation. I got the chance to speak to a few of the officers about their feelings on things like this. Without exception they all said they've become numb to seeing horrific crime scenes, and that it almost becomes something they expect to happen. One casually walked past me and said sarcastically, "just another day in paradise huh?"

I thought a lot about the sadness of "living in the ghetto" and how 3 teenagers came within inches of losing their lives. Their ONE LIFE that God has given them. More than likely over gang territory. I don't really know what to think of it. Right now I think I want to go to bed! I could go without some of the things I saw tonight for quite some time but I can't look past the humbling feeling of seeing the real life consequences, both good and bad, of lifestyle choices.

Good night!

I Should Really Pay Attention...

2011-06-03T14:35:00.000-07:00

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!

Thankful Thursdays.... Thanks Melanie

2011-06-02T21:03:00.000-07:00

Admittedly I stole this Idea from my cousin's wife Melanie. I think I'll take a break from the funny stories for a day and share 5 things I'm thankful for. It may still make you laugh... but no promises.

1) The Miami Heat blowing a 15 point lead in the final 6 and a half minutes of tonight's game. I don't claim to be a Dallas fan and actually, I'd love to punch Jason Terry in the face, but WOW does it feel good to see Lebron lose. And yes, I'm a proud "hater."

2) My job. It may not be full time, but I'm SO THANKFUL for the work I do get. I'm thankful that I get to work outside (even if it's hotter than a popcorn fart), work with my hands, and not do the same thing every day!

3) Taco Bell! In my honest opinion it is FAR AND AWAY the most budget friendly way to tickle your taste buds!

4) My family. I got some quality time with most of them over Memorial Day weekend and loved every minute of it. Including ridiculous amounts of BBQ, water gun fights, and play time with the dog and tortoises...

5) Last but not least, I am thankful for classic comedies... Doesn't matter how many times I watch this movie, I laugh out loud.. A LOT!

"Look bro... I'm Sorry..."

2011-06-02T01:27:00.000-07:00

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!

"Do you need help???"

2011-05-31T18:52:00.000-07:00

About a year ago I was driving home from playing volleyball at the church when I saw something a bit out of the ordinary. It was almost midnight, and I was approaching the section of 67th Ave near my house that had nothing but a couple acres of dark desert on both sides. Well, on my side of the road I noticed a young girl, "skanked out" stumbling into the darkness. I slowed down but decided against stopping because it looked like she was talking on the phone. I drove a few more seconds up the road and thought about it a little more. Something just didn't seem right. She was young, she was dressed like a hooker, and she was walking into the pitch black desert.

I flipped a U-turn and headed back up the road keeping my eyes peeled for the girl. I couldn't find her. It's like she'd vanished into thin air. I pulled off the asphalt and began carefully navigating my truck through the desert, fully expecting to find her passed out in a bush, or face down in a cactus. I saw nothing, until I pulled back out onto the ashphalt and found her walking up the side of the road again. I pulled up next to her, rolled down my window, and asked the only question I felt was appropriate. "Do you need help???" She stumbled to my open window, rested her arms on the top of my door, and immediately fumigated my truck with her hard liquor breath. The following conversation took place:

Drunk minor: "I am so lost! Where the hell am I?"
Me: (Waving my hand back and forth in front of my face) "You're on 67th Ave like 3 miles North of Happy Valley. Where are you going?"
Drunk Minor: "Well I'm totally drunk and I left this party because my boyfriend got pist at me and I started walking home and all the sudden I had no idea where I was."
Me: "Well where do you live?"
Drunk Minor: "67th and Deer Valley"
Me: "Holy crap, you're like 5 miles North of where you need to be."
Drunk Minor: (Now playing around with her phone) "Could you like take me home or take me back to the party?"
Me: (Rather disgusted at the whole situation) "Ya I'll run you to your house, just do me a favor and don't throw up in my truck!"

She got in and continued playing with her phone as I made my way South on 67th Ave. There was virtually nothing said between us for a few minutes except for me asking her what she was gonna do if she couldn't find her way home that night. She answered by saying, "I don't even know, like maybe find a park to like sleep in or someting." I just shook my head in sarcastic amazement. As I approached Happy Valley Road her phone started ringing. She said it was her boyfriend, but she was so drunk she couldn't figure out how to answer her phone. I came to a stop at the light, grabbed the phone out of her hand, clicked "talk" and said, "hello." Her boyfriend immediately inquired as to who I was, to which I responded rather angrily, "It doesn't matter who I am, but you're lucky I'm a nice guy! I found your freakin girlfriend, completely lost, about to wander off into the desert and now I'm taking her home!" He quickly shot back at me, "Dude I'm sorry we got in a fight and she stormed out. I'm at a friends house now just bring her over here." I asked him where exactly he was at and found out he was only a few blocks from where I was at that moment.

So I agreed to take her to meet up with her boyfriend. I had no idea what to expect as I rounded the corner to the street he told me he lived on. I mean the girl looked like she was 16, and her boyfriend sounded about that age too. Well I pulled up near the house number I was given and about 8 boys, none of which looked old enough to drive, approached my truck. I rolled down my window as the girl gathered her things. I said, "Whose girlfriend is this?" and a raggedly looking kid holding a Coors beer can sort of nodded and said, "I'm her boyfriend man, thank you so much for bringing her here." I was so ticked off at this point I started yelling at every kid there. I told 'em all how lucky they were that some random guy didn't pick her up on the side of the road and rape her. I told 'em there's no way any of them were anywhere near 21 and they're lucky I even brought her over there. I don't know what else I told 'em but it was probably useless because they were all plastered!

The girl thanked me for the ride, and even gave me a hug during which I held my breath in an effort to avoid a noseful of Vodka fumes! As I pulled out of the neighborhood I happened to see a police officer minding his own business doing paperwork on the side of the road. I thought about what had just happened and decided I had to say something. The whole situation bugged the crap out of me. I really felt like I'd done the girl a favor but, what was gonna stop all those kids from doing the same thing again? I pulled up next to the cop and gave him a 30 second run down of what just happened to which he quickly responded, "And they're all around the corner? I'm on it," and immediately flipped his car around.

So the rather funny ending to this story is when I got home a few minutes later I went upstairs and walked into Nicks room to ask him if he saw the girl on his way home too. I didn't even get the chance to ask him before he's says, "Buddy did you see that chick walking on the side of the road?

Thanks for not stopping Nick. I need these experiences in my life so I have something to write about! hahahaha!

"911... What's your emergency?"

2011-05-30T18:41:00.000-07:00

A few years ago, when I was still milking the sacred cow, living at home, my parents headed out of town for a week. On Sunday night my work buddy Devin came over to spend the night. On Monday morning I locked the back door, and went out through the front door leaving it unlocked. I told Devin to just go out the front door when he left for work. He was only about 2 minutes behind me. This was a failry ritualistic rouitine, as every weekday I would go to my bosses office about a mile from my house, pick up a stack of work orders, and then return home, eat like 6 bowls of cereal, plot out my work day, and then take off. I had no reason to think this particular morning would be any different.

So after paying a visit to the office and collecting a short stack of things to do, I returned to my house. Upon arrival, however, I was met with an uncomfortable sight. A red car was parked in my driveway. Devin truck was gone, which I expected, seeing as how he was just about to leave when I did. But the red car was not in my driveway just 20 minutes before. I cautiously walked up to my front door wondering if perhaps one of my parent's friends had come over to drop something off, or possibly one of my friends had come over and I just didn't recognize their car?

As I cracked the front door open I thought about yelling something unoriginal like, "Hello, anyone home," but then I felt like that wouldn't be a good idea. I crept like a ninja through the dining room into the family room and kitchen area, getting more paranoid with every step. I quickly noticed that there were a few pillows thrown around in the family room and the back door that I had locked not even a half hour before, was now unlocked. "Sketchy" alarms started going off in my head and I made a beeline for the front door, carefully shutting it behind me, so as not to alert anyone that might be in my house of my presence.

I immediately dialed 911 on my cell phone.
"911 state your emergency."
"Hi, I left my house for about 20 minutes and I just got back and there is a car parked in my driveway I don't recognize, and my bakc door that was locked, is now unlocked."
"Ok, give me your address"

After giving the dispatcher my address and a few mroe details she promised me that a officer would be their witin a few minutes and advised me to stand a few houses down the street. About 5 minutes later an officer arrived and started asking me a little more about what was going on.
"Did you hear anyone in your house? Did you notice anything missing or out of place?"

I told her about the pillows that were thrown around and how the door was unlocked and I for SURE locked it. Upon hearing this she spoke some mumbo jumbo into her radio, told me to back up behind her, and she removed her gun and took a defensive position in the corner of my driveway. Over the next 3 or 4 minutes AT LEAST 7 or 8 more officers arrived, and a few of them had a brief meeting in my driveway. At this point I'm thinking, holy crap, what was I thinking walking into my house? I'm like those idiot in the movies that insist on "investigating" the strange noises in their basement and end up dead.

After their brief meeting, one of the officers walked back towards his car and with the push of a button on his key ring, his back door popped open and a K-9 leaped out! Now I'm thinking, "Dang they're bringing out the dog?" This was getting crazy! A couple officers approached me and asked me about the layout of the house. I explained it had a basement with 5 window wells, and a few other tid bits. They asked me if I had a dog and I explained that I did but it was in a caged in area of the backyard. At that point a rather comedic discussion took place between me and one of the cops:

cop: "Can the dog jump over the fence?"
me: "Ya but she won't. And even if she did she won't hurt you, she's a bird huntin dog."
cop: "Does it bite?"
me: "No."
cop: "What kind of dog is it?"
me: "A german short hair."
cop: "Uhmmm, German Sheoaprd's bite son!"
me: "No, not a German sheopard, a German SHORT HAIR. She finds and retrieves birds, she's harmless."
cop: "Ya I've heard that before."
me: "Well, if you're that nervous I'll go take her out."
cop: (Getting kind of upset thinking I was being sarcastic) "I'm not nervous son I just know dog's are unpredictable."
me: "Look all she cares about is her stupid ball. If she looks excited it's because she probably thinks you're there to play fetch with her. But I promise she won't jump the fence."
cop: (still sort of upset) "Well you better hope she doesn't!"

At this point I'm thinking, geez buddy, you gonna shoot my dog cuz she wants to play fetch? What the crap is wrong with you?

So anyways, the now 8 or 9 officer strong "army" gathered for one more meeting in my driveway before they broke the huddle and started jumping into the backyards of the houses on either side of mine. 2 officers approached the front door with the K-9, and let me tell you something, this dog was ready for war. The officer holding the dog's leash began screaming as loud as he could something like, "THIS IS THE GLENDALE POLICE! IF THERE IS ANYONE INSIDE SPEAK UP NOW! WE HAVE A DOG! HE WILL BITE! IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO GET BIT SPEAK UP NOW OR OPEN THE FRONT DOOR SLOWLY!" Then came one of the funniest things I'd ever heard. They repeated the entire spiel in spanish! I'm like what the gay? You have to give verbal warnings in both languages before entering a house?

They opened the front door and over the next 20 minutes went through every room, closet and cabinet in my house, before exiting. A few minutes later all the officers congregated again in my driveway and they ran the license plate of the red car. They told me it was registered to a "Sandy Allen from Yuma Arizona." To my best knowledge I had never known a single human being from Yuma, AZ much less one specifically named Sandy Allen. Then one of the officers felt the hood of the car and noticed that it was rather cool. A sign that it had not been driven very far before being parked there. They asked me if I wanted it towed and I said "Absolutely."

All the cops left, and I tried calling my buddy Devin to tell him what had happened and he didn't answer. I ate a ridiculous amount of cold cereal during which time a tow truck came and hauled away the red car. I then left for work but on my out of the neighborhood I thought to myself, I wonder if Nick (my cousin whose house was almost directly behind mine) noticed the cops in his backyard. I hung a right and headed down his street. I knocked on his front door and asked him if he'd heard or seen anything. He hadn't the slightest clue as to what I was talking about, so I had to tell him. But before I had the chance to really even start the story his mom and his Aunt walked up and threw a HUGE TWIST into that morning's plot line!

The firs thing out of his Mom's mouth was, "Oh hi Scott! Did you get the message I left on your phone? Aunt Sandy parked her car in your driveway cuz she's staying here for a couple days and we didn't wanna deal with the HOA getting upset about her parking in front of the house, and since I knew your parents were gone I told her she could just park it over there." My face went completely blank and my first thought was, "What the crap... Aunt Sandy lives in yuma????" I started fumbling over my words. "Well, uh.... uhmmm... I didn't uhmmm.... you see...." -- when all the sudden she interupts me screaming, "YOU DIDN'T HAVE IT TOWED DID YOU?"

I simply shook my head yes. They both started freaking out! I attempted to explain my actions by telling them the story from the beginning. At one point during my explanation I remember Nick's Dad sarcastically laughing and saying, "I told you to make sure he knew you were doing it or he was gonna have it towed!" To which Nick's mom responded, "Well I left him a message."

WHOOPS! MY BAD! HAHAHAHA!

Well, they ended up having to drive to the tow yard and pay something like 85 bucks to get her car back, and I felt pretty bad. I offered to help pay for some of it but they wouldn't let me. A couple hours later as I was working It dawned on me... "Well why was the back door unlocked and the pillows thrown around." I decided to call Devin again and he decided to answer this time. I told him the whole story after which he told me that he threw the pillows around the family room just after I left looking for his shoes. Which shoes, he ended up finding on the back porch, and he had failed to lock the back door after coming inside.

Wow! So the moral of this story??? There's 2 actually! The first is ALWAYS check your voicemail and the seconds is ALWAYS know your Aunt's names and where they live! Even if they're a distant Aunt and you haven't seen them in like a decade! haha! Sorry Aunt Sandy!

"The number you have dialed...."

2011-05-29T21:02:00.000-07:00

The 20th century brought about the invention of the television, the internet, radio, antibiotics, and the airplanie, among other things. All of these were amazing inventions that made a crank load of people filthy rich. But I believe there is something out there, a gift, that is worth more than all of those things combined. This gift, if possessed by any man, would be invaluable! It would make you rich beyond your wildest dreams! See where I'm going with this?

I'm referring to the ability to understand women! Can you imagine the time, effort, money, and heartache you would save men all around the world? If someone offered me this gift many years ago I would have sold everything I owned to possess it!

But then again, I wouldn't have near the hilarious dating stories that I do now. Also, all you single women rolling your eyes right now saying, "Ya well I wish I could understand men," I'm with you! Let's face it... the inability to read the minds of the opposite gender is just one, in a long line of difficulties that factor into the game labeled "dating." And make no mistake... it IS a game!

As I mentioned before though, there is a bright side to NOT possessing this priceless gift. For me, it's been the opportunity to meet, get to know, and then be completely flabbergasted by the behavior of women! I've previously shared with you a portion of my rugged introduction to the world of relationships here...

http://skotterzworld.blogspot.com/2011/05/scott-i-need-to-talk-to-you-about.html

But it wasn't just girlfriends that exhibited shady behavior, as I wrote about here...

http://skotterzworld.blogspot.com/2011/04/from-whatever-you-wanna-do-to-flat.html

Sooooo, why not tickle your taste buds with another comedic moment from my dating history.
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!"

Just a GREAT time!

2011-05-29T01:47:00.000-07:00

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! :)

"Dude you can't even see it!"

2011-05-28T00:55:00.000-07:00

It was an evening much like many others growing up. Minus the fact that I was sitting on the couch playing with a pocket knife. You know... opening and closing the blade like 500 times while watching tv. I was playing little games like, see how far I can close the blade before it snaps shut. Typical childish behavior. It's a miracle I didn't cut my finger off. Meanwhile my little brother and sister were entertaining themselves at the kitchen table a few feet away.

Well, at some point that night I became UNinterested in watching TV, and VERY interested in finding out just how sharp that pocket knife really was. So I tested it! Not on a piece of wood, not on a strand of rope, and thankfully not on my finger. Oh no, I tested it on something far less "logical" than any of those. I tested it's ability to cut, on my parents perfectly good family room couch!

The first cut occured when I was testing the sharpness of the tip at the end of the blade. I pressed it against the couch cushion sort of wiggling it back and forth until... WHOOPS! There it went. Right through the cushion. I quickly removed it and began looking around the room to see if anyone had perhaps witnessed my misdeed. Thankfully my little brother and sister were still minding their own business at the kitchen table.

Now you'd think at this point that I'd simply put the pocket knife away and hope that nobody noticed the small incision I'd created. But that didn't happen. I actually noticed that the cut was nearly impossible to see unless you knew it was there, and since I'm the only on that knew about it, I thought to myself, "Wow, that was kind of entertaining, I think I'll just keep cutting the couch up until it looks noticeable."

Folks, I honestly can't explain why I didn't stop after the first one, but I didn't. Instead I proceeed to poke at least 2 more holes in the couch before I was startled, mid-cut, by a voice inquiring, "Scott what the heck are you doing???" To which I replied casually, "Dude, you can't even see it!" My little brother and sister come wandering over to the couch... "Uhmmmmm Scott? You can totally see it! We were watcing you do it! What the heck!? Why in the world are you stabbing the couch?"

My response??? The same thing over and over.... "Dude you can't even see it!"

HAHAHAHA! Sorry mom and dad! I blame my adolecent A.D.D.!!

"What happened to my frog?"

2011-05-26T19:13:00.000-07:00

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 :)

I Was Once A Con Artist

2011-05-25T16:18:00.000-07:00

**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...

You learn something new every day...

2011-05-24T16:36:00.001-07:00

Almost 2 decades ago VH1 coined the phrase, "You think you know me, but you have no idea. This is the diary of... so and so." Well for those of you that think you know me... well, you're probably off to a good start. But do you know everything???

(Pretty much) ANYONE who knows me, knows that...

- I talk... A LOT!!
- I enjoy the outdoors
- I am a huge Phoenix Suns fan.

SOME of you that know me, know that...

- My left arm twitches when I walk
- When I was younger I stole over $50 worth of half dollars and silver dollars from my parents closet and spent them entirely on the ice cream man.
- I can eat cold cereal for every meal

Now for something I thought might be fun. Bare with me as I share 3 things that more than likely, NOBODY knows about me...

1) I WANT TO HAVE A HANDICAPPED CHILD. Perhaps I was born with a soft soft heart, but it melts when I get around mentally and physically handicapped children. I'm aware that most women probably cringed and or let out a "pfff" when they read that but hey... just telling ya how I feel. And if I can add a "1a" to this, it would be that If I had the monetary freedom to adopt a couple handicapped kids, I would do it in a heart beat!

2) I AM OBSESSED WITH 2ND PLACE! I have never won the highest possible championship in anything. Allow me to explain. In high school I placed 2nd in regionals in the long jump my junior AND my senior year. At college I played in league championship games with 3 basketball teams, 2 volleyball teams, 2 soccer teams, 1 dodgeball team, 1 flag football team, and 2 ultimate frisbee teams, and LOST EVERYTIME! Wanna go back farther? I placed second to my little brother Russ not once, but TWICE at the church olympics in the softball chucking contest! I am the ultimate choke artists!

3) I AM DEATHLY AFRAID OF WATER AT NIGHT TIME. It doesn't matter if it's the ocean, Lake Powell, or the pool in my backyard, IT SCARES THE CRAP OUT OF ME! When I'd go to Lake Powell and take dips at night I would never venture more than a few feet from the boat. I would also be shaking nervously the entire time I was in the water. If I put my head under water, which was RARE, I would hold onto the ledge when I did it. In my backyard I occasionally take dips in our pool at night. I make sure and turn the pool light on, I rarely go underwater, and I spend most of the time shaking out of pure fear. It's a phobia that I can't explain.

So there ya go, now you know me a little better!

"Dude, Gimme Back My Scooter!"

2011-05-23T15:51:00.001-07:00

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!

Can a brother get some love...

2011-05-22T21:58:00.000-07:00

Just some funny stuff invovling my little brother Russ...

A few days ago I posted a story about my Russ and I destroying the Dawson Family's yard. Russ and I did a lot of dumb things growing up. That post had a snippet in it about my dad catching us dressed in all black with tp shoved down our pants trying to sneak out of the house. I was wearing a ski mask. Russ had on black snow boots. We looked RIDICULOUS! I also said it was a true story. It is.

In our effort to sneak out Russ made it all the way up the stairs and around the corner of the coat closet. I was stuck like a deer in the headlights on the last stair when my dad opened his bedroom door just a few feet away.

"What do you think you're doin?"

I'm pretty sure at this point the tp in my pants was soaked in pee. hahaha. I of course stumbled over my speech, "uuuuhhhh...uuuhhhhh..." while also thinking, "Dude Russ better show his face, freekin panzee." We of course both ended up receiving a verbal reprimand from my dad, the whole time pulling roll after roll of toilet paper from our baggy black warm-up pants.

Russell's best friend growing up was our cousin Nick. The two of them used to go out of their way to tick me off! They knew how to push my buttons like no one else could. They knew how to make me go from completely relaxed to "beast mode" in a matter of seconds. On one particular afternoon I was attempting to take a nap and had the door to my room locked. Obviously the two of them took offense to this and felt the need to let me know about it, while simulatneously geting their "fix" of Scott in beast mode. Their great plan (and make no mistake, it was a GREAT plan) involved a toy gun that made about 5 or 6 different ear piercing noises. They found the most obnoxious noise, pulled the trigger, taped the trigger in the "fire" position, and placed the gun outside my door. I awaoke to the most obnoxious sound in the world and it wasn't stopping. I could hear the 2 of them laughing at the end of the hallway saying, "Ooooooh buddyyyyyyy, what are you gonna do fag! HAHAHAHA"

My blood was practically boiling as I jumped out of bed, threw open my bedroom door and chased the 2 of them upstairs and out of the house before I realized that not only was I not going to cath them, but I was giving them exactly what they wanted. Great times.

Finally, for the sake of you hardcore right brainers that refuse to read a post with no pictures, I'm gonna attempt to sketch a couple memories of Russ and me from back in the day.

Until I was about 16 Russ and I shared a bedroom. We had a vintage set of bunk beds, a couple of toy chests with ninja turtles painted on the top, and a dresser that could have turned some heads at the Antique Road Show. Truth is, it was our own little paradise. One of my favorite memories was sliding face first off the top bunk, slamming into the ground, and then climbing up the end of the bed as fast as we could and repeating the process until either our heads collided with each other instead of the floor, or we were simply too tired to climb. More often than not our little game wouldn't start until after we were told to go to bed so the sound of us slamming into the ground head first, or the light remaining on when it was supposed to be off, would often wake up my parents. When we heard my parent's bedroom door open we would quickly kill the light and jump into bed like we'd been sound asleep. 90% of the time it was our mom who came to dish out the discipline, given away by the sound of her slippers on the carpet. But every now and then the hallway floor would creek, which could only mean one thing. Dad was coming. Rather than assuming a normal sleeping position, when dad was coming, we'd each bury ourselves completely under the covers, face the wall, and attempt to lay completely still and hold our breath. I remember one time we both managed to crawl under the bottom bunk because it felt safer there. HAHA! So many great memories!

One of my other favorite memories of Russ was nearly ritualistic. We used to take vacuum cleaner extension poles, put on karate outfits, and pretend we were ninja turtles. Rather than fighting the bad guys though, we'd fight each other. These little battles of ours never lasted as long as we wanted them too because without fail one of us would hit the other one in the head causing a "one-up" game of retalion. Almost immediately the person hit in the head would trade in his vacuum cleaner poles for a pool cue and start screaming in an effort to intimidate the other. This caused the one still holding vacuum cleaner extension poles to reach for something like a pool ball. This is frequently where one of us would retreat upstairs as fast as we could but I can recall at least one time that a metal baseball bat made it into the mix.

These are the memories that I look back at and can't help but laugh out loud.

Well, until tomorrow folks....

Livin in Dixie...

2011-05-21T18:41:00.000-07:00

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...

"Taco" tires...

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...

Too much swamp gas???

2011-05-20T23:35:00.000-07:00

About 3 weeks into my 2 year church mission I was living in the railroad ridden town of Waycross, Georgia. Something interesting about Waycross is it's the BIGGEST city, in the BIGGEST county, in the BIGGEST state, east of the Mississippi. Someone had to explain this to me the first time I heard it so allow me to do the same. Georgia is the biggest state East of the Mississippi. Ware County is the biggest county in Georgia. Waycross is the biggest city in Ware County. BAM! You learn something new every day.

ANYWAYS... Waycross is located only a few miles from the Okefenokee Swamp and I don't know if I should blame the insanely strange behavior of the man I'm about to tell you about on inhaling too much swamp gas, or take the old fashion route and just say he was probably on crack. But either way it was hilarious!

About my 3rd or 4th sunday in the mission field my companion and I were minding our own business in priesthood meeting when the Relief Society president frantically called us out into the hallway. She had this look on her face like she'd just seen a ghost. We started asking if everything was ok, now equally as frantic. She eventually calmed down enough to stumble over a sentence that went something like this: “There a strange man in the foyer with a machete.”

WHAT??? All I could think was "why is she telling US this... call the cops!" Never the less we decided we better investigate. Folks, it was FAR WORSE than anything I conjured up in my mind during our walk down the hallway. Allow me to paint a picture of the man we found standing in the foyer. He was 6’5”, 260-280 lbs, with a beard that gave Moses a run for his money. His beard was accompanied by long nappy hair that looked like somebody put popcorn butter in his shampoo bottle. He had on white pants, a white long sleeved collared shirt, some white tennis shoes that looked like a couple of chew toys, and sure enough, as advertised, he had a machete in a thin leather case that hung from his belt. He was also sporting a couple of strange looking wrist bands and an even stranger looking head band, both of which had strange characters written on them.

Just as I began wondering if I was about to be held up at "knife-point," and be forced to surrender my scriptures as well as the pathetic contents of my wallet, the man spoke up. He asked if he could attend church with us.

WHAT??? I was expecting something more like, "Nobody move, and nobody gets hurt!" We quickly informed the man that he was more than willing to attend our services, and that he actually arrived just in time for the other ward's sacrament meeting. Sooooo, as me, my companion, and the wanna-be Moses with a machete strolled into 2nd ward's sacrament meeting the first person I see staring back at me from the stage is my Mission President. Seated next to him was his wife. Are you serious??? They were 3 hours from their home. They just happen to be in THAT ward, on THAT Sunday. What are the chances??? To make matters worse, the only open seats were in the front row. So as the congregation sang the opening hymn the three of us walked slowly towards the front, avoiding eye contact with everyone.

Everything was gravy for about 5 minutes, until they began the prayer on the sacrament. A few seconds into the prayer the man started to say out loud (and I mean out LOUD) “Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name. . .” I opened my eyes, looked at my companion like, "buddy what's he doing?" and he stared back at me like, “I don't know but he's practically screaming!”

Upon the completion of the blessing on the bread, the guy pulled out a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, carefully removed the cap, and poured a small amount of its contents into the lid. He then dumped what was in the lid on the top of his head, and it was not until this point that I realized the bottle did not actually contain hydrogen peroxide. It was full of olive oil. He poured another capful and offered to annoint my head with it, to which I politely declined, glancing up at my Mission President who was on the verge of serious laughter.

Following the passing of the sacrament my Mission President's wife got up to speak. The man immediately opened his scriptures to 1st Corinthians and read out loud to me the verses about women keeping silence in Churches. I tried to explain the true meaning of the scripture but it was a little difficult to do in the middle of sacrament meeting. The guy continued to turn the pages of his New Age translation of the bible reading all these random scriptures to me that explained his outfit. He recited a scripture in one of the Gospels about selling all your belongings and putting on the sword of God. He told me the scriptures were to be taken literally, and that he'd recently sold almost everything he owned to a pawn shop and purchased a machete. Makes sense right? Riiiiiight! haha. What a FREAK!!

The guy eventually got up and walked himself out of the chapel, and out of the church. A few hours later my companion and I were eating dinner at a member's home with my Mission President and his wife. Everyone was cracking up about the whole incident. However, everyone seemed to be LESS surprised that it happened in the first place, than I was. Over the next 103 weeks of my mission I learned why. I learned that although it's not every day someone walks into church with a machete, there are a PLETHORA of religious whack jobs roaming south Georgia, and you "almost" get used to things like this.

P.S. Thankfully I recorded this story in my journal, and the entry contained the man's name. Job Driggers. So naturally I googled his name, revealing his myspace and facebook pages, and I gotta say that from what I was able to view and/or read he still appears to be just as insane as before. Although his profile picture (below) does reveal he has lost most of his beard and at some point in the last 7 years, ditched the head band.

Stay tuned tomorrow (Or technically today - It's 2am) for another gem of a story from my days in south Georgia!

Dude, the door's locked!

2011-05-19T20:16:00.001-07:00

Well, I gotta start by apologizing in advance for not knowing the exact year this particular adventure took place, but I'm guessing around '98. Which would put me at the ripe mischevious age of 15, and my little brother Russ somewhere around 12. I also apologize that years ago in an effort to downsize the number of photos I had pathetically stored in a Nike box, I disposed of a couple pictures that would have no doubt added some visual gold to this post.

HOWEVER, I didn't chuck all the pics from that night, so you'll get a taste of the fun at the end.

So.... short story long, (because I've come to grips with the fact that that's just how I roll) one night my little brother and I were up late doing who knows what. I don't have a clue. But if I had to guess... at that age.... probably watching sportscenter on low volume in the basement, (so as not to awake the "all hearing" tattle tale that was my sister - jk Kerri, love ya) and we were probably all hopped up on insane amounts of candy and soda. But whatever we were doing, or whatever we were drinking, neither of which is important, we decided at some point that we wanted to go toilet papering.

Any discussion that started this way would quickly lead to an amazingly important game of 20 questions:
Dude, who's house should we get?
Buddy, How many rolls are in the bathroom upstairs?
Dude, How many rolls are in the bathroom downstairs?
Bro, How many do you think we could take without "the dawnster" (my mom) noticing?
Dude, should we gonna sneak out through the window well or try and go out the front door?
Bro, last time we tried sneaking out the front door dad caught us hiding behind the wall dressed in all black with tp shoved down our pants. I had a ski mask on and you were wearing snow boots. -- Wait sorry, that wasn't a question. True story though. Never felt so retarded! Continuing with the questions...
Dude, what if we sneak out the window well and spike (our half-deaf dog) starts making noises.
Buddy, you go check if "the dawnster" is snoring and I'll get the tp. -- Wait, sorry again... Gotta stick to questions not statements.
Bro, didn't we buy a bunch of toilet paper recently and stash it in the Dawson fmaily's garage?

BAM! We did! It was ours! We paid for it, and we wanted it! We needed it! Let the fun begin.

The 2 of us snuck out through the window well in our room, headed directly across Utopia rd. (real name, not a figure of speech) and headed straight to the Dawson home. This was a familiar trek for me, seeing as how I'd been madly in love with their daughter Nicole for half a decade, and found any excuse to make my way to their house. Upon arrival we made our way through the gate on the side of their home and attempted to open the door.

Dude, the door's locked.

What the gay??? Who locks the door from their backyard to their garage? It's like they care about safety or something. Little did the residents of my "home away from home" know the sort of backlash a locked door would produce. Over the next 3 hours Russ and I wrecked havoc on their backyard. One side of their home was chuck full of random junk. Ranging from Christmas decorations, to large plastic playhouses.

Our A.D.D. was in full effect as we climbed back and forth over the pool fence creating a random scene of chaos. We strung the hose across the pool, hoisted a giant plastic playhouse over the fence, crawled on top of their trash can in order to get on the roof, and who knows what else. The craziest thing is we never woke them up. Somehow, someway, even crawling around on their roof, they remained passed out. The final touch on the night??? I went home and wrote a story about everything we'd just done.

I walked back to their home just as the sun was coming up. I placed the story on their front door, and took some pics. Still can't beleive I'd ever throw any of them away but I sure am glad I saved these ones...

Love you Dawsons!!!!

Old school fun...

2011-05-18T23:55:00.000-07:00

Sometimes when I was younger I made prank phone calls. Sometimes - now that I'm older - I listen to prank phone calls on youtube. And sometimes, when I'm incredibly tired and can't consciously write a story, I post a video of my favorite prank call on my blog. This was made by a group of kids using a soundboard of "Dr. Phil" and "Judge Judy"

If at first you don't succeed...

2011-05-17T19:14:00.000-07:00

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.

No, my date's the one on the stage...

2011-05-16T21:23:00.000-07:00

To say that I've had some "interesting" dates over the years just wouldn't be fair. Interseting can entail good or bad. Some dates are so awful they cannot be described in words. Have you ever come home from a date, had your friend ask you how it went, and you can't put a sentence together?

"So, how was it?"

"Dude, I don't even... I mean the girl like... I don't even know.... she's like... ok so first off..." -- You get the point.

I've been on a few dates that were so appalling I didn't know if I should cry or scream. All of them were blind dates. Allow me to tickle your ears with my personal favorite.

About a decade ago my family packed up and took a road trip to the metropolis of Sahuartia, Arizona. According to Wikipedia the town was founded in 1911, incorporated (whatever the crap that means) in 1994, and courtesy of the 2010 census, is presently populated by a shade over 25,000 people.

The purpose of our visit was my cousin's wedding reception. I don't recall who's idea it was - my mother or father's - to have me wear a tux but I should've never agreed to it. I wasn't involved in any part of the "wedding party," nor was I directly related to the bride or groom. Therefore, I saw no reason for the tux.

But irregardless I wore a tux, and while sitting at a reception table I was approached by my cousin Bobby. He was a senior at the infamous Sahuartia High School, and wouldn't you know it, his Brother's recpetion fell on the same night as prom. Bobby spent the next 5 minutes explaing to me that his girlfriend had a friend that needed a date, it wouldn't cost me a thing, and because I was already in a tux, I was the most conveniant option.

At face value it seemed harmless... AND cheap! A blind date to prom, in a town I knew nothing about, with a girl I knew even less about. What could possibly go wrong??? Let's break it down.

My cousin rented a mustang for the night, (BAAAALLIN) which left my 6 foot 3 inch frame crying for leg space in the back. HOLD-UP! Minor detail missed earlier. The tux I'm wearing is my dad's tux from his mission to London, England nearly 3 decades earlier. It was made for the winter months. It was thick wool. This was May, in Southern Arizona. I'm "sardining" it in the back of a mustang. Very little air flow! I'm instantly miserable!

Sooooo, back to the story. We made our way to my dates house and ladies and gentleman, let the fun begin. I spotted her coming down the driveway in a bright red dress, but she was far from the "lady in red." She dawned an enormous texas style up-do, 3 and a half pounds of eye makeup, and a pair of "D's" that were as stable in her dress as a crackhead entering rehab. I managed to pin her corsage on her without hitting any silicone and we made our way to the car.

By my own admition, at this point in my life I was still a stereotypically naive Mormon boy. Previous to this particular encounter I could count on one hand the amount of drunk girls I'd said more than "hi" to in my lifetime, much less been on a date with. As she crawled awkwardly into the back seat with me I immediately wanted out. This says a lot considering I'm the type of person that can get along with about anyone.

I don't remember much of what was said in the car but I DO remember scheming up ways to get out of the current situation. I could fake being sick and ask Bobby to take me back to where my family was staying. I could tell him I don't feel good, distract the three of them, stick my finger down my throat, blow chunks all over the rental car, and BAM, problem solved. I couldn't come up with anything practical so I sucked it up and decided to make the most of it. Little did I know what the would entail.

As we neared the hotel, whose ballroom was playing host to the prom, my dates speech began to sound even more incoherent. I remember having my head in my hands thinking, "Awesome, not only is she slurring her words, she's now talking with her mouth full." Little did I know what it was full of. I sat up, turned my eyes casually in her direction, and lo and behold, it was rose pedals. Nay do I crap you... THE WOMAN WAS EATING HER CORSAGE!!!! Without skipping a beat, she plucked a petal from what was left, and offered it to me. I thought of a 100 sarcastic things to say, and all I could come up with was, "What the hell?!?!" To which she responded, "Don't knock it til you try it." Classy Women eh? It gets better!

Fast forward about 20 minutes. Visualize this. There's about 20 total couples at this prom. 19 and a half of them are on the dance floor. I've gladly placed my suffocating wool coat on the back of a chair and am making my way around the 7 or 8 party tables looking for goodies to steal. I ganked every stash of dinner mints I could get my hands on. You know, the soft pastel colored ones that dissolve in your mouth? TASTY!

A short time later my mints and I returned to my seat. As I sat there making myself sick, Sisqo's "Thong Song" began blaring from the speakers. I'd never been to a strip club, but in my mind, the dance room became one. Only my date seemed to be drawing the most attention. Perhaps this was due to the fact that she had crawled up the stage and was dry humping the ground. Not a guy, not another girl, not a pole. THE GROUND! I wish I could say she was simply attempting to do "the worm", but even the most pathetic attempts at the worm I'd ever seen (and I'd seen a lot at saturday night dances) looked half as sexual as what she was doing to that poor stage. It looked painful.

By this point I'd officially lost my appetite and was ready to take a walk outside for some fresh air. But before I could get up this kid approached me at the table and said, "Are you hear with so and so." I didn't recognize the name so the only thing I could say in response was "No, my dates the one on the stage." The kid glanced up at the stage and laughed.

The best part??? 10 minutes later my date walked up to me in the lobby of the hotel, struggled to put a sentence toether, and then disappeared into an elevator with some other guy. Bobby politely took me to his parents house, before going somewhere else with his date, and I crashed for the night. I remember going to sleep thinking, I'd love to be able to wake up and never remember this. Looking back, I'm so glad I remember this!

What are the chances?

2011-05-15T23:19:00.000-07:00

Last night I was driving home and a bird flew directly in front of my truck. I immediately slammed ont he brakes and looked in my rear view mirror. No bird. No feathers. Was I seeing things? I pulled off the road, walked to the front of my truck, and started cracking up. I couldn't believe it. There it was, plastered against my radiator, still in tact.

I drove home and took a few pics before removing it, and was surprised to find it was a small hawk. Sorry buddy. You chose the wrong time to fly that night!

Throwin it back... Way back!

2011-05-14T19:32:00.000-07:00

I've spent a silly amount of time lately watching commercials for classic childhood toys and found these 3 gems. The first is second are pure gems, and the third? Well, in hindsight it's mildly creepy. haha. Fort hsoe fo you not old enough to remember any of these, I feel bad for you. hahahaha!!

20 "Smiles" and 1 HILARIOUS "Accident"

2011-05-13T15:14:00.001-07:00

Well, Blogger was down all day yesterday so I'm giving you a double dose of posts in order to stay on top of my promise! Enjoy 20 things that make me smile, and then the insanely hialrious story of my best attempt at making a sleeping bag "mysteriously disappear."

First, what makes me smile...

1) Cherry Dilly Bars

2) Graham crackers in milk
3) Gushers
4) My nieces and nephews

5) Sleeping in
6) Seeing the Lakers, Spurs, Yankees, or Lebron lose
7) Watching C.O.P.S.
8) Camping

9) Pancakes

10) Hunting

11) This family of superheroes

12) A bowl of Reeses Puffs
13) Mountain Dew
14) An Arizona sunset
15) Lake Powell with friends

16) Tubing

17) Playing scattergories
18) Taking a nap in the mountains
19) Birthdays
20) Last, but quite the opposite of least, my family!!!!

Now for the story of the disappearing 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!

My pet peeves...

2011-05-11T21:35:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm 19 days into "A Blog a Day for 44 Days." and I'm havin all kinds of fun with it! Today has been a particularly great day, and what bettey way to celebrate a great day than spill the beans on 19 of my pet peeves.

Wait - What? Just roll with it. Tomorrow I'll one-up myself with the opposite, and enlighten you on 20 things that make me smile!

19 things that grind my gears...

1) PEOPLE THAT STILL WRITE CHECKS AT THE GROCERY STORE! -- It's 2011. Is there a bank in this country that DOESN'T offer you a FREE debit card?

2) PEOPLE WHO GET ON THE FREEWAY DOING 5 UNDER AND MERGE WITHOUT USING A BLINKER! -- Double the anger if they're texting while they do it!

3) PHOENIX SUMMERS -- I work outside... Self explanatory

4) BIRDS THAT WAKE UP BEFORE THE SUN DO AND FEEL THE NEED TO LET ME KNOW ABOUT IT! -- Who HASN'T dealt with this before?

5) LARGE PEOPLE IN TIGHT CLOTHING -- If it don't fit, DON'T WEAR IT!

6) LOW FAT ICE CREAM -- Talk about ruining a good thing!

7) JERESEY SHORE -- Shove it Snooki!

8) ILLEGAL IMMIGRANTS -- How much time do you have? Don't get me started.

9) PEOPLE WHO DRINK AND DRIVE -- Its off the scale on levels of ignorance and selfishness AND leads to unnecessary heart ache, pain, and hours of power washing!

10) OLD WOMEN, WITH RICH HUSBANDS, WHO DRIVE SUPER FAST CARS 10 UNDER THE SPEED LIMIT -- Without fail, I scream out loud EVERY time I see this!

11) ASKING ANYONE IN WAL-MART...WHERE ANYTHING IS! -- It's like asking a man with no arms to do a handstand.

12) PEOPLE WHO CHEAT ON PEOPLE -- In case you've forgotten

13) PEOPLE THAT BORROW MONEY AND DON'T PAY IT BACK -- Let's just say I've been burned 25 too many times!

14) PEOPLE WHO THINK THERE'S SOMETHING WRONG WITH ME BECAUSE I CAN'T STAND ELLEN! -- I don't know what to tell you... the woman is NOT funny... In my opinion.

15) PEOPLE WHO THINK THERE'S SOMETHING WRONG WITH ME BECAUSE I CAN'T STAND SUSHI! -- I don't know what to tell you... IT MAKES ME GAG! And before you say it out loud, trust me, I've had it every way you can make it! Don't worry though... we can still be friends.

16) GAS STATION BATHROOMS -- With the exception of Quick Trip.

17) PEOPLE CARRYING AN I-POD AND A CELL PHONE STANDING OUTSIDE A GAS STATION SOLICITING OTHERS FOR MONEY -- Oximoron???

18) WAKING UP BEFORE 9AM ON A SATURDAY -- Dude, it's SATURDAY!!!

19) TWEAKERS! -- Unless they're telling me a joke like this lady!

Huge Embarrassing Failure... CHAPTER 2

2011-05-10T19:04:00.000-07:00

"SCOOOOOTT!....... SCOOOOOOT!....... SCOOOOOTT"

"WHAAAAAAAAAAT!"

"THE PHONES FOR YOU! I TOLD YOU LIKE 5 TIMES!"

My 6'2" buck-50 (on a good day) frame, fresh off of 8th grade track practice, stumbled to the nearest house phone.

"Hello?"
"Scott, Coach Brooks, how you doin?"
"Swell"
"I've got good news and bad news."
"Am I in trouble?"
"No, Dane Lundberg's in trouble. He got in a fight after school today. I need you to take his place in the hurdles at the state track meet this weekend."
"What?"
"He's unable to participate, and we need someone to take his place."
"Coach, I've never jumped a hurdle in my life!"
"So you'll do it?"
"Uhhhh, sure"
"Great, we appreciate it!"

Before I could retract my statement Coach Brooks hung up on me. I stood there holding the phone thinking to myself, "Hurdles? What the crap?!?!"

My confusion was short lived, as reality immediately began to set in. I had a few options:

A) Never practice, show up to the meet, and make an utter and complete fool of myself!"
B) Ride my bike to the Middle School, drag a hurdle out on the field, and attempt to teach myself the "art" of hurdling.
C) Grab a couple 2X4's from the garage, jimmy-rig my own hurdle, and make a complete fool of myself in my backyard.

I unintentionally settled on a healthy mixture of A and C. I quietly assembled the ugliest excuse for a hurdle you've ever seen in the garage. I snuck it into the backyard via the gate on the side of the house, all in an effort to avoid an audience. I was greatful to see the blinds to the bakcyard were also closed.

I hesitantly set the hurdle in the middle of the yard, did like 5 or 6 awkward sets of high knees, and held the butterfly stretch for the necessary 15 seconds before I felt like I was going to tear my groin. I backed myself up against the fence, shook my legs out a few times (because that's what I saw the people on TV do) and then got in a starters position. I took one last look at the blinds to make sure my mom or dad wasn't standing there with a video camera and I took off. I ran like 4 or 5 steps, jumped like 8 feet too soon, and came down awkwardly with the hurdle between my legs. My momentum was too much to lift my trail leg over the hurdle before tripping over it and landing face first in the grass, inches from a semi-fresh pile of dog poop!

Well, that went well. You would think I would've given up right there, but I attempted the feat at least 9 more times. Unfortunately, it ended with similar results.

So, fast forward to the day of the meet. I spent 90% of my warm up time watching the other competitors warm up. They had no idea what noob I was. Not even I knew. I really had nothing to compare myself to. To my Coach's credit he managed to put me in the slowest heat of preliminaries, although it proved to be all the more degrading.

"Runners take your mark....Set....BAM!'

I swear on my life I hit the first hurdle faster than anyone. But that was the problem. I really did HIT the first hurdle. I managed to keep my balance but immediately changed my strategy! I decided I would get as close to the hurdle as I could before jumping, and jump as high as I possibly could, both to avoid an embarrassing face plant. By the 5th hurdle I was a solid 10 meters behind the kid that took 6th at the special olympics. haha. Just playin.

But needless to say I placed dead last in the slowest heat! I continued to do track throughout high school, but I stayed as far away from hurdling as possible. I figured it was a good career move!

A Giant Waste of Helium...

2011-05-09T22:28:00.000-07:00

When I write a book on my life it's going to be call "Three Half Shovels and a Story." Don't worry about why, I'll explain it in the book. One of the chapters will be called "Middle School: A Huge Embarrassing Failure"

Here's a sneak preview of that chapter...

In 7th grade I had a monumental crush on a blonde-haired beauty named Candace. We had a class together, rode the same "piece of cheese" to school, and we were both long jumpers on the on the track team. She was tall, blonde, and -- well, at 13 that was pretty much all that mattered to me. That and whether or not she lived within bike riding distance.

I hesitated to flirt with Candace for fear of making a fool of myself. I'm pretty sure every guy between 13 and 15 has this fear about women at some point. However, I was determined that come Valentines day it was game on. Somehow, someway, I was gonna tell her, and show her, how I felt.

So I did what any love-struck adolecent would have done... I went to my mother for advice. I tried to downplay it, but I'm sure she saw right through my slurry of falsehoods: "Mom I only like her as a friend," "Mom, seriously, she's just a good friend," and "Mom, I'm on the track team with her and she doesn't have a lot of friends so I'm just trying to be nice." haha.

My mom took me to Walgreens, the mecca for last minute gifts of love, and we came home with a white and pink coffee mug, some hershey kisses, and a handful of heart-shaped helium balloons. The next day I had my mom drop me and my balloons off at school so I could avoid all contact with Candace until after school. Upon arrival I immediately took my gift to the front office and found out that I was far from the only guy trying to hide his romantic side until the final bell rang.

When the final bell did ring I nervously made my way to the office, grabbed my cup full of kisses with attached balloons, and even more nervously made my way to the bus. I stood just outside the the doors to the big cheese and took a deep breath. This was it. This was the moment I'd played out in my head at least 30 times during math class that day. I stepped onto the bus and spotted her looking down at something. As I began walking towards her seat comments flew in from all directions: "Scott, who gave you those gay balloons," "Oh man, why are you carrying pink balloons," and a few others that aren't exactly family friendly. Despite their uneducated efforts to make me feel stupid, I remained focused on my goal, and continued my nervous stroll towards Candace.

When I reached the row she was seated on I stood there shaking like a hairless hamster in an icepond. Then it happened... we made eye contact. My mind went blank, and the only words that made their way out of my mouth were, "Candace, this is for you." I held the mug in my outstretched hands for what seemed like minutes. But after only a few seconds she slowly pushed the mug back towards me and said in a rather stearn voice, "Scott, I don't want it!"

Put yourself in my shoes. What would you do in this situation? Would you find the nearest open seat, sit quitely, and deal with what was bound to be an epic session of ridicule?

I wasn't about to float that boat so I turned around as fast as I could and headed straight for the exit, still holding her gift. I could hear people laughing but I paid them little attention. It was roughly 2 and a half miles from the school to my house. I carried that mug, those hershey kisses, and those "gay balloons" all the way home.

Now this story has a great ending, and as a partial continuation of mother's day, It's time for another shout-out to my mom. My amazing mother was sitting at the kitchen table when I arrived home yielding the same gift she'd dropped me off with that morning. She didn't even ask me what happened. She just gave me a big hug, asked if I was ok, and only minutes later as I sat there eating "Candace's" hershey kisses, worrowing in my own self-pity, she took off to the store to by me a gallon of my favorite chocolate milk! What a mom!

And this, my friends, is only a taste of why middle school was a huge embarrassing failure. Stay tuned for more when "Three Half Shovels and a Story" hits the shelves in 2012. hahaha! PEACE!

Why I love my mother... Part 2

2011-05-08T23:15:00.000-07:00

I could really say so much more about why I love my mother, but I'll save it for her card.

But to continue where I left off, I love my mother because...

1) When girls totally hosed me back in the day she used to sit on the edge of my bed, tell me how great I was, and tell me how it was "their loss."

2) When girls totally hosed me back in the day she would by me my favorite ice cream, and a gallon of chocolate milk

3) She wrote me every week on my mission, without exception.

4) She will not let me leave her house without an "I love you" and a big hug.

5) She has supported me in every righteous endeavor I've ever endulged in.

Why I LOVE my mother... Part 1

2011-05-08T00:30:00.000-07:00

I thought about titling this "Why my mom is better than your mom" but I didn't wanna get carried away. haha. So without further delay... I love my mother because...

1) She can read me/understand me better than any woman on Earth!

2) She gave birth to the best 2 sisters and 3 brothers around!

3) She kept nearly ever school project I ever did!

4) She drove me to and from baseball, basketball, football, and track practices, meets, and games, for over a decade!

5) She is constantly asking me if I've been going to the Temple!

More tomorrow...

Gas Station Specialties

2011-05-06T23:32:00.000-07:00

This kind of attitude...

Has helped me to appreciate the finer things in life. Like strolling into a mexi-mart in downtown PHX and scoring a jolly rancher popsicle AND a jolly rancher push pop! BAM!!!!

You might HAVE to be a redneck...

2011-05-05T23:17:00.000-07:00

You might have to be a redneck to appreciate the humor in this video. Either way, here's to my turkey hunt that starts back up tomorrow!

"Scott, I need to talk to you about something."

2011-05-04T20:53:00.000-07:00

Previous to the 2 years I spent on my mission in Georgia, I never had a girlfriend. Admittedly, I never really tried.

Post-missionary service, I've had 6, and I can say without regret or hesitation that I have treated ALL of them like queens! I've never lied to, disrespected, or abused in any way shape or form, any girlfriend! Ever! I believe when you commit to someone, things should change... for the BETTER!

With that in mind, let's take a retrospective road trip to the land of "I need to talk to you about something." I promise it will be quick, comedic, and completely true. Enjoy my own personal, real life introduction to the world of dating.

MY FIRST GIRLFRIEND: We dated for 3 months before she cheated on me AND married the guy that she cheated on me with.

MY SECOND GIRLFRIEND: We dated for 5 months before she cheated on me AND married the guy she cheated on me with.

MY THIRD GIRLFRIEND: We dated for 2 months before she cheated on me AND married the guy she cheated on me with.

Notice a trend? Wanna know more? Allow me to tickle your drama hungry taste buds with a few more details. The first 2 told me over the phone, while the third one scrounged up an ounce of decency and told me in person. All 3 of them began the conversation with the same line: "Scott, I need to talk to you about something."

Am I bitter? At the time yes. Now? Not at all. I laugh about it. Meanwhile, I wait patiently for my royalties check from the producers of Good Luck Chuck.

But let's end this on a lighter note. The next 3 ended with mutually good feelings, so Kelli, Sami, and Bonnie, I gotta say thanks for not following the trend.

Here's to the game we call dating!

2 sets of triplets

2011-05-03T23:45:00.000-07:00

When people ask me how many kids I want I'm usually quick to answer, "6." If they ask me anything more specific, they usually get mroe than they asked for. My response is usually something like "I want two sets of triplets. 3 boys, then 5 years later, 3 girls."

There's a few valid arguments for reversing the order of boys and girls, but either way I want 2 sets of triplets. About now every female reading this is rolling her eyes and/or making some kind of "pffff" noise followed by a statement like "Ya, good luck convincing your wife to do that," or "WHAT? Think about your poor wife." As if my wife will ultimately have a say on it, outside of having kids at all. Ha ha.

Look, the truth is I'm a glass half full kind of guy, and I love kids. I can't really speak like a professional on this topic because I don't have kids, and I've never raised kids, but I can logically believe that it would be difficult. 3 times as difficult? Probably, at times. 3 times the fun? I'd like to think so! The blessing of 6 kids with the pain and discomfort of only 2 pregnancies? What woman that wants 6 kids wouldn't sign up?

Ok, so my only real "parenting" experience comes from time spent with neices and nephews and if I'm looking at this in simplist, most optimistic way, I'd gladly take 3 girls that are even half as fun as my neices. Who wouldn't want a few more of these...

"You can't sleep here!"

2011-05-02T16:09:00.000-07:00

This is the story of the epic adventure (or epic failure for you glass half empty pessimists) that I took with 6 buddies to Jackson Hole, Wyoming, my freshman year of college. We ALMOST made it.

It started off similar to nearly every road trip I ever took in college. And by that I mean there was a bunch of dudes sitting around, date-less and dejected, on a Friday night, when someone finally said something along the lines of, "Forget chicks, dude! They're all shady! It's freekin dude's night out! Let's take a road trip!" Those 15 words and one article (BAM - Aced the grammar test) spawned what would become, in hindsight, one of the funniest nights of my entire life!

After the 7 of us gathered a few essentials - candy, soda, blankets, a gun (kidding) - we quickly realized only one of us owned a vehicle that would comfortably fit 5, much less 7. Seeing as how our checking accounts might have combined to produce $300 on a good day (Mine had like $8.25) the option to take 2 cars was quickly thrown out. So the 7 of us piled in my buddy Brian's 1980 something Jeep Wagoneer. It looked something like this...

It sat 5. We squeezed in 7, and luggage. Now I can recall repeated road trips growing up where my little brother and I had to sit on a sleeping bag draped across all the luggage in the back of our family van. So while my buddies bickered and argued over "who killed who" (Monty Python) and who'd sit where, I gladly called dibs on the "way-way back."

Fast forward a couple hours. We're driving up the notorious Jackson pass, doing a whopping 20 mph when the whole car begins to shake. The shaking was quickly followed up by smoke leaking out from under the hood. Brian, who was driving, started to panic. Pause. Panic is not the right word. You would've thought the man was pregnant and just went into labor! He pulled over and after a seriously heated, and heavily divided debate, we decided to keep going til we reached the top. The shaking, and the smoke continued as we crawled even slower up the remainder of the pass.

We finally pulled over in what appeared to be a dark, unoccupied gas station on the edge of town. Tempers flared again as we piled out of the car and and continued our argument under the moonlight. Eventually we began to think logically about possible places to lay our head for the night. After a few minutes we came to the conclusion that we could either sleep right there at the dark gas station, possibly playing paper rock scissors for who got to sleep in the car, or try and find a motel. As we wandered across the street looking for a motel our eyes started to adjust and we noticed that we were at the base of a rather large, rather steep hill. I think they're called mountains. (I'm so smart!) So as we stood their next to a chain link fence, shivering, and continuing to discuss or options, we kept looking up the mountain. Finally someone said, dude let's just jump this fence and run up the hill a little bit and sleep on the ground.

So fast forward 3 and half minutes as the 7 of us, now seriously freezing, begin running across the road and throwing our stuff over the fence like a bunch of border hoppers. I vividly remember a van driving by, coming to a complete stop, rolling down its window, and staring at us while we scampered up the hill. After catching our breath we sprawled out our blankets and sleeping bags and finally laid down. I could hardly wait to get some well needed shut eye!

Just as peace rained down on our self-made mountain side motel someone mumbled something about Brian being a pansy and worrying too much about his car. In a matter of seconds, peace turned to war, and Brian unleashed a tirade of curse words directed at anything and everyone within the sounds of his voice. Some of us cursed back at him but more than likely none of us knew what we were even saying.

Suddenly, the verbal chaos was interrupted by a strange noise. I wish I could say it sounded like your average "cow noise." But it was different. Like a cow on steroids. We went silent in anticipation of hearing it again. We did. It was definitely a cow. But not just one. Many. Many cows. The noises seemed to get louder, as if they were getting closer. Someone located a flashlight and began shining it up and down the mountain. We immediately noticed a "trail" running smack through the middle of our small town of sleeping bags. Whoops!

Sleeping on the mountain was no longer safe as the 7 of us exchanged "worst case scenarios" that ranged from an angry farmer kicking us off his property, to a herd of cows trampling our man parts in the middle of the night. Thus, forever altering our future sex lives. Naturally, we agreed that if either of those were even remote possibilities, then indeed we needed to find a safer place to slumber.

So as fast as we had made our way up the hill, we gathered up our crap and made our way back down. We threw our stuff back over the fence, and made our way back across the street to the pitch black gas station. By this point it's almost 1 in the morning, it's easily around 35 degrees, and every one of us is dang near delusional! With no motels in "seeing distance," me and 2 other kids decided the ice cold concrete was the next best thing, and allowed the others the "privilege" of sleeping in the car.

So FINALLY I slid into my sleeping bag, pulled the zipper completely shut, crawled the rest of the way inside my bag, and then folded the top under itself as if to completely seal my temporary casket. I have to admit that at that point I could have cared less about the lack of air flow and the lack of overall comfort that made up my sleeping arrangement. I passed out for a solid 2 and a half hours.

Around 3:30am I was woken up by the unmistakeable chirp of a police siren. I poked my head out from inside my sleeping bag, half conscious, and if not for the noise I'd just heard I woulda thought I was about to receive an amazing vision. Standing just outside his vehicle the cop pointed his spotlight directly into my eyes. Despite my continuous efforts to move 6 inches to the right or left of it, he was right there with me, making minor adjustments to the light beam, as if he was toying with me. I held my hand over my eyes and began looking around the now red, white, and blue "strobe-lit" parking lot. I immediately noticed my 2 buddies, also on the concrete, but who had opted to "play dead" and remained curled up inside their sleeping bags. I stood up out of my sleeping bag and walked towards the light. I came to a stop a few feet from the cop. Our conversation went something like this:

Cop: What the hell are you doing here?
Me: Uhhh. It's kind of a long story but we broke down and couldn't find a motel, so we decided to go ahead and sleep here.
Cop: You can't sleep here.
Me: Really?
Cop: Yup
Me: Dang it. What are we supposed to do then.
Cop: Why don't you sleep in your car?
Me: (Already getting a little bit irritated) Because there's like 5 dudes already sleeping in there.
The cop moved his spotlight across the empty lot til it pointed directly on our car. Then, almost like a cartoon, everyone in the car attempted to duck behind the seats. He left his blinding spotlight on the car and the conversation continued as such:

Cop: Well like I said, you can't sleep here, so you got 3 options. You can hike all your stuff up to the nearest motel, you can cram inside your car, or you can go sleep at the hospital for $8.
Me: The hospital? (I thought he was totally messing with me)
Cop: Ya they'll give you a bed for $8 a night.

Nay do I crap you I had to shake my head violently to make sure I wasn't dreaming before continuing:

Me: Well I only got like 8 bucks in my checking account so the hospitals not really an option for me.
Cop: (Obviously frustrated by what he thought was a sarcastic comment) Well, figure it out son, because I'm comin back here in a half hour and I don't wanna see you sleepin on the ground.
Me: (So frustrated at this point) Wow!
Cop: And tell your friends that are still sleepin they gotta move too.
Me: (Completely and intentionally sarcastic) OK sir, I will.

So fast forward about 2 minutes. The 7 of us are standing in the parking lot. I'm of course going off on my buddies for throwing me under the bus, and hiding out like a bunch of sissies. Well, apparently me screaming set off a chain reaction. All of us began screaming at each other. You'd swear we'd just caught each other sleeping with each others' girlfriends. (As if any of us had one anyways.)

Well out of nowhere one of my buddies grabbed everything he brought and took off up the road. Our screaming slowly faded as his silhouette disappeared into the darkness.

All of us almost simultaneously: "Dude, where you going?"
Friend that'd had enough: "I don't know man! I'm tired! I'm hungry! I'm pist! I'm gonna go find a place to eat or sleep before I freekin go insane!"

We hastily unloaded the car, gathered up our gear, and followed him up the road. After only a few blocks we rounded a slight curve in the road that had previously hid from our view what would become our final resting place... for the night. It was the golden arches! Mc-E-Deez! Mc-FREEKIN-Donalds! WOOOOOOOOO! I'd never been so excited to see a McDonalds in my life! However, as we made our way towards the entrance our celebration was short-lived. The vinyl lettering on the door read "Hours of operation: Sat: 5am - 10pm"

NOOOOOOOOO! How could this be!?!? Forget sleep, (I'd already convinced myself I'd just stay up the rest of the night) at this point I would've donated a kidney for anything on their breakfast menu! Even if it led to the immediate failure of the other one. We were ALL angry! We were ALL hungry! And we were ALL on our last leg physically, and emotionally! We were sleep-deprived drama queens throwing our hands in the air as if to say "could this day get any worse?"
Well, apparently someone had a prayer in their heart because only moments later a small Mexican man appeared in a cloud above us and proceeded to deliver greasy breakfast burritos to each of us. HA HA! I wish! But seriously, a small Mexican man did appear. Only not from a cloud above us. Instead he arrived via the entrance to McDonalds. I'm assuming he was one of the cooks who'd gotten there early and had noticed us standing outside with all of our crap.

So the guy comes outside and proceeds to ask us, in broken English, what we were doing? I'm pretty sure all 7 of began speaking at the same time. This probably scared the crap out of him. But whatever we did, and whatever we said is NOT important. What IS important is that he let us in the door, despite the fact that they didn't open for another hour.

So there we were, the 7 of us, inside a Mc-Frickin-Donalds, at 4am. So what did we do? We did what any sober, insomnia stricken college student would have done in that situation. We spread our sleeping bags out in the booths and went to sleep.

PEOPLE... I'm not making this up! I seriously fell asleep in the booth of a McDonalds in Wyoming an hour before it opened. But it gets better! Wanna know the first thing I saw when I woke up? Well before I tell you, let me just say this. If any of you decide to make this true story into a movie one day you'd better get this kid to play the role I'm about to speak of...

Folks I woke up to a kid that looked something like that picture above, sitting at a table a few feet from my booth. I vividly remember that he had a piece of what I can only assume was an egg mcmuffin, half in - half out of his mouth, and the blankest stare you've ever seen draped across his face.

So THEN what did I do? I looked at my watch (easy there - this was pre-cell phone days) and saw it was only 6:30. So I went back to sleep. HAHAHAHA! I cannot stop laughing just replaying this night in my head. Once again, I'm not making this up!

So to complete this epic adventure in a rather short manner, the rest of the morning unfolded as follows... We all met up back at the car around 8 or so, and drove to a local repair shop. Turns out Brian was low on transmission fluid, which led to the irregular shifts, the shaking, and the smoking. I remember standing around outside the repair shop, kicking rocks around the parking lot, and re-hashing the entire night with my buddies, while they worked on Brian's car.

An hour or so later we piled in the trusty Jeep Wagoneer and drove back to Rexburg, Idaho. This concludes as I said in the beginning, of the funniest nights of my life. Thank you for your time. haha!

Tell me... You didn't pay money for this did you?!

2011-05-01T21:21:00.000-07:00

If you're a male, and you were born between the years of 1975 and 1990, and this doesn't make you laugh every time you watch it, I'm not sure if we can be friends!

Life's little treasures

2011-04-30T20:33:00.000-07:00

My great friend Bonnie introduced me to this "toyish" looking piece of heaven on Earth a few months ago. Unfortunately she didn't show me how to use it which lead to some rather comedic first few attempts.

For those of you with 24/7 stuffy noses, if you can manage to get at least a smidget of air through both nostrils before you use it, the Nedi Pot will open up to you a whole new world of nose breathing.

I'd post a video of how to use it but I don't wanna spoil the fun that comes from learning. Just know that it's one of life's little treasures!

My therapy...

2011-04-29T21:43:00.000-07:00

Call it an obsession. Call it over-the-top. Call it whatever you want, and call me whatever you want, but you will not change my mind on this one. I LOVE shooting guns. It is therapeutic!

I was shootin the breeze the other day (no pun intended) with a buddy of mine, and he was telling me how much fun he had going shooting with his friend. He told me it was the first time he'd gone shooting. I was a bit taken back by it being his first time. I mean he is a dude, he is in his mid twenties, and he has lived his entire life in the gun-friendly state of Arizona! Never-the-less I enjoyed listening to him ramble on about the different guns he got to shoot and how he didn't care if he was shooting a pile of dirt, he was having a good time.

I didn't even bother to tell him how much I love shooting guns. I couldn't bare to take away his thunder. He was like a kid in a candy store just talking about it.

I'm just like my friend. I don't care if I'm shooting at an old milk jug, a tin can, a pile of cow crap, a flock of mourning doves, a mound of dirt, or a "no dude you see that tree like 50 feet away" "Ya" "Well look like 5 feet to the left of that, on the ground, there's like a funny lookin rock." "Oh ya dude I see it. Shoot that thing." It's therapeutic, and IT'S ALWAYS A GOOD TIME!

I am indebted to my father for teaching me gun safety at a young age. I am grateful that he introduced me to hunting, to guns, and to the outdoors. I can hardly wait to take my own sons camping, hunting, and shooting.

If I'm having a "bad day," I'm so glad I live in a place where I can drive 20 minutes away, take a few guns with me, blow up a few milk jugs, obliterate a few pieces of plywood, and/or kick back in a camping chair and shoot the same mountain dew can 57 times while Johnny Cash's greatest hits blares from my truck speakers.

Here's to my therapy!

Flying Rats

2011-04-28T18:37:00.000-07:00

Occasionally for work I have to clean up dead pigeons...

Occasionally I have to clean up pigeons that are alive but either can't move or refuse to move.

And occasionally, when I'm doing something that SHOULDN'T involve pigeons at all, they somehow find me. Like today when I was changing out some ceiling tiles in a laundry mat that smelled like death (I guess this was a sign) and when I lifted one of the tiles, this nest fell on my face...

I Immediately started gagging! Considering I'm constantly walking around with my mouth wide open I consider it a small miracle it happened to be shut when when dead bird parts and a pile of poop collided with my face.

Here's to the good life!