The Missing Sleeping Bag

When I was 13 I was hanging out with 4 or 5 other guys at my buddy Devin's house. His parents and the rest of his family were out of town for the weekend so naturally, we all lied to our parents and told them Devin's parents said it was ok if we slept over. What great childhood story doesn't start with lying to your parents? haha

The fact that none of us were old enough to drive hardly deterred us from raising the “fun factor.” I remember walking with my buddies to Walgreens just before sun down, with a pocket full of change and a serious craving for candy and orange soda! But not just any orange soda. I was in search of the stupidly-large, mecca of dry ice bomb containers, 3-liter! It was hot and I was THIRSTY!

After returning to Devin's house and emptying the ridiculously adolescent contents of our pockets, we put Tommy Boy in the VCR. By the end of the movie I'd polished off the entire 3-liter, a pack of airheads, and a few handfuls of cheese-its! All of us were sick to our stomachs but managed to stumble upstairs, steak claim to a sleeping bag, and hit the hay.

A few hours into some seriously deep sleep I woke up with the weirdest feeling. I thought I was dreaming. I had PEED ALL OVER MYSELF! All 3-liters and then some. I laid there patting the outside of my sleeping bag still partially thinking I was dreaming. Who pees the bed at 13??? I was freaking out but couldn't exactly scream out loud for fear of revealing my “accident” to everyone else.

I spent the next 5 minutes carefully maneuvering myself out of my sleeping bag, gathering the soaking wet sleeping bag in my arms, and hurling it over the railing behind me. I chose to chuck it overboard so that if I happen to trip and fall while stepping over any of my buddies during my escape, I wouldn't smother their face with urine.

Just before attempting my escape I remember touching the carpet where I'd just been laying. It was dry. Somehow, someway, it was dry. It gave me an awkward sense of relief as I thought to myself, “Ok, I might actually pull this off without anyone knowing.” I crept like a ninja out of the loft, maneuvering my size 12 feet carefully through the maze of bodies. Upon reaching the stairs I breathed a sigh of relief as I made my way quietly to the bottom where I was forced to once again embrace the wet sleeping bag.

I devised a plan. I would quietly sneak out the front door, walk the half mile to my house, sneak into my house using the garage code, shower, go to bed, wake up, and if any of my buddies asked what happened I'd just tell em I got sick and went home. BAM! Full proof! Or was it? What about the sleeping bag? I decided I had no choice but to take it with me.

So there I was, 13 years old, 3 in the morning, and I'm walking down a residential street carrying a sleeping bag drenched in 3-plus liters of my own piss. What a pathetic sight! Wanna know something even more pathetic. As I began my walk home I immediately started thinking of where to stash the sleeping bag. Like I was getting rid of evidence in a homicide or something. A block away from Devin's I passed a pond and thought, “Heck ya, I'll chuck it in the pond. Wait, crap! It won't sink! It'll float, and someone will find it!” I continued walking and approached the stoplight at the intersection of 67th Ave and Utopia still yielding the pee bag. I remember sprinting across the intersection after seeing headlights coming at me in the distance.

A couple minutes later as I rounded the corner onto Oraibi Dr. I made up my mind. I would sneak into my house via the garage. Once inside the garage I would dispose of the sleeping bag in the trash can. I punched in the code, pressed enter, watched the garage open a couple feet, then pressed enter twice as fast as I could to get the garage to hold it's position. I nervously crawled under the partially opened door, dragging the bag behind me. Then I weaved my way through the dark, organized chaos my dad called his workshop, and found the light switch. I was so scared. At this point what do I say if my mom or dad comes out in the garage? “Uuuuuuh.....Uuuuuuh......” I had nothing!

I snatched up the sleeping bag, lifted the lid to the trash can, and was greeted with some bad news. It was full. #*($&!!!! I started freaking out! I decided my only remaining option was to carefully, and quietly, remove the contents of the trash can and hide the sleeping bag in the very bottom! So that's what I did, the entire time thinking of possible excuses for my actions if my parents happened to catch me in the act. Thankfully they didn't, and I successfully stashed the sleeping bag in the bottom of the trash can!

The only thing left to do was shower and go to bed. I showered successfully, but when walking across the hall from the bathroom to my bedroom my mom whispers down the hallway, “Scott what are you doing?” It's a miracle I didn't pee myself again! I made up some bull crap excuse about feeling sick, and she didn't ask any more questions.

SOOOOO...THE BEST PART....A few weeks later I was sitting at the kitchen table in Devin's house playing a card game with some of his family. His older brother Greg was pacing angrily through the house as if he was looking for something. “Does anyone know where my freaking sleeping bag is?” he shouted repeatedly. Let's just say it took everything I had not to bust up laughing! Three years ago I told this story at a New Year's Eve party at Devin's house that happened to be attended by that same brother Greg. I didn't get halfway through the story before Greg abruptly screamed, “DUDE THAT WAS YOU?!?! YOU BASTARD!”

Sorry Greg.... HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

A Giant Waste of Helium...

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

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

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...

"You can't sleep here!"

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!

My homeS away from home!

My 3 favorite places outside of this Hell I call home, are the areas around Flagstaff/Sedona Arizona, Ashton/Warm River Idaho, and the The Grand Teton Mountains on both the Idaho and Wyoming side.

I live for fresh air! I have weekly dreams about raising a family in the mountains of Idaho/Montana and living the simple life. I HATE the heat, and LOVE cool mountain air! I'd prefer to take a nap leaning up against a tree in the Tetons, over laying in a bed any day. Call me crazy but there is something blissful about not listening to power tools, carhorns, and your neighbors rat dog on a daily basis. I can hardly wait to have a wife and kids to enjoy these places with me!

So here's to the great outdoors and some pics I've taken of my 3 favorite places over the years.

Starting with the Grand Teton Mountains, and Teton Valley...

The Flagstaff/Sedona region...

And last but not least the Ashton/Warm river Idaho region...

That'll do her!

From “Whatever you wanna do” to flat broke, in 5 hours!

A few years back I ran into an old friend at church. This friend was a girl. The last time I had seen this girl I was strategically positioning myself as close as I could to her just moments before the final slow song at a Saturday night dance. She was a hot commodity!

We conversed briefly, shared a few laughs, and exchanged phone numbers. I did the proper thing and waited a few days before I called her. We chatted for a bit and agreed to go out that weekend. Seeing as how she lived in hour away is BFE and I was unfamiliar with anything to do out there, I gave her the reigns. I believe my exact words were, “whatever you wanna do.” Those 4 words lead to the most expensive date of my life!

The morning of our rendezvous I called to find out what she wanted to do. Much to my chagrin she expressed a strong desire to see the final installment in “The Work and the Glory” movie series. Being polite I agreed to the movie and asked if there was something else she wanted to do before or after. Bare in mind it's been years since I've seen this girl, so I was dying for an opportunity to ramble incoherently about my life, and a movie didn't grant me that opportunity. She told me that next door to the movie theater was a place called “As You Wish.” It sounded like a jewelery store. I inquired further and she told me that it's a place where you paint pottery and then they bake it on and you can pick it up a few days later. Sounded harmless. I obliged.

Soooo... fast forward to “As You Wish,” and let the money flow! I picked a giant lizard off the shelf, she selected a guitar, we grabbed some paint and a few brushes from the counter, and proceeded to unleash our inner Picassos. The conversation was chuck full of reminiscing, witty banter, and bad date stories. I'd put our date on that list today, without hesitation.

After finishing painting, she offered to clean up while I took our classics to the counter to pay for them. I stood there admiring my freshly painted lizard and her psychedelically painted guitar while the cashier crunched some numbers. “One guitar, one lizard, 2 sitting fees, 2 paint fees, yada yada, ok your total comes to $52.50!

$52.50?!?!?!?! My heart skipped a beat, my jaw dropped, and I might have pooped my pants a little! The cashier was quick to notice my change in facial expression and in a light-hearted attempt to make me feel better she chuckled and said, “First time here isn't it?” I remained mute, but nodded slowly. I swiped my debit card, and took my time entering my pin, making sure to look behind me at least 5 or 6 times at my date still cleaning up our mess.

Fast forward again, to the moment we walked out of the theater and she saw the glowing Coldstone Creamery sign a mere 30 feet away. “Hey wanna get ice cream?” NOOOOOOOOOO! Please be closed, I thought over and over as we inched closer to the entrance. Thankfully, both me and my checking account breathed a sigh of relief when we noticed the “open” sign lacked it's usual luster.

I dropped her off and started the hour long journey back to the west side. I couldn't get over the fact that I had just spent $52.50 on pottery, and $20 on a cheese fest/chick flick with a religious undertone. I was almost speechless. I left the radio off and drove home in silence wondering how I get myself into those kinds of situations. Had I known this girl well at all, I wouldn't have been so frustrated about it.

BUT WAIT.... IT GETS BETTER! Here's the kicker! Long story short, over the next 3 weeks I learned the following:
1) She was already seriously dating a guy when we went out!
2) She gave the guitar she painted, AND I PAID FOR, to her boyfriend!
3) She got engaged!

The moral of this story? I don't know... It hurts to think about!