Sunday, January 30, 2011

An old piece of me.

I was thinking about some blog ideas the other day, when my mind, as it is wont to do, started to wander, and I began thinking about the first story I ever wrote. I was in the third grade, (so what is that, 8?) and we had to write and illustrate our very own short story. 

I wrote a depressing little piece about a tornado and the monsters inside, I think "Twister" may have recently been released...

I made a quick phone call to my mom and employed her help in finding this ancient assignment. She did, and I now have sitting before me, "Tornado Terror".

Even when I was young, I loved alliterations. 

Having read through the thing a few times, I have decided it is time to share with the world the creative genius of my young(er) mind.

I will type up the story exactly as it appears in the story and include pictures of my drawings from all those years ago, then, in a few days, I will retell the story in my current voice, and with my current drawing talents (Hahaha) I will re-illustrate the story.

Note: The entire story is hand written/drawn, each capital letter is about an inch tall, and there are very few periods or commas. Also, the first page is in cursive, the following ones are not. I've always hated cursive, sure it looks pretty, but it's hard to read.

This color is my 8-year-old self.
This color is my current self, mocking my 8-year-old self.

Paragraphs added for dramatic effect. (And to break up the solid brick of text.)

   In the morning I started to walk to the bus stop when the bus wasn't there. It was 8:06 a Tuseeday (here is where the cursive ends...didn't take long) morning in April, a perf ect day except thatthe bus wasn't there. Then my mom called me in she said to run! (Exclamation points are fun!) There was a...(Like alliterations, I've always been a sucker for ellipsis') ...TORNADO. (No exclamations there...) 

I ran as fast as I could run but I wasn't fast enough. (Cliche hehe) It was catching up. I yelled at the top of my lungs. All of a sudden I was in this very, very weird place. (Hey! Lookie there! I spelled "weird" right. Nice!") 

It wasn't home. I've never seen it before yet it was familiar. (Is it now?)

Then it hit me. (Oh good, I was worried) I built this place with legos, I call it Tornado tower or T.T. for short. (A. No I didn't. B. It doesn't need an acronym!) 

All I wanted to do is go to school run the mile come home sit back and relax then go to bed. (Nope. All I wanted to do, was to get up at noon, watch TV, eat ice cream, and learn how to use commas.) Instead I end in this, this thing. 

GGGERRR. I turned a round. Nothing I heard it again, I looked. Again nothing. Just then I saw it. It was TALL, twice my size and I'm 4'9'' (I doubled over with laughter here, I thought I was so big back then.) 

H must have hit his head on a lot of doors. (YES! I said "A lot" not "Alot") Like they have any. (oo, I was snarky) 

He had 3 horns. his tongue had to be 3 feet long. His drool was bright green he was bright yellow and his eyes were gLowing green. (At least he was fashionable) 

He's getting closer, closer......and then he was gone. I knew he'd come back...

It was a week since I got here and I was in America and now in China and heading for Germany GERRRR HISSSS AHHHHHH 2 Monsters the one I saw before and a new one. It looks like a walking snake. (That's called an alligator, young Skot/Scott) Spikes on it's back, it's sides and tail. 

I knew I was dead. (Apparently not.)

Luckily I escaped the T.T. and the two horrible monsters, made it back to school, ran the mile (got something around 18 minutes) and went home to bed.

I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much I did, and I hope that the added Text made it more fun. I'll post the story without the additions at the end here, in case you had trouble reading. 

As I said before, I will be rewriting and re-illustrating this story later in the week, it might take until next week, though. This is a tough act to follow.

I chose to add a picture of the first page's text, I threw in a quarter so you can compare the size of it to the size of the text.


P.S. I somehow managed to choose a text background color, and I can't figure out how to get rid of it..If anyone is smarter than me, AND knows how to fix this, send me a message.

   In the morning I started to walk to the bus stop when the bus wasn't there. It was 8:06 a Tuseeday morning in April, a perf ect day except thatthe bus wasn't there. Then my mom called me in she said to run! There was a......TORNADO. 

    I ran as fast as I could run but I wasn't fast enough. It was catching up. I yelled at the top of my lungs. All of a sudden I was in this very, very weird place.

It wasn't home. I've never seen it before yet it was familiar.

Then it hit me. I built this place with legos, I call it Tornado tower or T.T. for short. 

All I wanted to do is go to school run the mile come home sit back and relax then go to bed. Instead I end in this, this thing. 

GGGERRR. I turned a round. Nothing I heard it again, I looked. Again nothing. Just then I saw it. It was TALL, twice my size and I'm 4'9'' H must have hit his head on a lot of doors. Like they have any.

He had 3 horns. his tongue had to be 3 feet long. His drool was bright green he was bright yellow and his eyes were gLowing green.

He's getting closer, closer......and then he was gone. I knew he'd come back...

It was a week since I got here and I was in America and now in China and heading for Germany GERRRR HISSSS AHHHHHH 2 Monsters the one I saw before and a new one. It looks like a walking snake. Spikes on it's back, it's sides and tail. 

I knew I was dead.

Thursday, January 27, 2011

This is for you.

I decided today that I need a mascot.

The idea for the mascot came to me a few days ago, but the word "mascot" just popped into my head.

Also, I have rum.

My mascot is a hard-ass character.

You would never want to mess with him!

He's trained in hand-to-hand combat, knifes, dozens of firearms, and even how to effectively eat you alive...

That's right, my mascot is...

Admiral Goat was thrust into service at a young age. His home farm was ransacked by a roaming gang of thieves, which left Goat in a very emotional place for a few months. After wandering blindly around the countryside he eventually found himself at an animal rally, where he immediately signed on to the force to help hunt down animal cruelty doers.

I don't think his story is particularly funny, but the image is.

Hehe, Goat thinks he's people.

There may be more Goat to come, right now, my glass is empty, and I must fill it.

Good night readers.


P.S. The idea for Admiral Goat came when I was talking to my friend, Carrie "LT" Theis, and I was telling her how I am trying to expand my vocabulary. She said this was an "Admirable Goal." I read "Admirable Goat" and got very excited. Thank you Carrie, you may now brag to all your friends that you helped me. :P

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

I'm broken...

Have you ever heard of Synesthesia? It's a neat neurological condition where the mind confuses two senses, or does a few other little quirky things.

Example: Jimmy Hendrix could, apparently, hear colors. So he used this when writing his music.

I had a friend who would sense different colors with different words she would read, and peoples names would appear as a color to her. I was apparently orange and green.

I have synesthesia also, I have a different form than exemplified above, but I have it. I view time all wonky, and I personify things.

Numbers have always had strange characteristics to me, and I tend to shy away from some of them because I don't trust them. I try not to use the number 9. Also, I'm a little distrustful of odd numbers. Though the number 7, is a very strong number for me, somewhat reserved, but inwardly strong. Like I would like to be.

I also personify, and name, objects. My car's name is Sonya, my Ipod is Fiona, my computer is Anyon, while the monitor is Amber.

You all remember Phillip The Air Mattress, right?

Once I give a name and personality to these objects, they will forever be those "people" to me. Sonya will always be a little bitch but eager to please me, she also hates the cold. And Fiona resents me for putting her in the same pocket with my keys, and will always put on songs I can't sing to. Anyon gets concerned about my eyes when i play too many video games and will shut himself down occasionally. Amber doesn't hate me too much yet, but she will occasionally get into fights with Anyon and stop listening to him.

Anyon and Amber have a thing together.

I like the elaborate soap opera that happens in my room when I'm away. That's probably why I loved Toy Story so much, that's what I always knew was happening when I was at school.

The other day, one of my students took my little black binder where I keep all my paperwork and was looking through it. I mentioned that I hated the binder, because it's a constant reminder of all the things I have to do still.

My student began to open and close it like the tormented jaws of some deranged lunatic beast while making horrific noises and hinting about how I'm a terrible person...

I don't use the binder anymore...

I can't look at it...

It sleeps outside my room...

Good move, Student, good move.


P.S. This blog is for each of my 22 facebook fans! Thank you, Melynda, Niki, Nikki, Felicia, Lauren, Vanessa, Izzy, Jesse, Alyssa, Juliet, Zach, Oscar, Anddi, Drea, Emma, Nicole, Kyle, Bonnie, Ebony, Carrie, and Sam! I LOVE YOU!!!

P.P.S. Those of you at home counting, the above names only go to 21. Apparently I am my own fan. That's pretty vain. I like me a lot.

P.P.P.S. Liz is pretty ok also.

Tuesday, January 25, 2011


So today marks the first time I have even made any money from writing! I've received tickets and drinks and food for my writings before, but today I was made aware that Google will be giving me $3.34 because one of you wonderful people found an ad on my site interesting.

Now this doesn't mean I want you all to go clicking away at them, I could get in trouble for that. Rather I would like you to look at them, and if they seem cool then click. Other than that, I'm done advertising for people I don't know.

I was talking to my little sister about this money, and she asked, "What are you going to spend your new fortune on?"

I immediately responded that I could take a lady out on a date to Mcdonalds, get us each a mcdouble and we could share a soda. We might even have enough cash afterwards for dessert gumball!

I'm pretty sure that after tax at McD's, I'd be a few cents short of a whole gum ball, so I began wondering if I could rent one. "Excuse me sir, I would like to procure the service of one of your gum balls for 56 minutes, is this enough?"

But regardless, you guys (slash one of you) have made me enough money to eat for one whole day! Thanks for supporting me! Keep reading and clicking, and I'll keep making you laugh.


P.S. I made a Facebook fan page for my ego. I'd love it if you liked me and told your friends!!

Monday, January 24, 2011


When I was a kid, I was a thinker, I just messed around with everything I could. Every kid loved legos (and if you didn't you're probably a communist, you might wanna get that checked out) and I was no different, but I would try to integrate legos with other things.

This was the start of my inventing career.

I remember being about seven years old, and making my parents sit through a seminar explaining how to use the bathroom. I led the speech, and closed with a fifteen minute explanation about a new addition to the door.

I had, without permission, put a nail into the door, and hung a bit of paper from it using yarn. On one side of this bit of paper it said "Go Away" and on the other side it said "I'm ready now" Why I needed to phrase it like that, only my seven-year-old self would know.

A few months later I came up with the brilliant idea of an allowance for our pets, so that they could buy their own food. Freeloaders. I say "freeloaders" because I remember using that exact phrase in my argument. My parents thought I was adorable, I was dead serious.

I also remember trying to build a string-can telephone system between and my friend who lived about a quarter mile away. It would have worked too, had the string not gotten tangled in the tree.

When my little sister was born I came up with all sorts of uses for her! A doorstop, a napkin, a pillow, when she got big enough to defend herself I started inventing things for her! Like a faster mode of travel down the stairs from the inside of a sleeping bag!

I was a mean big brother, but today her and I are best friends. Lauren this is not your "Friend" post, 'cause I'm saving your's for an epic day (most likely your birthday) but this post is still for you. My favorite person ever.

Love you sis,

Saturday, January 22, 2011


This one is for all my friends at work. You did an amazing job today, every one of you. Whether you were acting, running lights, or yelling at the audience to clap for you, you did well today, thank you.

Consequently, I am exhausted. I had coffee this morning, which I'm not 'sposed to do, and I'm burnt out now. I cannot come up any kind of fun idea for you tonight.

Tomorrow is bright new day my friends. Look forward to a Sunday Edition of Confessions!

Thanks for reading, and supporting me.


Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Grandpa's Stories

Like most people, I have two sets of grandparents. Unlike most, I call them strange names. On my mom's side we have Bobby (Grandpa) and Nonnie B (Grandma), while on my father's side, we have Opa (Grandpa) and Nonnie R (Grandma). This isn't terribly odd, but the people who live behind those names very much are.

If you think for a second that I'm the way I am because of some strange act of fate, or one of the many times I had a concussion and should have gone to the hospital, but didn't. Then you're sadly mistaken.

I want to tell you a little bit about my Grandpa, Opa. He's probably the one of my grandparents I know the best, not out of choice, I would never play favorites, just out of convenience mostly. My dad's parents, Nonnie R and Opa if you're paying attention, live in our garage. That sounds a lot more harsh than the actual situation, let me explain: Our garage is a four stall garage with a second story over one half of it, huge right? (My dad does a lot projects, but that's a story for another day.) My grandparents live in the second story. It's pretty comfortable, one bedroom, one bathroom. Good enough for me.

They've lived there for as long as I can remember, yes that's right mum, I can't remember not having them there. I love them dearly, but as well as I know my grandfather, I don't really know anything about him at all.

You see the man, while charming, is a little batty. Not clinical batty, selectively batty. He chooses what parts of his life to ignore and what parts to embellish. His whole seventy-four years have been one big fishing story.

He was in the military, he claims to have been this amazing soldier, and regaled me, when I was younger, of tales of his epic battles and amazing accuracy with a sniper rifle. I have no idea the man's actual battle history, but I am fairly certain he has claimed to have fought in both world wars, as well as the civil war. So whenever Opa says back in "The War" I have no idea where, when, or what he's talking about, but I always listened anyway. Maybe that was part of his allure, mass amount of mystery, and confusion..hmm

One of the man's favorite stories is how he invented hot chocolate. Apparently, while stationed overseas in "The War" the only food they would give the men was crusty bread, old milk (but not spoiled milk, oh no no, the guv'ment takes care of them soldiers.) and some very hard chocolate. My grandfather, being an eagle scout (Pretty sure he only made first class, I can't remember) gets this idea. Now the helmets they wore were solid steel, or something, and had no holes, apparently a lot of the men would cook in them (this seems fairly legit, but I really don't know) and my grandfather begins to boil the milk.

His Commander stalked up to him and yelled "RIEFFER! What in God's name are you doing?"

Smiling my Grandpa says "Just watch, sir."

He then slowly breaks up the chocolate in the milk and stirs it occasionally. After about ten minutes he pours a cup for his commander and for himself and they sip hesitantly at the strange brew.

"Rieffer! You're a God-damned genius! Where did you come up with this?"

"Just thought it sounded good, sir."

And then his commander apparently sold the idea and made millions. Or something.

Another time, he apparently invented super glue after killing a bear with a pocket knife. And then he saved his platoon from the harsh Russian winter by seeing the moss on the trees and guiding them back to camp with only a piece of tin foil and a bobby pin (where he got a bobby pin I didn't ask).

I found out years later that Opa was stationed at Fort A.P. Hill, Virginia, as a cook. He did, however, play cards like a champ and would take all the other soldiers ration cigarettes, which I guess is bad-ass enough for me.

If all these stories were true, you'd assume that the man would be a tough old codger now-a-days and would probably still revert back to military training, but since he made it all it up, you're sure he'd never do that.

You're wrong again.

When I was five (That's 5 people, take a moment to remember the age of five, go ahead, I'll wait...Good? Alright) My mom, dad, and I went to stay with them for Easter at an apartment where they lived before they moved in with us. Now I'm five, and what's at the front of a five-year-old's mind on Easter eve?

Bloody chocolate! CANDY!

That's all I cared about, so when I woke up the next morning before (so I thought) anyone else, and I found a butcher knife sticking in the door, you'll understand my confusion.

My little mind, that had yet to really grasp the concept of what knives can do, was so riveted on the shiny blade that when my grandfather, without a shirt, came creeping up behind me, I jumped a damned foot.

I turned to look at him, his pale chest with the huge scar from multiple open hearts glistening in the early morning light, and I asked, "Opa, what's that knife for?"

"Oh this?" He pulled it out and slowly ran it in front of his face, which was only inches from mine, "That damned Easter bunny come last night, but I got him, took me his tail too!"

I never cared for Easter much after that.

Let me make something clear though, I love my Opa, with all my heart. I may make fun of him here, and some of you might be offended by things he's done or said, but I love him for it. I hope to someday be a crazed old man like he is. I know you won't read this Opa, but thanks for being my Opa.


Tuesday, January 18, 2011


So I'm just saying, but today sucks.

I'm not going to get into it, 'cause this blog is 'sposed to funny, and I'm too bitter to be funny.

I'm hoping that tomorrow proves that money can actually rain from the sky, and I can actually go to the moon unaided and totally safe, and everyone in the whole world loves me.

Also, I expect to wake up tomorrow and find that my blog has become more popular than Google.



Monday, January 17, 2011


So I like to dream, and when I dream I dream BIG. And with the creation of this blog, I've been thinking a lot about my future as a famous writer.

I'm a fairly humble person, I'm awesome, yea, but what I mean is I wouldn't want to be super flashy with all my money. I'd live in a big house, but not a mansion, a nice garage with a little workshop so that when I get the desire to go beat two pieces of wood together I have a nice private place to pursue my simple pleasures.

I would have a cozy little office, with slightly off white walls, and a red(ish) carpet. An ugly little rug to sit in the middle where a dog could lie and keep me company. A nice window facing the West, so I could watch the sun set, with a little bench in front of it, where I can lounge and scribble into a notebook. There would be small light fixture hanging a little too low from the ceiling, low enough that I miss it if I'm barefoot, but if I wear my shoes I'll hit my head. I would have a little wooden desk against the south wall for my computer, and an office chair that's wheels sometimes get stuck on the rug. I'd have a few shelves on the north wall loaded with books, and a bean bag chair next to it so I have a comfy place to procrastinate.

My desk would be akin to a work of art. There would be so many coffee and tea stains, and a shameful amount of booze stains as well, that its original color is only known by the gods. Places where pens have exploded, or some odd spots where someone had the great idea to let me find a knife. Maybe a few splotches of paint, 'cause I couldn't be bothered to move the desk out of the room when I was painting the walls, and one odd blotch on the side, that nobody is really sure what happened, and no one is brave enough to ask...

It's a comforting area. I draw a lot of power from it right now. I'll hold in my mind for a while. I hope it can be made real very soon. Thanks for helping me.

With, ever so much love,

Sunday, January 16, 2011

My musical ADD.

I wanted to tell you a little bit about me, mostly about how my brain works. I drew a picture of it, but for some reason I posted it with a previous post. This really just goes along the line of what I'm trying to say: I have massive amounts of ADD. It's a little sad that I ruined the surprise of my drawing, but that's ok, I forgive you.

So, I have ADD!

In the last 15 months I have dropped roughly almost 800 dollars on different instruments. 

In the beginning, I thought "I want to play guitar!" What male between the ages of 15-105 doesn't think this at least seventeen times? So I bought myself a guitar. I had fun for a while, I took lessons, learned to play smoke on the water, and wowed my girlfriend at the time by composing a song for her. She either didn't notice, or didn't mind that it was basically one or two chords strummed differently.

I began to talk to my friends who actually played guitar as if I was on par with them. When they wouldn't include me in their little "guitar times" I began to wonder what the difference was. It was obvious immediately. They had more than one guitar.

So I bought another guitar. 

My logic astounds me.

In the months to pass, I started playing it less and less. Oh sure, every now and again, I'd pick one of them up and play some AC/DC song, or strum a C, but the magic had disappeared.

I really wanted to play something though, really badly, but all I could consistently do was sing, and this mostly 'cause it got me a lot of weird looks when I would march down the hall singing some Gilbert and Sullivan diddy. Then it hit me! I needed to learn an instrument that I could play with my lung capacity!

Bagpipes are expensive.

So I bought a set of harmonicas! I had one lesson with a man, who talked more about some war than he would about the small piece of plastic in my hand, but it was entertaining, so I barely noticed. I began to think that this was what playing the harmonica meant, I would gather my friends around for a small concert, and immediately tell them all about how I lost my leg in 'Nam, or my many years as a fighter pilot. I didn't get many calls for an encore, and no ladies ever bought me drinks...

After that I took a couple months off to "collect my musical spirit" and eventually found myself longing for odd and unique modes to make sound/noise. 

Thus begins my week long adventure with the saw.

Thus concludes my week long adventure with the saw.

Pretty much like that. I would "practice" for a little bit and then get bored and walk away. Now, when I say "practice" I really mean, "I would hit the saw with a spoon a few times while bending it between my legs."

So that ended.

Now I am in my "Banjo Piano" stage. Every now and then for the last few weeks I will buy a case of beer and go hang out with my buddy Joe. He's an amazingly talented musician, (and plays the piano for Cantankerous Folk, check 'em out) and loves his beer. So we trade, I bring beer, he teaches piano. Apparently I have naturally good piano posture, and I pick up on things very quickly, I'm having fun, but to be honest, when there is a case of beer right there, we drink it. Then piano playing gets more fun...strange.

Meanwhile: my sis and I bought a banjo for our father's birthday/Christmas. He's mentioned a few times how neat they are, and we figured he needed another hobby. (My father is such an engineering dork, the first thing he said when we handed it to him was "I bet I could build this, only better." I'm pretty sure the banjo is still in one piece but I don't ask for fear of finding out otherwise.) I decided that I would buy it a few months early so that I could learn a few fun things and teach him some to get started. I fell in love fast with the little beauty, and bought myself my very own banjo very soon after, her name is Miss Daisy. 

I played her like mad. I loved it, more than anything ever. Until I became a little bit too busy with work and just keep saying to my little beauty, as she slowly slips further and further out of tune "Tomorrow baby, I'm busy right now."

I'm so sad that our relationship may be ending, but I guess that's the way of the world. I won't give her up without a fight though, she already means too much to me.

This is how my life is, I become really attached to the object, not the activity. The noun, not the verb. A little bit of synesthesia here, a dash of adolescent whimsy there.

More stories of my mind to come.

So my very good friend Thomas drew a picture response to my picture of him.

This is me saying "Really? You think so? Well you'd be wrong."

Thanks Thomas, LOVE YOU!


P.S. Check out Thomas and some of his stuff El Le FauntThe Broken BicyclesOld Fashioned Records.

I forgot to name this one...

Have you ever seen that episode of I Love Lucy where Lucy puts too much yeast in her bread? I always liked that episode, I would laugh from my toes everytime that loaf came flying out at her.

Well, that sort of happened today.

Roger (my roommate/landlord) and I, like to think that we're good cooks/bakers. We try hard, and what we make is usually quite edible, and occasionally, very good. (P.S. Hashbrowns made with french fries and bacon grease = best thing ever) With our random bits of kitchen knowledge, we tend to take on the persona of that old lady who refuses to cook with measuring cups. My grandma is like that, apparently, one "handful" is equal to one "cup" little did I know..

Anyway, Roger and I tend to only give a cursory glance at the recipe and generally to just wing the rest.

This morning as I was making my epic hashbrowns/bacon/eggs with hashbrowns and bacon in them, Roger decided to make bread.

This would at first be a wonderful idea, except we have no idea what of our flour is wheat, and which is white...So we just mixed it all in. No big deal right? A little crisco, a little bread thingy from a box (I cant remember the name, but Roger did say "Hmm, This is pretty old, we'd better use a lot.") and about an hour later, our bread machine exploded...

Roger and I were the other room, 'cause bread takes a while and we weren't just sit and watch it 'in case' something went wrong.

A few hours later we returned to the kitchen expecting to dig into delicious fresh bread, what we saw made us double over in fear (and laughter).

We had made a monster.

The top of the machine popped off, and dough was (honestly) pulsing down the side. I immediately began singing the Green Slime theme song (If you're confused click here.)

After an hour of digging our bread machine out, we discovered some bit of salvageable bread inside, so Roger and I took a well deserved break, and ate some fresh bread.

Mission: Accomplished.


Saturday, January 15, 2011

Blog Title.

Hey there readers!

I'm super excited that I have 12 followers, and a few hundred hits. I gush about this all the time. I was at a party last night and a good friend of mine was (playfully) making fun of me for being a writer and actually starting to be a bit successful. It really made me appreciate everything so far, I mean, I've only been going for a little over a week, but I received nothing but supportive comments, except from Ramage, 'cause he's a dick, and I just really want to thank you for this.

And part of my "Thank you" will be cutting back on the number of posts I write....Not really a good present, I know. 

I have a mock competition I am running, coming up next Saturday, and the actually competition the following Saturday for a play I am directing. I also have two other student directed plays I am responsible for, so any of you who do theater will understand when I say "I have Hell Week coming up."

The next two weeks are going to be crazy for me, but I promise I will still post as often as I can, and hopefully I'll put something up every day. Bare with me people, in two weeks I'll be back to full swing, and I'll be posting full stories everyday.

Thanks for being awesome!


P.S. I drew this for you!

Feel free to make this your Facebook picture, I know I did a super good job of capturing your likeness. It's basically a mirror, or a picture, or maybe like those weird toys with all the plastic rods that you can make hand prints into. You know what I'm talking about? Then you flip it over and the all fall out and erase your image?

Never mind.

Phillip The Air Mattress

I have a few pads of paper lying around my room, so that I can jot down ideas that I get randomly, and then later I transfer them all to a notebook so I have everything in one place. (I have no idea how I can do all this rather responsible stuff with the sheer amount of ADD that I have, but I do)

This morning I glanced at the list, to get an idea for todays blog. As I'm running my eyes down the list I happen upon such topics as "chisel window" and "Fill up the air mattress".... I stared at these for a moment as my sleep deprived brain slowly wrapped itself around the fact that I had apparently started writing a "to do" list on my "to blog" list. (Remember when I said that I was proud of my ADD self for doing all this correctly? yea, out the window with that.)

But before the rational bit of my brain could figure out what had happened, the other 94% saw pretty colors! And instead of reading "Fill up the air mattress" It created a new friend, Phillip The Air Mattress.

This is roughly how my brain works:

Yes, I have tagged my own brain, don't ask how, but I did. Anyway.

Phillip and I have become fast friends! He's one of the most supportive friends I have! He's so soft and cuddly, and keeps me warm at all hours. 

We went on an adventure once! It was full of damsels in distress, fierce beasts, and a sno-cone!

But another time, Phillip was worried he might be sick. So I decided to take a look, 'cause as it turns out, I'm an air mattress doctor.

Phillip was suffering from a severe case of Deflatula. It was very sad.

We were worried we might have to put him down.

But then a specialist came! Dr. Roger quickly fixed all his ails with the flip of a switch!

Now Phillip and I can sleep together again! YAY!!


P.S. Guess where I was sober, and where I took a break to go get beer...

Thursday, January 13, 2011


So first they stripped me of my favorite planet, saying that "Jupiter has moons that are bigger, so Pluto can't be a planet!"

Well you know what? I have fingers bigger than your dick, so maybe you ain't a man? Huh? Yea Pluto is a damned planet!

But now, with the wounds of Pluto barely healed, they come and tell me I'm not a Scorpio. HEY! You see how upset I am? Pretty sure Virgo's are 'sposed to be leveled headed. I'm pissed! I am a damned Scorpio! I don't care who you think you are!

The following is a dramatization of my feelings and how I shall react soon.

Quit screwing with my childhood. Also, Pizzerias.

Don't make me angry.


Friend Series # My Wife and a short rant.

Do you ever find a song that just makes you want to sing or dance? Not even to the song, just dance or sing? that's how this song makes me feel Beirut - The Flying Club Cup

I've been having my ups and down a lot lately, and most of that is due to stress, I've been a little short and snippy to people I really care about, and kind of weird to people who are just joining my life. If you're reading this, hold on a little bit, I'll get better soon, just a few more weeks until this bit of life is over, and I can safely sail into the next bit of my purpose.

I try to go out as much as I can when I'm in these moods, which really only serves to make the mountain of things I have to do, get larger, but it also keeps me sane. The other night, my good friend, Whittney, (Read this) called me and invited me out to meet a few new people.

Feeling fairly low before I left, I begrudgingly agreed. I wandered into the bar at about eight o'clock, and was immediately forced out of my sour mood by a wonderful new friend.

Anddi and I set straight to work on making finger mustaches, napkin wars, hair ties, and millions of other things that should have gotten us kicked out of the bar. A few people complained that our random outbursts had interrupted them peeing.

Anddi was awesome, and probably enough of a good time for me, but then two more women showed up to add to the cacophony of random outbursts. When Ebony, Bonnie, Anddi and I started to Americanize the German/French/whatever the hell wines on the wine list, we were (Anddi and I) politely asked to bring it down a bit.

This is about the time that an expedition through my wallet had to take place, and photos of me from a few too many years ago were found and passed around for everyone to laugh at. I got my revenge though, turns out that everyone at that table was extremely ticklish. We (I) almost got kicked out.

Spilled drinks, bruised sides, and ink mustaches all equal one hell of a good night.

I'm Skot/Scott, I'm 23 years old, I can have a good time in a bar with little to no alcohol at all. And I enjoy remembering it the next day. (Plus I got three lovely ladies phone numbers.)


Edit: I should add, that I'm not actually married, Anddi and I just hit it off so well, that our friends declared us married.

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Today Was a wee bit fail.

I stayed home from work today 'cause my eyes started to do this weird thing. Let me explain:

They didn't work.

Yep, good story huh?

I was driving down the highway, and entered a tunnel. It took a solid TEN seconds for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, and another ten when I exited the tunnel to adjust to the light.

Um, excuse me, Eyes? Yea, it's me, Skot. Umm, you know that whole "seeing" thing you're supposed to do for me? It be really cool if you could KEEP ON DOING IT!! I'm 23! I don't need to be blind! Hell, at least if I was blind I'd know I wasn't going to be able to see when I drove into the tunnel.

Well I might not know I was driving into a tunnel. But I would know that I didn't know!

Surprises are great, but not when it comes to important things, like seeing when I'm driving. DURING RUSH HOUR!

Breath Skot.

So I pulled off at the first exit I could see and took the long way home.

I got home and found a bird in the basement, I'll write about that set of events later. I sat down on my computer and started to draw.

These are two of my close guy friends, Jonah and Thomas. They are both rockin' musicians and in the band El Le Faunt (among like seventy other bands) check 'em out.

But that is what I spent most of my day on. I wrote a few other blogs, but it mostly turned out to be extended ideas that I must elaborate on later. 

Basically, sorry that this post sucks a bit, this whole "Blog a day" thing is tough, but I love it. Just lost time today.

Until tomorrow, friends!


P.S. Do you like the banner? My little sister made it!

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

How I help my friends.

I love to listen to my friends. I generally turn the conversation towards myself after a short period of time, 'cause that's who I am, but I do really enjoy listening.

The skill of listening is a very important one for friends to call upon from time to time. When a buddy goes through some hard times, this is the appropriate procedure:

Person unloads problems at you.

You listen with rapt attention.

Occasionally making a committing sort of noise.

Offer a question or comment that may spiral them closer to tears, but brings them closer to the center of their problems.

And end in a hug.

Everything is good, your friend now feels better. Most likely nothing tangible was accomplished, but just talking is a great way to relieve the stress of every day life.

That's a normal person helps their friends.

I realized that I take a much more "unique" approach:

Friend has concerns. I shall attempt to help them as best I can.

 Attempt 1:

 Attempt 2:

 Attempt 3:

SUCCESS! Friend began drinking with other friends! 

In closure, you can see how great of a person I am to have in your life.


Monday, January 10, 2011

Friend Series #1

So I have decided to introduce you all to some friends of mine. They are all very dear to me, and close to my heart. So I decided to tell them in the only way I can. By making fun of them in my blog.

While trying to figure out who to start this series with, I began thinking about some moments of hilarity that happened last night at the bar, and besides a new face who is quickly working her way into my heart, there was one woman who stood out amongst the rest.

She is short (er than me) funny, can do the beaker face, but can't talk while she does it. Has a habit of accidentally flashing her nethers when she's really tired, and has the most gorgeous dreadlocks know to (this) man.

Her name is Whittney, we like to dance, we like to make faces at each other, and we like the awkward sexual tension that will forever remain unresolved between us.

Whittney was dating this guy when I first met her, I ended up living with "This Guy", so I got to see a lot of Whittney. (No, no, you pervs, remember where I said unresolved sexual tension?) Whittney was the first person I met here that I felt actually comfortable with, and, of the twenty or so people I met that night, the only one I still talk to. And surprisngly she still talks to me, 'cause when I was introduced, I was sporting my boxers, some strange nightie thing, and a black stripe across my face.

Let me explain that now: It was a shadow performance (where live actors act out the movie playing on the screen behind them) of Rocky Horror. I had never been to one before, so I was a "Rocky Virgin" which has so many levels of weird in it. Anyway, I was going with my ex-girlfriend, and she was getting all dressed up for the occasion. I love dressing up, but I previously had no idea we were going to a show worthy of dressing up for. Panicking, I don't know why I do that so much, I made quick inventory of my wardrobe options. I had the clothes on my back, and apparently a nightie... Also, my ex offered a bra, but I have a wide chest.

Scrambling for an idea of something to make me "cool" like all the other kids, I stole my ex's makeup, and, thinking to myself all the while, "I'm an actor!" this is bad, "I know what I'm doing!" I didn't.

Why, oh God why, didn't someone stop me.

I think I was trying to be a raccoon, and ended up screwing something up so I just said, "Meh," and made it a big black stripe.

And then I took off my pants. Which always seems to be a part of most of my stories.

Also, I had painted my whole face white, which wiped off when I ran into a wall.

I do that occasionally.

Anyway, When everyone else at the strange party sort of steered clear of me a little, and my ex promptly shook me off her leg saying something like, "Quit following me, I'm trying to hang out with my friends." I went to hide in the corner.

Enter Whittney!

She was holed up in the corner doing art, with coffee. No, no. She was painting with coffee. As in using coffee. IT BLEW MY MIND!

I had to be her friend. Somehow I would make this woman like me!

So, using my infallible skills of flirting, and friend making, I followed her around like a lost puppy for the remainder of the evening.

I also remember her saying a really big word and looking at me in astonishment when I looked confused, and saying "You do know what that means right?"


"Oh yea! For sure, me and...that go way back!"

I lied.

She bought it, or more likely found me cute and endearing and just added me to her collection of crazy, senile friends.

My friend Whittney collects "old" people.

All of her (also now all of my) friends, have something wrong with them that is akin to being at least fifty years older than we are.

I have bad knees, bad back, and memory issues.

Thomas looks like he's from the twenties.

Rob is way to charming to be anything but old.

Drea is the most adorable house wife (Also very much able to kick anyones ass) you've ever seen.

And Jonah is...well...Jonah. I'll write a post about him later.

I mentioned that Whittney does art. (She's amazing, One of my favorite things about her is that she'll do all this painting with weird chemicals and glues and shit, and have the windows all closed, and get attacked by what she calls "The Nap Monster."

When this happens Whittney is not available for a little while.

The first time I heard about it, she slept for like five hours, next time it was like eight, this last one was half a day.

Whittney, hun, if you're reading this, don't die. :)

Whittney is crazy people, she got in a fight with a bridge once, and as you may have guessed, lost.

But, as crazy as she is, actually, because of how crazy she is, she is one of my closest friends. Whenever I have a particularly trying day, she always makes me smile with a little "Awe, Skort.."

Thanks for being my friend, Whitt. And thanks for being alright with me using you in a blog post.

Also, I live with her father. He collects bachelors, where she collects crazies. All I know is I collect friends, and I have a lot of 'em. This is just one.


Sunday, January 9, 2011

Belts make me feel important.

I made a wonderful realization this morning. I was going through whatever I call my "morning ritual" which usually just consists of pulling the sheets higher and higher over my head, until my feet stick out and become cold. At which point I dramatically throw the sheets off the bed and roll onto the floor. Which isn't so bad right now, since I'm sleeping on an air mattress, on the floor.

After spending several agonizing minutes staring at the wood paneling below my face I push myself up and attempt to begin my day.

Today, I sat down at my computer in hopes of writing a few e-mails and setting up some weird schedule thing I should have done a while ago.

I mostly just stared at the screen.

After my third cup of tea I noticed my belt on my bed.

I had slept on my belt all night.

Not that big of deal, except for the metal buckle gleaming up at me, as if telling me how good of a night it had, while ruining mine (my back agrees with this assumption). In a fit of rage I put on my pants, and in some sort of vindication, I shoved my belt through the loops. Almost immediately I wrote three e-mails, set up a letter for volunteers, and at least looked up some valuable information.

This was a big deal.

Side note: While wearing the belt, I also came to the conclusion that work is not allowed in my house anymore. I will do 'work' at work, and I will do 'home' at home. That doesn't sound as nice. Meh, it's done.

Now, with this new knowledge of the super powers within my belt, I began to wonder if I had other magical items in my wardrobe. This is my story:

I began with my belt. Powers Include: Making me feel taller, skinnier, and holding my pants up. Also ability to get shit done.

Three mismatched ties. Powers Include: Looking good when separate, looking like a tool while all together. Granting me future sight. +1 against demons.

Steel toed boots. Powers Include: Kicking ass and chewing bubble gum, too bad I'm all out of bubble gum.

Chauffeurs hat. Powers Include: Knowing how to get everywhere. Making my hair really staticy. Can be used as a thrown weapon.

One mitten. Powers Include: Making you look like a really cold Micheal Jackson.

Bad-ass sweater. Powers Include: Being bad-ass.

So these were some of the things I was able to find right away, most of my stuff is packed up right now, and I felt pretty accomplished by the end of my superhero dress up session. That is, until I realized I wasted about two more hours...

So apparently the magic inherent in one item can cancel out, and even have exact opposite reactions when combined with another magical item.

I was only sad for a small time, until I realized that I am indeed a super hero.


Saturday, January 8, 2011


So I wanted to start this blog 'cause I've been following a few really funny ones lately. The most funniest of which being "Hyperbole and a Half."  In less than a week, I've almost read her entire site, that woman is hysterical.

Today I was scrolling through her FAQ, which is almost as funny as her posts, and started thinking about how it's been a while since she's posted. And a thought dawned on me.

What if she died.

In this age of blogging and internet friendships, we might not know for a while if someone we love to see has passed away. The internet is supposed to bring us all closer together, easier to communicate. When in so many ways, it has pushed us all apart, and made it harder to communicate.

This is a somewhat serious post, so I'll keep it short, but go out and say hi to an actual person. While you still can.


Hello Noon. And also, a story!

So I started writing a post a little bit ago about how I got drunk last night, woke up, had tea, burnt myself on said tea, and how I am currently watching blisters form on my fingers. Then I realized that post sucked.


I'm starting a new one.


When I was a kid, I was a bit of pathological liar. I remember in the 5th grade we would have "Circle Time." In circle time, our teacher would pass out candy and start telling a story about her life, then she would have every kid, in turn, also tell a story about their life pertaining to a certain topic she picked. If you did not have a story, you did not get to sit in the circle, you did not get to have candy, and worst of all, you did not get to be the center of attention.

So what did my little ten-year-old brain do? It made stuff up, that's what.

One time, I assume the topic was "nature", but I have trouble remembering last week, let alone thirteen years ago, and all the kids were telling little stories about how they each found a caterpillar and their dog ate it. Or they once went to a farm and pet a cow.

Whoopty F-in Doo. (P.S. Screw you spell check, those are both words. I don't need none of your squiggly line bull shit!)

When one of my fellow classmates stepped down, my had was immediately in the air, waving around like it wanted to be free. My teacher graciously let me step up to the chair. I slowly, and dramatically took my seat, waiting the appropriate amount of time, then lunged into an epic yarn about my fathers and my journey through our woods one spring afternoon.

We got lost almost immediately, but lucky, since both of us are boy scouts (Yep, that's right) we knew that moss only grew on the *ahem* side of trees, and deer only travel this way, and the trickling of water means more undergrowth and berries to survive the night.

Eventually we found some semblance of shelter while we waited for the sun to rise again to guide us home. We slept under a great oak tree, whose limbs stretched over our entire forest, and roots that tangled with ever other growing thing in the forest (whore). Somehow after seeing that tree, we knew how to get home. And then we were home.

But my story didn't end there, I had them eating out of the palm of my hand. Save for my fifth grade teacher, she was already writing a letter to my parents. I knew I had to work fast, or she would steal my audience from me.

My father and I went back into the woods a few months later to find the tree. We followed the moss, the deer trail, and the rivers (Also there may have been something about bears, I'm a little fuzzy.) but we could not find our tree. Finally when the sun was starting to set, and we had just about given up hope we found her. What was left of her. Someone had come and cut her mighty self down to the ground, nothing but a steaming stump remained. (steaming stump? C'mon really! What is this, FernGulley?)

Weeping, both my father and I fell to our knees to morn the loss of our great savior. (the class was almost in tears, as was I.) After the tears ceased streaming from my eyes, I noticed a tiny little green stem sticking out of the stump. A seed had planted itself, and it began to grow.

And grow.

And grow, until it was just as big as it had once been!

The end.

I was met with raucous applause, while the teacher simultaneously tried to calm them down and figure out what to say to me.

This may have been the first instance I can remember of invented such an elaborate lie to gain the love and admiration of my peers, but it was definitely not the last. I just wanted to see how you liked this one, I'll post more if you liked it.


Friday, January 7, 2011

A growing concern

Hello readers, all two of you, I'm here today to talk about a lurking danger that someone apparently doesn't want us to know about.

I'm talking about Lion Zombies.

I was in class with my high schoolers today, when I noticed that one of them had drawn the above on the marker board. I was so overcome with fear, that I had to take a minute out of my precious class time, to collect myself.

Just for a moment, imagine this with me, you're a person (hey that's easy!) and you're one of the few survivors from a zombie apocalypse. You're outdoors right now, probably looking for food. Don't worry to much about zombies, your team has been doing perimeter checks.

You slowly walk down the road, which has been overgrown with weeds and a few small trees in the three years since road maintenance came to a halt. As you carefully step around debris and part of a once burning wreck, you gently dislodge a small stone that clatters to the pavement and startles a small group of crows that were breakfasting on something you'd rather not investigate.

You're rifle is immediately at you shoulder as the flapping of black wings snaps your every muscle and nerve to the height of attention. You laugh at your own jitters, but take a cautionary glance around to be safe.

Something moved, you'd believe it was the wind if you weren't stalking through a valley at that time. Listening now, as if for the first time, you can hear the faint footfalls of something big. A few hundred pounds easy.

You start to call for help, but just as you take the precursory breath, you see it.

It's mane is matted down with blood. One eye is missing, but the other focuses in on you with deadly intent. Long black claws stretch out from each of its four battered paws. Ribs exposed, tail missing, and fur burnt away by futile attempts from other humans to stop this beast.

You quickly try to take aim, in some hopes of, if not saving your own life, perhaps in warning your group.

You regret not bringing a knife, you regret not saying goodbye to your new lover, you regret not being a better friend, but regrets and hopes will not save you as razor sharp teeth, tempered in the blood of hundreds, spills your life blood. You painfully drift off into a slumber, wondering vaguely if you'll rise again to assault your friends, or if this truly is the end.


Band together with me so that we can raise awareness of this horrible, grotesque possibility!! Our children need to know! Our friends need to know! Hell tell the damned mailman next time you see him! I'm sure he will be very surprised when you come running to inform him of the ever increasing Lion Zombie threat!

P.S. If a zombie apocalypse were to happen, I think I'd be pretty alright. Shaken? Most definitely, but I could figure it out. Now, if there are Lion Zombies.

I fuckin' quit.

There is no hope.

Only horrible, devastating defeat.

The End.



Thursday, January 6, 2011

I am Genius!

I discovered a new thing thanks to a good friend of mine.

Mate Tea.

Now I've always enjoyed tea, but I've mostly stuck to whatever people hand me, or green tea. Seemed to work. Today my friend Sam hands me three baggies of tea (I was hoping these baggies of green, crushed up leaves would resemble something else just for entertainments sake, but they are very fancy baggies) one is green tea, one is something to relax, and then there is MATE!

Mate will make you win.

Mate will make women love you.

Mate is made from epic plants watered with awesome.

I feel great, it has some chemical in it that acts like caffeine but i don't feel like crashing, it a much easier more smooth way to get a leg up on the day. I highly recommend it.




One more, and then I should get some big people work done before I have to go to rehearsal.

You will surely hear (read) me rant about grammar, and spelling, and the like. And you will surely see things in my rants that are incorrect. And you will surely be all like "Yo, Skot/Scott, you misspelled 'the' right there." That's cool, just send me an e-mail or whatever, point out the offending article, and I'll fix it as soon as I can. 

Unless it was an intentional fuck up. In which, you're stupid.

This post is mostly for a few of my ex's who are grammar Nazi's, I want your help, I want to be able to wield the English language as if I have been doing so my whole life (...wait...) and like any young swordsman, I'll cut myself a few times. Just lend me a hand please, thanks.

"And I, my axe!"


Wednesday, January 5, 2011


I've never been first to comment on a picture or a video or something like that. Is that accomplishment really noteworthy?

Do these people put it on their resumes?


SO this is my first blog post, of my first blog. Neat. I was in a super good mood as of a few hours ago, but then because I am a worrying, anxious, fuck head. I am no longer in the best of moods. But this is a start.

See you soon.