Ode to a Good Friend.

Today was a rough day. I was all pumped yesterday to go and see my lady, who lives a state away, and meet her family.


What started as a "Oops, I left my lights on again." Turned into "That'll be four-hundred dollars."


Ok, so I don't know yet how much it'll cost me, but I'm preparing for the absolute worst.


My little car, Sonya, has no life left to give right now. Her heart has stopped beating, and her soul is away.


My dear friend, roommate, and landlord Roger (who has appeared in two previous posts) was gracious enough to drive me to a parts store, so I could pick up a new battery; drive me to my car; find out that the battery wasn't the problem; drive me back to the parts store to get my money back; go back to my Sonya, and tow my little bitty car a few miles through Minneapolis to a shop. AND he gave me whiskey.


While driving around for several hours today I had quite a lot of time to lament her passing away, and possibly out of my life for good this time.

My car is currently in a garage awaiting a large Indian man to diagnose her ailment. I fear for her life, and for my wallet.


While I sat near tears most of day, for failed plans and for a dying car, I sat in Roger's truck staring blankly out. We passed a little shop that brought a spark of life back into my heart, if not my dear Sonya's. It was a small barbershop, it did not have the candy cane thingy outside, it did not have a sweet old man rocking in a chair out front, it was not even called a barbershop, it was a "Men's Hair Shoppe", but it still brought me back.


It brought me back to another little shop that DID have a barber pole, and DID have a sweet old man out front, and was named Charlie's Barbershoppe. I just called it the Mouse Trap Barber.


Inside this tiny little building of my past, were a few chairs, a table, and a million bottles of things that only the barber could know the secrets of.


And a door.


This door was at the height of my curisoty, everytime I went there I just stared at it, daring it to give up it's secrets to me.


Once, the barber opened it for a short while and I saw hundreds of claw marks on the other side where something had tried to get out.


Finally, steadying myself as only a five-year-old can, I asked Charlie what was behind the door.


He opened it for me.


It led to a set of old wooden stairs leading down into the darkest basement imaginable.


"What's down there?" I asked, fearing for the answer.


"Alligators." Said Charlie, "For all the naughty children. You're not naughty are you Scott?"


"NEVER!" I cried as I ran to hide behind my laughing father.


I think back now, and realize that the marks on the other side of the door were from a dog that Charlie would occasionally bring into work with him.


And the stairs were creepy 'cause they obviously led to some deep pit of hell.


But all this doesn't explain the name I gave the shop, The Mouse Trap Barber.


That story is not quite as interesting as the alligator one, but worth telling.


In the waiting room, (which was the same room as everything else only seperated by a rug) on one of the tables was this minature outhouse with a coin slot in the roof. When you dropped a coin inside of it, the whole thing would explode apart.


There was a mousetrap as the floor piece, and every other part had springs to maximize the distance flown.


Scared the living shit out of me everytime.


I'm still scared of mousetraps.


Oh also, your quarter would go flying to some unknown part of the room to, I'm sure, be later found and pocketed by Charlie himself.


Mouse Trap Barber.


And that's the story of how my car died...Wait..


Skot/Scott

AHOY!

I want to build a small cannon on my window.

It'd be pretty sweet, I could have a little air compressor sitting in my room keeping my cannon always ready, and the moment the neighboring church started making noise, BAM! I'd fire a dirty sock against the side of the building.

I would also use it to shoot messages to people.

How cool would it be to just be walking down the street and suddenly a note hits you and it says "Nice hat!"

People would think that the sky was raining fortune cookies!

Maybe we should rebuild the internet so that it is a series of high powered pneumatic cannons! I'd fire a request for information to the library and they'd fire a book back at me.

Upon diagramming it out, I feel that firing books over miles of civilization would get a little sketchy. Especially if we get a rookie cannonier who doesn't account for the wind velocity.

Newb.

I hope my buddy, Adam, reads this post 'cause if the two of us agree on an idea, it then becomes a possibility. A very BAD/SCARY possibility.

The hell with lan parties! We could have sea battles on land!!

I HAVE A TWENTY GUN HOUSE!!!!

Captain Skot/Scott

Who's with me!?

So I decided today that I am starting an internet mafia.

I decided this after realizing I watch WAY TO MANY spy shows and what not, and that I have the desire to squirrel away all of my secrets now.

Only problem is, I don't have any secrets, or criminal activity to want to squirrel away in hidden places, like a carved out bible.

So I need to make some criminal activity just so that I can hide it.

Thus I have decided to create an internet mafia.

Not just your usual run-of-the-mill mafia, hell no. We have to grow with the times! We will be online, make our paper trail all digital so we can doctor it however we want!

We will start small and bully other blogs into sending traffic over here so that we will continue to "protect" them, and we'll work our way up to rigging polls, and eventually to internet gambling and cyber-drug trafficking!

You may be wondering from what we will "protect" people.

Viruses.

Yep, Viruses. Everyone is terrified of getting a computer virus, 'cause if you don't know anything about computer, and you don't have a geeky friend, well you might as well just buy a new computer.

But we'll have to make people afraid of blog targeting viruses, so I'll need a few programmers on my payroll also. To avoid Big Brothers watchful eye, I'll call my programmers Blog Tactical Defense Designers. And for nicknames we can call 'em the Big T Double D team!

I got ideas!

...The more I think about this, the more I think it sounds like what McAfee does... O_o

But getting back to my main point, any hard data and pictures that we obtain for black mail or whatnot, would be put into secret places around my headquarters!

Then when the FBI comes knocking on my door looking for evidence, they won't be able to find anything.

'CAUSE I HID IT ALL!!!

I am going to start looking for hiding places this week, I'll post any good ones I find so that you guys can use the ideas too.

I should make a secret code..

If you want in, reply "Seven angry men, sit sipping tonic and gin" and let me know your gang name.

FYI We are not gangstas, we are Gangsters.

You will receive your membership card and tommy gun in six to eight weeks.

This is Great Skot/Scott Free, signing out.

(See what I did there? That's my Gangster name!)

Take a little walk with me?

I stayed up until 5:30 last night and woke up at 11:00 am this morning, that may seem like a nice long sleep, but it was less than six hours. Still more than what some people get. 

I've been stripping varnish in a small room from 11:30 to 5:00 using highly noxious paint thinner. 

It's remarkable effective.

And possibly giving me cancer.

I'm sort of seeing things right now at 9:00PM at night, and I'm going to post some of them here.

This will mostly end up being ramblings as I slowly slip further and further into the ocean that is insanity.

So warm and inviting is the ocean in the summer time. Waves crashing against the shore, thrumming their endless rhythms against your body as you gaily attempt to move against them. Trying to swim out into them as they push you ever back to the shore.

What about that one time where you manage to swim just hard enough, and you push past the strong current and make it out the "Deep End" the part where you can't even see the bottom let alone touch it.

Who knows what creatures of horror may be swimming in the dark cold depths of the oceans of your mind.

Dare you go deeper? Dare you peer into the depths? DARE I!?

I dare.

Oh sweet honey suckle I dare.

The joys I can feel waiting for me down far surpass the horror that stand in-between. Who knows what I may learn about myself.

Here I go, wish me luck.

I watch as the colors swim together to slowly melt down, mixing together forever, but never becoming one. Always fighting each other, afraid to lose that little bit of what defines who they are. Much like people, we fight to mix, to become one of many, but scream our loudest when we are overlooked as part of the whole.

The things call to me, I can hear there lovely promises of wealth and warmth, each one different, but each as treacherous as the last.

I don't remember which way is up at this point. The light of the surface is a thing of the past, a dim memory.

I'm closing this venture in darkness down for right now, as my eyes are starting to play tricks on me, and I'm rather starved of socializations. 

Like a lonely little Sim.

Night all,

Skot/Scott

Diabetes

I got a lot of positive feedback from the post about my grandpa, so I have decided to do another chapter in "Tales from my family" Sounds sort of epic right?

Note: I am drinking. </note>

hehe, speaking of HTML jokes <Love>...
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Hehe, It's both cute and torture to computer nerds. TEH LOVE WILL NEVER END!!!!

...

(</love>)

SO! Now that you're all warmed up, a story about my grandma!

This is Nonnie B. for those of you who read the previous post. Those that didn't WILL NEVER BE MY BEEESS FRAAAN!!!

Ok, enough drunken ramble, click here if you didn't read the previous post.

All my life I have enjoyed spending time with both sets of grandparents, but the visuals from my mom's side are perhaps more vivid (the stories and general insanity that I hold so dear to my heart, stem from the other side [Just kidding Dad]) than anything I can remember from my childhood. My mom's parents have owned two houses as long as I can remember, their normal house, and The Cabin (Cue epic music, perhaps something from Zelda)

But this particular story does not take place at The Cabin. (epic music) It takes place at their normal house.(regular music)

I was really little for this story, I don't know how little, but young enough to not know better. (which in all honesty could be a few weeks ago[WEEKS!?])

I was spending a few days with my grandma, Nonnie B. I doubt I called her that at this age, but I knew that she was the awesome woman who gave me candy, hugs, and put in colorful movies (FERN GULLY!!!)

They had a huge TV too! (Huge= HUGE! It was probably three feet wide two and a half tall and just as deep! It took up so much real estate!) And on top of said TV was a bowl full of M&Ms. Little kid + Candy = well you know...

I began to eat the M&Ms while in the other room my grandma was doing her thing, probably making me snacks and talking to my mom on the phone.

After a little bit of silence from the living room where I was (P.S. Me being silent is NOT normal) My grandma set down the phone to come in and check on me.

She expected me to be asleep like some little angel sent down from high, all nestled into the pillow.

What she found was my face as red as the pits of hell and a look on my face that would have turned the most devote person to the curb. After her initial shock subsided, she realized I was choking.

Now, a little back story about my grandma: I love her dearly, as I do with all my family, but, like most of my family, I do not agree with their morals or views on most subjects. Nonnie B is a firm believer of the 1950's house wife. She cooks, she cleans, she had babies. And she did all of these very well. She makes a mean roast, she has OCD like nothing I've ever seen (eat your heart out Monk) and my mom is one HELL of a woman. Consequently, my grandma never saw fit to learn the Heimlich, let alone what you're 'sposed to do when a child chokes (which is entirely different if you didn't know.)

So taking all that into consideration, her reaction is quite noble. She leaped into action, and grabbed me by my legs. And using a force reserved for Gods in battle, she holds me upside down and shakes me like a stubborn ketchup bottle. And despite this being grossly inappropriate it is surprisingly effective as eighteen M&Ms come pouring out of my mouth.

As I start to regain my natural color, my grandma collapses onto the floor crying like the loving maternal figure she is, while I proceed to eat the M&Ms off the floor.

Moral of the story: Five second rule.

Skot/Scott

Just in case.

I was thinking that you might like to see what I used to look like. I found an old picture:

And if you keep reading my blog after this I'll know you're true friends. Or you're blind.

Which, I would think, would make it hard to read my blog.

I wonder if they make a braille app...

Skot/Scott

P.S. The older kids used to call me half-stash...

I'm done fighting.

I have decided to stop my career as a bare-knuckle brawler. I have never lost a match, and I'd like to think that I have done a very good job and left my mark in the world.

I'd like to think that.

To bad, I've never been a fighter. I've never been IN a fight, even. Sure I've been hit before, mostly sucker punches for my lunch money or the like, but I've never reciprocated.

Not that I'm ashamed of this fact, in all honesty, I'm glad I never have, but it still sometimes seems like I missed out on a few stories that I could tell my kids.

My dad always told me that if I ever got into a fight to "Go for the nose, boy! If you hit 'em hard enough they won't be able to see you! Then just back off and watch 'em fall!". He apparently did this on at least one occasion, and when I was a kid I loved hearing tales about how my father rose to the top over the bullies in his school.

But, I've never been a fighter.

Hell, I was in football my 9th grade year (yea, I know, laugh) They put me on line, 'cause back then I was a lot heavier than I am now (Damn near 90 pounds heavier!) And I was a scary lookin' dude! 6'2'' 280 lbs don't look too friendly when it's barreling down at you covered in hard foam pads.

Problem was, I didn't get it. I didn't understand what I was 'sposed to do. I did great during practice, plowing my friends into the fence, chasing the ball across the field only to outrun the quarterback and bring him down, but when it got to game time, and I was against a bunch of people I didn't know. I got confused. "What did they ever do to me?" I would ask myself, "Why should I hit them?"

This unnecessary questioning bought me permanent play time in the "Fifth Quarter."

Yes, the fifth quarter. The point in 9th grade football games where they play all the terrible or, in my case, violence-confused players so that the parents who drove two hours to go the stupid game didn't bitch out the coaches.

(No, I did not have long hair, facial hair, nor did I know what "Steam Punk" was in 9th grade.)

I don't think we ever won a game. Our coaches tried to bribe us on several occasions, but we never won. In some pseudo-sadistic way, I enjoy taking credit for our continued defeat.

So I have decided to quit fighting. This way, when my kids ask me if I ever got into fights when I was young, I can say: "Oh boy, I've done some things I'm not so proud of, bud. I quit fighting a long time ago, but I'd like to think I did some damage in my day." I'll wink, and my wife will laugh at me from the other room and wonder why she ever fell in love with some guy who lives to spin yarns.

I love to spin yarns. I love to tell tales. I love to sing songs. I live to entertain.

Skot/Scott

Edit: I'm actually number 77. I think that guessing 78 is pretty damn good since I haven't seen those damned football pictures since I was IN 9th grade.

Pennies, animals, and flames.

So I'm bored right now.

And when I'm bored I start to make up stories. Such as, right now there are these two pieces of paper on the desk in front of me and they are at war.

 They are also passionate lovers.

It's a difficult relationship.

I'm sitting here running lights and sounds for a big high school registration thingy, and I couldn't imagine actually being interested in what these people are talking about.

Blah blah blah, give me money, blah blah blah.

I just have WAY too much ADD for this kind of thing.

Makes me worry that I won't make a very good adult.

Wait, I think I am an adult...technically...

That's a scary thought, sort of like handing a very large stick to a very weak child. They'll try to hold it up, 'cause you really want them to, but eventually it will fall and hit someone in the head, probably the child.

That was a surprisingly good analogy.

I am proud, I think I will reward myself by paying even less attention to what is going on.

Have you ever seen the Cape Reinga Lighthouse, it's really cool looking structure. Check it out.

 Hmm, there a lot of very expensive things around me. If I threw a stone in any direction I would break something worth more than me, perhaps I should not throw this stone.

GOOD LORD I AM BORED!

This has only been going 30 minutes!

OO! Pink lizard!

My iPod is dumb and won't send me the picture..so I can't show you just now :( But have no fear! I'll add it when I get home..if I ever get home..

I have a book on the Hindenburg, and it's really cool. Ninety-seven people were aboard her and sixty-two lived to tell the tale. It was horrible, yes, but not as bad as they make it out to be. It also only took about thirty-four seconds for the behemoth to fall. The first tiny bit of flame spread over the entire thing in a little more than half a minute...Amazing.

Well that's enough of a ramble for now. Keep on reading!

Skot/Scott

Edit: I checked my e-mail this morning, and I had five messages from my ipod..Here's the lizard.

Ramble ramble

I'm pretty much drawing a blank right now for what to write, so I'm just gonna babble until something sparks my creative mind.

I'm pretty groggy right now, because for the last three nights I've stayed up until at least four am playing one video game or another..

Today my body decided to forgo it's internal alarm and wake me up at 2 pm instead of my usual 10 am.

So feel like something of a failure, but on the other hand, it made me miss my over-night job at a hotel. I had a lot of fun there. The owners could have used some improvements...but meh.

It was a small enough hotel that my main duty was "holdin' down the fort" I worked from 11 pm to 7 am. Nobody checks in or our during that except a few truckers, and they are really nice people! So my evenings started out rather boring, I would get all my housekeeping and paperwork done by about 1 am, and have another 6 hours of nothing!

I began by bringing books. After burning through a couple a week I moved onto playing some games I could find on the internet.

That bored me after about a week, and I brought my xBox 360 in, and would play it on the big tv in the lobby. Eventually I just started to drag my desktop computer, and monitor there every night and just game.

The owners knew, they didn't  mind. So long as I get my stuff done, and helped out any people who came to the door, they didn't care.

One time, while working there, I showed up only to find a police officer waiting for me.

Being the typical teenager, I was wondering if he knew...Knew what I didn't know, but I was paranoid of him finding out some dirty secret.

With him was a kid a couple years younger than I was, in handcuffs.

Turns out he had caused some problems in a neighboring city and the hotel was being used an exchange between one cities cops and another cities.

The kid looked rough, like life had rolled him down a hill a few times. Only the hill was covered with needles and gross women.

I pitied him, barely an adult, and already on the fast track to Suck.

I 'spose you have start pretty early to screw up that bad.

Well the cops sat with me for a little while and shot the breeze, I've always like most cops, it's the one in five ass-hat cops that ruin the image for everyone.

After about an hour, it became clear that my police buddies didn't like sitting around doing nothing. They looked at me, and said "You're a pretty big guy, if he gives you any trouble just hit him." and they left...

Now, I may have told you already, but I am six foot two, two-hundred pounds of pure pansy. Fighting just does not compute in my mind. It's alright in movies, but if I ever had to hit someone I would stare dumbfounded at my hand while they knifed me and took my wallet.

So the thought of watching some juvenile delinquent while my no-longer-friend cops went to probably eat a donut, was not a thought I enjoyed having.

I'm pretty sure I saw the kid smiling..

I spent the next half hour completely wired. I was pumping so much adrenaline I thought I was going to burst. I kept hearing him move, and I would dart around the desk with a letter opener, convinced he had somehow fashioned a firearm from the two week old magazines siting out there.

I was convinced I wasn't going to make it through the evening. I stopped going to the bathroom, it was only about a half hour wait, but my bladder chose that time to NEED TO PEE!!

Finally another squad car pulled up, a woman cop came in and asked if everything was alright, I told her it was fine and I had it all under control, no big. When I kept dropping things, however, I think she saw how terrified I was.

She took him away, and I finished my night by sleeping on a spare bed.

I miss that job.

Skot/Scott

P.S. I'm really lazy, so I'm not going to re-read all this. Also, if I did that, I think I would delete it all...It's a bit of a ramble..