PILLS!

So I have rejoined the vast majority of the world and am again medicated.

Some of you know or maybe remember when I was on ADD meds. I used to be somewhat heavily medicated for my abysmal attention span. To put it into perspective, I went from an D student to an A student in college. YAY MEDS!

I also went from being random, spontaneous, happy, boisterous, and fun to being flat-lined, predictable, 9-5 working stiff.

Needless to say, I decided to forgo the grades for my personality and quit taking the meds.

I've been having a lot of weird anxiety attacks lately, I've had them for years, but recently I'm beginning to take much larger concern towards my craziness.

So after a whole lot of tests, questions, and even some blood lose, I am now on two new pills!

The doc was surprised I hadn't been on anything for my depression/anxiety before, said it was a very good thing I was now doing it.

I also am taking some meds for my mass migraines that attack every now and then.

Basically I'm writing this to say "Hey, if I start to become really weird or my writing starts to suck (more) please let me know."

I want to be this guy, I enjoy who I am, and I'm proud to be him, I'd like to lose the whole "Is that person laughing about me" thing but I am not willing to give up on how awesome I am.

Cheers to being yourself!

Skot/Scott

On human rights.

Watch this.

I don't know you.

I don't know how old you are, or where you live, or where you come from, or even what most of your names are.

But I want to share a bit of myself, and maybe we can all understand something from it.

I am a geek. I'm a nerd, a dweeb, a weirdo, a freak, whatever. And I like being all of those things. I have long hair, I don't do drugs, I play dungeons and dragons, I like to dance, I cry a fair amount, I talk about my feelings, I write poems and stories, I laugh until it hurts, I dance like there's no tomorrow, and I'm bloody bisexual.

In the current and classic sense of the word, I'm a bit queer.

My entire life I was made fun of for any and all of the above things, I got called fat, I was made fun of for writing sloppy, for falling down, for dropping my pants down to my ankles when I used the urinal in kindergarten (I was laughed at so hard, that to this day, I prefer to use the toilet and harbor a deep hatred for urinals) I was punched, and pushed, teased and tormented. I even ended up in detention once or twice because of someone else hurting me so bad I screamed.

I'm shaking right now as I write this.

I put up with it, I don't know why.

I remember there was one boy who threatened to kill me. He told me he was going to take over my life and live with my family and make everyone hate me after I was gone. How fucked up is that?

I was six when he told me that.

I never seemed good enough for my peers, even though I tried. Oh god I tried.

I tried so hard that I even started to pick on a few people. I hate to admit it, but I joined in so as not to feel left out.

For that I apologize.

I get down on my knees and beg forgiveness from you. I won't mention names, but you know.

Because of all that I have endured and committed, I became what I am. I may not be proud of all I've done, but I did it, and that's it.

I'm still shaking.

I am Scott J. Rieffer, I am Skot, I am Weird, and I am Angry.

So to any of you people who are picking on anyone, for any reason, I have one thing to say: Fuck off.

Leave them alone.

Maybe you don't like it, maybe you don't understand, but there are better ways to tell them that then by punching them in the face.

Skot/Scott

I'm sick.

Send me flowers, and chocolates and cards, 'cause I am under the weather.

What the hell does under the weather mean?

I don't think I've ever been "over" the weather, or on the same level as it..

I have a massive headache, though I get those a lot, it feels like my brain is trying to escape from my head and the only way out is through a cheese grater.

That's on fire.

So I hear tell that eating a mans liver would make me feel better.

Though I think he would feel much much worse for it, so I spose I'll just stick to the medicine I have.

I just had to take three cracks at spelling "medicine" this isn't good.

That liver idea is looking more and more promising.

Though I don't think I'm quite ready to be a cannibal. I just don't have the right set up.

My little sister will be smiling right now about the cannibal thing.

A year or so ago she found out that one of her favorite cannibals (I don't remember who) killed his first victim on her birthday.

She came running into the kitchen where my mom, dad, and I were all sitting to proclaim the news.

Mom and Dad looked at her and started to apologize, I immediately put my hand in the air and yelled "HIGH FIVE!" To which my little sister squeaked, high-fived back, and skipped out of the room leaving my 'rents very puzzled.

I wanna nap, but I don't wanna. blah blah blah

Sigh.

OH! I started another blog at the request of a friend of mine. She asked me to review her band, and so I have started (Just started) to go to shows and stuff and do write ups about them. If you wanna read it Go here. If you have any suggestions to things I should write about, comment below, or e-mail me.

Love you guys,
Skot/Scott

Dear Booze.

Take my liver, rot my teeth, bring me to an early grave
but leave to me the only thing that could make me saved
Leave my voice, my words, my heart, 
Let me sing, and write my part.
take my body and all that's left,
But leave me with my final breath.

~Skot/Scott
3/16/2011

A Very Simple Request.

Ay.
Be.
See.
De.
Ee.
Ef.
Ge.
Ach.
Aye.
Jay.
Kay.
El.
Em.
In.
O
Pe.
Kue.
Ar.
Es.
Te.
You.
Ve.
Double You.
Ecs
Wi.
Ze/Zed.

Elemino, Noun, the rough or exact middle of something. "I think I've reached the elemino of this assignment." "These new words are hurting the elemino of my brain."

I think the world needs another word for center.

I am asking this as a simple favor, please help me out here.

From the elemino of my heart,
Love,
Skot/Scott

P.S. Never forget that it started here, created by Skot and Lauren Rieffer.

Sorry folks, been awhile.

No real excuses here, but I've been going through some weird internal shit lately, so I haven't been in a good place to write.

Which just proved to make me more sad.

But here I am now and I will get back on this horse, and ride that bastard 'till he drops.

Take that PETA.

hehe, I should start drinking me thinks..

1st shot: When I was about 16, pushing 17, I was in a heavy pagan phase, you know what I mean, where you just read everything that isn't one of the big mainstream religions. (P.S. ADD moment, watch this.) And pretend to do things and just mostly have angst at everything else. Yea, that.

2nd shot: (Hehe, I lost my bottle for a second) I was also heavily involved in this theater company, where I met one of the sweetest ladies ever. Colleen always was super nice to me, helped me out with whatever I needed and always smiled at me and remembered my name when she forgot everyone's else's.

She was part of this new church group which was about twenty minutes from where I lived and they had a strong youth thingy (3-8 year olds) (Shot 3) I should also mention that I had my long hair for about a year now, so it was around shoulder length, and I had somewhat of a beard (I have had facial hair since I was about 15) Colleen, as well as plenty of other people, thought that I resembled Jesus, (Not the black, historically accurate one, the "real" Christian bigotry one.)

Shot 4: So to recap this crazy twisting path. I was pagan (as I still am, just much less in your face about it) had long hair and a beard (which I still do, just less in your face about it...?) and was asked to play Jesus for a church that I wasn't part of (...What? You want me to write something in here? ELEMINO!)
</recap>

So the gig was on a Sunday, earlyish morning (I think I had to be there at about 10, which wasn't early for me then, but definitely is now.) I showed up at this hotel lobby where they were holding their services (I think they now have a small building downtown) and about 6 elderly women greeted me. They went around introduces themselves with names I didn't remember then let alone now.

These women proceeded to explain to me what will be expected of me that day. There would be a short gathering and a few people would talk, everyone would get some food, and then the guy in charge (I hesitate to call him pastor 'cause I unno if he really was a man of the cloth or if he just read from the book, which is cool either way) would start his shpeel where eventually we would say something that would cue me to walk in. I would have changed into a robe and donned a thorny crown for this, and I come in saying the "I am the alpha and the omega," bit. I would sit in the front of the church where I would read random bible quotes to children who came up to me, and pt my hand on their heads and say things like "bless you my child."

How much more blasphemous could I be? I'm a bloody pagan posing as Jesus, touching children...

Shot 5: Shot 6: So I've sort of written (and drank) myself into a corner here, the actual event was not that bad, it was just a little creepy. The hilarious part happened before any other worshipers showed up, while the blue-haired women were explaining things to me.

The six sweet old women all crowded around my confused person in order to "channel Jesus"....

They all laid their hands on me and one of them began to pray to Jesus to take my body and help me deliver the message to the children. (She also mentioned that I was a good upstanding Christian boy, lol.) They all started to sway back and forth, and at least two of them started to random yell "Thank you Jesus!" and "Praise JESUS!" and (NO LIES) One started to speak in tongues....

I literally almost shit myself.

But after surviving that, touching children, and seriously disturbing some random mother who pissed me off by calling me a satanist (I went off about how her religion took a lot of it's myths from other faiths so hard she I'm pretty sure she wanted to hit me) I was paid for it all! I got 100 bucks for all that was mentioned here.

I'm ok with getting 100 bucks for letting some old ladies touch me.

What does that say?

Shot G: Skot/Scott

P.S. I should add that I have no qualms with Christianity, it's a fair amount of people that bother me. Not just Christians, but people that take anything too far.

Adventures in Technology.

WHOO DOGGY! It's been a little while since I've posted, sorry about that people, I assure you I am not dead yet.

So, to bust back into this after a week or so of mostly procrastination, I am going to tell a small tale of the first part of my day today.

I work at a high school, doing theatrey things, mostly tech. We just started a new show and as part of the whole insurance thingy I need to have the parents of my tech kids sign a safety form.

Now, in order to have them sign it, I must have the form for them to sign.

Here begins my adventure:

I get the document and fix it up to be current with name and date and what-not and print out the single master copy to take to the huge copier to make about 30 forms.

Over the past few months I've maybe had to use this massive machine three times, so I'm not very familiar with it, and I always ask someone for help. Today, I felt good, today, I was gonna show that damned thing who was boss.

This copy machine doesn't just make copies. No no no, that would be FAR to boring. It will make double sided copies without hardly thinking about it, it'll hole punch in five different styles, staple anywhere on the goddamned page INCLUDING the middle (Why? Just why?!) It can laminate and also put little labels on each one in case you forgot to (Like my name and the date or something).

This machine is big.

BIG.

I consider myself somewhat technically minded, as in I can find my way around a computer given a few minutes. So, I put my master copy on the little rack, punched in my code, and hit print.

It took my paper, and started to yell at me.

As if I had just tried to molest it, and this was it's little 'rape' whistle.

I got very scared that someone outside would hear and rush in to see me destroying this very valuable object.

I jabbed the stop button several times, and eventually had to use both hands to get it to figure out that I really did want it to stop smoking (Yes, it was smoking, I was rather concerned as smoking is the leading cause of fires in printers today).

It was also getting really hot in there and I was panicking and starting to sweat.

I replaced the paper, and got my shirt caught.

I checked the ink levels manually, and cut my hand.

I opened up the main thingy to check for paper jams, and managed to hit my head.

Finally I gave up. I walked out of the copy room and into the library to beg one the nice ladies to help me.

Take a moment to imagine this picture: A tall man with his hair half out of his pony tail, unshaven, bleeding, and sweating comes stumbling, defeated, out of the copy room, begging for help....What would Jesus Do?

This really sweet old woman stepped forward with a smile and walked back in with me. I had to suppress the urge to dive in front of her so that the beast wouldn't attack her also.

She calmly walked up to the machine and pushed two buttons (TWO GDMFing BUTTONS) and all my copies came out the other side.

After a few moments passed (where i was quietly weeping in a corner) I realized that a seventy-something woman had just bested me in tech support.

I felt pretty low at that moment, but it got worse still when I realized I had only been at work for thirteen minutes..
FML?

Skot/Scott

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>...
...
..
...
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..

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.

Skot/Scott

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.

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.

Skot/Scott

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

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.

Skot/Scott

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.

3.34!!!!!

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.

Skot/Scott

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