Five things my Mother never taught me.

My last post addressed "Mom Blogs" and my mother's comment nearly turned my "Man Blog" into a "Mom Blog". So I would like to take a moment to write about my own Mother.
In fact I would like to write about Five things my Mother never taught me.

1. My Mother never taught me to backbite.

All of my life watching my mother interact with other people I cannot ever recall hearing my Mother say anything bad about a person behind their back.

2. My Mother never taught me to steal.

When I was a very little boy, I worked a few funny jobs for my mom and collected every bit of loose change that I could find so that I could buy a Stomper. I don't know if anyone remembers stompers but it was a little truck a bit larger than a matchbox car that took a AA battery. The stomper had a switch to turn it on and it would slowly creep across the floor. The stomper's headlights would light up and the stomper usually came with two sets of tires, foam and hard rubber. If I remember right, the stomper usually cost around a dollar twenty.


After scrimping and saving for a period of time the day finally came that I had saved enough change to buy the stomper, I placed the change in a small plastic sandwich bag and asked my mother if we could go to town to buy a stomper. My mother told me that later that day she was going grocery shopping and that we could go then.
I remember waiting and pacing for what seemed like forever until my mother, with a smile said; "Bubba, (that's what my mom calls me)are you ready to go?"
Before she could get an answer I had my bag full of change and was climbing in to our old Ford Torino.
My mother stepped into the car and we took off to the store. Our first stop was Lin's Thriftway. My mother had some grocery shopping to do so I followed her with my change bag in hand as she loaded the cart.
In my stomper excitement I took a little detour and walked passed a shelf with whole peanuts that you could buy by the pound. I loved peanuts and didn't think much about it and decided that I would like to eat one, so I reached up and grabbed a peanut.
As I walked back to my mom, I cracked open one half of the shell and ate one of the delicious peanuts. It was wonderful. When I arrived at my mothers shopping cart, she looked down and said:"Bubba, what is that?" "A peanut," I said. "Bubba, where did you get that? I pointed to the large stash of peanuts. "Did you pay for it?" My mother asked. "No", I said.
"When you take something without paying for it, that is stealing," My mother said. I knew what stealing was, but it was just a single peanut. "But mom, it was just one peanut," I said. "It's still stealing, so you will have to pay for the peanut that you ate." My mother said in a kind voice.
So my mother walked with me to the checkout line peanut shell in hand. She lifted me up to talk to the cashier.
"Tell her what happened David." My mother said.
"I stole a peanut over there and would like to pay for it." I sadly said.
The cashier looked at us kind of funny as I handed her the empty peanut shell, she pushed a couple of buttons on the cash register and said, that will be seven cents.
I slowly reached in to my plastic bag and handed her a nickel and two pennies.
The cashier took it and put the change in the register. I looked down at my bag of money and new I didn't have enough for the stomper.
I told my mom of my concerns hoping she would give me 7 cents. She just smiled, gave me a hug and told me I would just have to save more money.
I felt pretty bad that day but that lesson stuck with me deep for a long time, at least until I was a teenager.
One day as teenagers my older brother and I went shopping with our mom.
We were in high school and a little rowdy to say the least. While shopping with our mother something caught our eye, it was a the dry ice cooler. My brother and I loved dry ice. Not only because it was neat, but because you could make bombs and get into a lot of trouble with it.
As my brother and I walked closer to the dry ice cooler, temptation got the better of us. We walked over to the cooler and opened the door. Steam lifted off the white gold as it beckoned to us to take it. Off to the side were a couple of chips of Dry ice a little smaller than a golf ball. My brother and I couldn't take the temptation so we each reached into the cooler and each took a chip of ice. We shut the cooler about the time my mother was getting the groceries rung up.
We played around with the ice, putting it in our mouths and rolling it on our tongues, pretending we were blowing smoke from a big cigar, burning each other, and just having a good time.
As my Mom walked out of the store we followed her and the bag boy to the car, all the while playing with our new toys of frozen gas.
While the bagger was setting the groceries into the trunk of the car he looked at my mom and said (and I swear these are the exact words): "I don't want to be a narc, but your boys took that dry ice without paying for it."
My mother looked at him and thanked him. She shut the trunk of the car and marched her two teenage boys to the cashier. Almost automatically my older brother looked at the cashier and said: "We took some dry ice without paying for it and would like to pay for it." I followed up with a quiet "yeah."
The cashier looked at us funny as we placed our small dry ice chips on the scale. The total bill was 17 cents. My older brother was kind enough to pay my part of the bill.
I don't remember what was said on the way back to the car, I don't think there were any Ill feelings, and my mom may have possibly called us little shits. But that was that.
We new our mother loved us and expected more from us.
My mother never taught me to steal.

3. My mother never taught me to overlook those have been overlooked.
I have never seen a kinder person to the elderly than my mother. Throughout my life I have watched my mother spend countless hours listening, talking to, and helping the elderly.
Rarely an evening went by at our house that my mother didn't get a phone call from an elderly lady that just needed someone to talk to. She always listened and always genuinely cared about what they had to say. I don't think that we ever had a Thanksgiving or a Christmas dinner that my Mother didn't invite an old widow that lived down the street to eat with us.
I have never seen my Mother belittle anyone no matter who they were, and it's impossible to not feel like a million bucks when you are around her.

4. My Mother never taught me to throw my hands in the air and give up.
When I was younger, the trucking company that my dad worked for went out of business. So my dad did everything he could to provide for us. That meant a lot of hours during the day doing odd jobs and driving a mail route through the evening and all night.
With my Dad gone it left raising four fighting boys to my mother for the majority of the time. Many, Many times my brothers and I would really get out of hand only to find my mother patching things up and really trying her best to help us all be happy. Every night and every morning my Mother made sure that we all as a family took time to pray together. Looking back, I know those times had to be extremely difficult for her but she was always strong and I never saw throw her hands up in the air and give up, when I believe most people would have.

5. My mother never taught me what it was like to not be loved.

In my whole life, there has never been a time that I have wondered if my mother loved me. Growing up and especially in my high school years I was kind of a rascal. I did a lot of things that at the time I didn't think warranted love from anyone. But no matter what I did, no matter what the circumstance, I always knew that my mother loved me.

I just hope that no matter what, my Mother knows that I will always love her.

David Riddle Blog

So, I have been thinking a little about this whole blog thing. It's kind of an interesting phenomenon.
I like to click on links from friends and family's blogs and even read blogs of people that I don't even know.
I think the majority of the blogs are "Mom Blogs" which usually consists of the family name with a picture of the family in the title while a mom tells heartwarming adventures that she has had with her family that day or week.
I think the Mom blogs are nice, and It seems like Moms have nearly taken over blog space. It's kind of a nice way for families to keep other family members in touch with each other.
The only problem I have with "Mom Blogs" are the comment sections. Rarely do I read a Mom blog with a rude or smart @$$ comment. For the most part, "Mom blog" comments are almost too sweet. I know women are meaner than that, so why not write what they really feel. Instead of, Oh how sweet is that or that is the cutest thing, why not say what you really feel like. Why not write the comment you made out loud as you looked at and read the blog. If you said, "Oh how darling!" Please write it, but if you said "Oh gag me!" write that. If the kid isn't cute write it, they need to know. Throw something out like: "yeah, your kid is cute if you are into giant foreheads" Ya know something like that. There is no need for other bloggers to be under a distorted perception of reality. They would be better off knowing the truth.
If I go to the doctor and have cancer, I want to know if I have cancer, I don't want him to smile, give me a hug, and tell me that I'm pretty. I want to know what I have so I can fix it.
I think I have a pretty good idea of what is going on inside the mind of the Mom bloggers and I guarantee that 90% of the comments are a little off of what they really feel.
This is the Internet. When you put something on a blog, anyone in the world can read about your personal life. I think when someone creates a public blog, they should welcome public comments even if they cause hurt feelings.
There you are telling the world how your kid is the cutest and best kid in the world. You better expect to be compared to the whole world, and sooner or later someone with a cuter and smarter kid is going to come across your blog, look at your kid and say: damn, that's an ugly kid, and possibly post it. Ive done that before to random strangers, and I don't do it anonymously, not to be mean but because I think they need to know.
I think it is funny when I see a "comment deleted" in someones comments, I try to imagine what was written because I know somewhere deep there was something that would have been much more entertaining than "Oh how cute, that was to die for!" Somebody had the cajones to say something and I just wish that I would have read it before it got deleted. Maybe I would have agreed and maybe I would have disagreed.
I have never deleted a comment from my blog. I do not think that I ever will.
If I was that worried what other people said I would privatize my blog. If you are worried about what someone says or thinks privatize yourself, because weather you know it or not your site probably gets hit 25-80 times per day, not just by strangers but by people that know you that are just bored and wanted to see what you were up to. Most people don't comment because they think that you might think they are weird for just randomly checking you out. Hell, I randomly Google people all the time, some people I like, some people I don't like, and some people just to find out if they are in prison or not. It's pretty entertaining and I'd be willing to bet that we all have at one point and time been on someones blog that we wouldn't want them to know that we were there.
When I surf blog world I usually just surf the friends links of friends links of friends links because I don't dare push the "Next Blog Button" in fear of what I might come across.
When I first started blogging, I got a phone call from my little brother, he said that he pushed the next blog button and got some kind of porn blog. This is how the phone call went:
Dave: Hello?
Gregg: (in a disgusted voice) Dave, (pause, pause,pause) What the hell?
Dave: What?
Gregg:Bro. I pushed the "next blog" button on your blog and it took me to a porn site!
Dave: (Laughing.) You did?
Gregg: Yeah, What the hell? (Now stuttering mad.) Really bad stuff. What the hell?
Dave: I'm sorry bro. I have pushed the next button once and got something bad too, I just don't push the next button any more.
Gregg: What the hell? Why are you linked to a porn site?
Dave: Gregg, I'm not linked to a porn site, it's just random, and I think that since they started letting videos get posted a bunch of sickos came out of the wood works. I was going to put a warning on my blog but I figured everybody would start pushing next just to see if it was true.
Gregg: Oh, that stuff made me feel bad.
Dave: Sorry bro. don't push the next blog button any more.
Gregg: I won't.
So needless to say I try to avoid surfing blog world by pressing the next blog link.
You may have your friends or friends friends come up to you and ask who is dave riddle? He left a crazy comment on my blog.
Yes, I leave random crazy comments on peoples blogs. Even people I don't know, and yes sometimes I say something rude if I think they need it. Nothing too rude, I may tell them their kid looks like he has an Afro with a chinstrap but only if he or she does.
I think that most people are sensitive when someone talks behind their backs. If they hear about it happening, it usually is accompanied by hurt feelings. It shouldn't be. Everybody talks behind everybodys back, and for the most part it isn't out of malice it's just conversation.
If you are honest in your blog comments, it will come as no surprise to someone who hears you said it to someone else and you won't make them feel as bad.
I'm not proposing that every one tap into their inner mean self. I'm just proposing that everyone make their posts a little more real. Then I would really enjoy blog space.

The rest of the rest of the story postponed

So, I guess I'm going to step away from the Rest of the story until I finish the rest of the story. I think the rest of the story takes me too long, and my blog has gotten too spotty because of it. It's easy for me to take five minutes to throw out little funny stories, but when I get into "The rest of the story" I have to write it and then have my Lawyer look at it and approve it before I post it. So I have decided to finish it and then post it all at once.
Sorry but I guess me keeping you hanging isn't new. Not that I will be keeping more than about 2 people hanging.

The Rest of the Story Ch.5

After the old man had finished telling his story, I looked over at him and could see in his eyes a bit of relief. I asked him if anyone else knew about the grave sites and what had happened. He told me that I was the only person in the world that new about any of this. He said that he tried to tell his late wife when he was younger, but the deeper he got into the story he could see that his wife was really getting worried, so he told her he was just telling a story, and left it at that.
It was getting later in the evening and the air was cooling a little. The cool breeze felt good after such an intense hour of stories.
I had a million questions running through my mind but for some reason didn't ask any of them. I just stood there with the old man looking at a small pile of brown sandstone rocks. Part of me wondered if there really was a body under the rocks, but given the circumstances I was pretty sure there was.
After a minute of silence the old man looked up at me and asked me what I was going to do about what I had heard. I paused for a minute and asked him what he meant. He said, "Well, are you going to turn me in?"
I hadn't really thought about it, but it dawned on me that this man was making a confession to a murder. Or was it a murder? Was I under the obligation as a responsible citizen to turn the old man in?
I paused for a few seconds and looked at the old man and asked him what he thought I should do.
He kind of smiled and said,"Why don't you keep it under your hat until I die. I've only got a couple of years left in me and would rather not spend them in court or in jail."
I looked at the old feeble man and in my mind decided that I would keep the story under my hat for the time being.
I told the man that he didn't have to loose any sleep over this and I would keep quiet. The old man smile and said; "Good. Lets get back to your truck, I have got more to show you.
As we walked back to my pickup truck about mid-way I let the old man take my arm because he was visibly struggling with the walk. I joked with him about him hanging in there because I didn't want to have to dig a third grave. He stopped and looked at me and got a serious look in his eye and said: "You mean a fourth grave?" In my mind I thought, Oh crap, this guy has killed more people. The old man then smiled and said "I had you going there." I saw that he was joking and felt relieved that there were no more graves.
After about five minutes of walking, we arrived at my truck and I helped the old man into it. I shut his door and walked around and climbed into my side. It was warm in the truck and the old man struggled with the window as he manually rolled it down. I did the same.
"Where to boss?" I said.
The old man smiled and with a little more life in his tone said: "To the good stuff!" and pointed to the area where I had seen the black circle in the side of the hill as I stood positioned on the stone with the crazy markings.
"Can you get us close in this truck?" the old man said. I looked at the old man and nodded. "I can get you anywhere in Big Red." I told him, referring to my old Red Chevy 4x4.
The old man reached behind him and struggled with the seat belt until he got it around him. I left mine off.
As I started driving the old man broke off into another story.
"After I buried that guy I was so sick that I just wanted to lay down, right in the rocks and die. I was partially covered in blood and dust and even a little vomit. I felt not only dirty on the outside but dirty on the inside. I decided to try to get home and cleaned up before my family came out looking for me. So I headed back. It was the most miserable walk I had ever taken. It was after noon and the son was high and hot. Flies started buzzing around me and I was smelling pretty bad. As I passed the creek I stopped and jumped into the deepest whole I could find. I even left my boots on because they needed cleaning. I scrubbed everything in that creek. I hadn't realised how much blood I had on me until I noticed that the water was visibly holding a red tint. I pulled my pants off and scrubbed until I couldn't see anymore blood.
After I finally got to where I felt clean I climbed out of the creek and walked the remaining quarter mile back home only to walk in sopping wet to Sunday dinner.
Every one was sitting at the table My Mom, Dad, and little sisters. My dad was the first to ask me where I had been. I just stood there and didn't say anything. I knew that I wouldn't be able to talk without crying. I looked at my Mother and little sisters and the innocence in their eyes and that made me want to cry even more. So I just stood there. I wanted so bad to just say everything to tell them what happened. I wanted my parents to give me hug and tell me it would be alright. I would feel better if I just let it out.
Just as I was about to say something my Father stood up and said "Boy, don't think that because you wanted to fake sick and to stay home and go swimming that you can sit down and eat Sunday dinner with us. You go get some dry clothes on and go out and start cleaning the corrals."
Without saying anything I went to my room, changed my clothes and went out to clean the corrals.
I was glad to not have to sit down and try to keep my composure. I was especially glad that I could get into some dry clothes and have a little time to think.
As I shoveled manure I decided that no matter what I could tell no one. I knew that if I really wanted to keep a secret I could trust no one with it. So I locked it up.
That night as finished up the corrals my dad came out to inspect the job. He told me to go in and get a bite to eat and go to bed."
After the old man finished telling the story, I watched him as he stared out the window. I could tell that he was reliving the old days over in his mind so I didn't say anything. I just kept driving to the hill side.

The rest of the story Ch. 4

As our eyes met, I could tell that our meeting was as big of a surprise to the killer as it was to me. Silence fell over the both of us as neither of us knew what to say or do. The killer was the first to break the silence. He looked at me and asked me what I was doing there. I didn't say anything as I tried to slowly slide my new gun behind my back hoping he wouldn't recognise it. As I slid my gun behind my back I almost automatically cocked the hammer. I remembered being impressed at how smooth the action felt. I watched the eyes of the killer as he looked at the gun that I was trying to hide.
"Wher'd you get that gun boy!" the killer yelled to me. His voice was raspy and deep. I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't run, I couldn't say anything. As the killer took a step towards me I felt a familiar warm sensation running down the side of my leg. That warm sensation brought back the vision of the man shooting the other man in the back and then in the side of the head and I realised that I was next. Almost instinctively I raised the gun towards the man as he took another step closer. I still couldn't say anything. The man took another step and I pulled the trigger. Click, Nothing. I realised that I had hit the empty part of the cylinder. I cocked the hammer again. I noticed that the man didn't even flinch during the first trigger pull. By the time I had the gun aimed at his head again he was 5 feet away from me. Click. I pulled the trigger again and still nothing. As I lowered the gun a little to cock the hammer again I noticed the man was right on me and before I knew it I had the cocked pistol pressed against the mans lips. Without thinking I pulled the trigger for the third time. This time there was no click just a, "pathump." The mans body went limp but the forward momentum of the man knocked me down as his body landed on my legs. I looked down at the man as I cocked the pistol again a realised that I wouldn't need another round. There was a hole in the back of the mans head about the size of a silver dollar. There were bits of bone, skull, brains, hair, and what looked like pieces of his teeth inside his oozing head. I scrambled trying to free my legs to stand up. As I kicked myself free, one of my cowboy boots slid off and stayed stuck under the man.
I stood up marvelling at the scene. It all seemed like a dream as I looked around. I looked at the dead man and the blood that was collecting on the ground where his head lay. I looked at my pants. Not only were my pants wet from pissing myself but my whole right thigh was covered with blood. I stood there with one boot on and the other with just a sock on. It didn't take me long to turn my head and begin puking. As I puked reality hit and it hit hard, and I began crying. I stood up and took another look at the scene. I had killed a man. What did that mean? I didn't know what to do. I couldn't tell anyone. It was self defense wasn't it? Wouldn't he have killed me if I hadn't killed him? What would my mom say? What would my dad do? What did God think?
I had all kinds of questions running through my mind but the fact of the matter was that I skipped church to steel a gun and ended up killing an un-armed man. A man that I had I had watched kill another man and didn't say anything about. There wasn't anyone in the world who would believe my story. I picked up a rock and began digging a new hole.
I dug the hole about 15 ft away from the man so I wouldn't have to look at him. A couple of times I looked up to make sure he wasn't going to stand up and come after me. He wasn't going anywhere.
After nearly two hours of digging I had a hole about 6 foot long by three feet wide by 3 feet deep. The hole was pretty impressive and my hands were paying for it. I had some pretty serious blisters forming on the palms of both hands. I stood up and noticed that my pants had dried and the dry blood made the pant leg stiff as I walked with it. I walked over to the man and grabbed him by the boots and began to try and drag him. It felt like dragging a dead deer but heavier. I tried not to look at the back of his head but he laid face down and it was impossible not to. About midway into the drag I stopped to take a breath and noticed a leather wallet hanging partially out of his back pocket. I reached down and pulled it out. The wallet felt heavy and I told myself no matter how much money was in it I wouldn't take it. I couldn't.
As I opened the wallet my heart sunk as I saw a small round circle with some engravings and a star in the middle. My breathing became fast and uncontrollable. A lawman? I had killed a lawman? I looked around to see if anyone saw what I had seen and quickly threw the wallet into the hole. I noticed that my boot was still laying on the ground where the man had laid so I grabbed it and put it back on. A sick feeling came to me as I slid the boot on. The boot was still warm and I knew what had kept it warm. I walked back over and grabbed the man again by the boots and drug his body into the hole. I pushed his arms and legs into the hole and began kicking the dirt onto the man just as I had seen the man in the hole do it a few days before that. After a second I stopped grabbed my new gun and threw it on top of the body and continued kicking the dirt in.
After about a foot of cover with the dirt. I piled large stones on top of the dirt and the man until the hole was filled, kicked more dirt on top of the rocks and then grabbed more rocks to stack on top.
When I was finished I grabbed a couple of dead sticks from a nearby juniper tree and threw them on top of the grave to make it not look so obvious. I then kicked dirt over the top of the puddle of blood to cover it up."

The rest of the Story Ch. 3

As we sat there looking at the pile of rocks, the warm evening breeze seemed to stop for a moment of weird calmness. I looked up at the side of the hill and towards the rocks where the old man had said he hid. He couldn't have been more than a hundred feet away when he witnessed the shooting. I also couldn't help but wonder if there was an old skeleton under the rocks. I asked the old man if he thought anyone had ever dug up the body. The old man slowly raised his head from gazing down at the rocks and looked into my eyes and said: "Yes, I did about a week later." I looked at the old man with a little wonder and he continued on. "When I got home the day of the killing, I was so shaken, I couldn't talk to no one. I went out behind the house and hid in the cottonwood trees behind the creek. I was sick. Visions of that guy getting shot ran through my head over and over. I sat there behind the tree just pukin' every time I saw that guy shaking and moaning. I can still remember every second of that day perfectly. In between pukin' and crying I sat leaning against a tree wondering if I should tell my mother, or the sheriff, or anyone. I weighed out the situation, and it made sense in my mind not to tell no one. So there I sat, alone with my secret. A secret that would haunt me for the rest of my life. I felt horrible, I was tired and sick to my stomach. My jeans had dried but the insides of my legs had been rubbed raw from running with em wet. I ran the scene over in my mind again. I could see the killer's face perfectly. The look in his eyes, his mustache, his brown hair, and the gun. That damn gun."
I asked the old man about the gun, and the old man broke off into another story. "When I watched that guy being buried, the other guy threw the pistol that he killed him with on top of him. I watched him do that, and hell, I was still a boy, it was the 1930's and we didn't have no money, and it was a gun. I had kind of an internal battle over that gun. On one hand I was afraid to go back there because of what happened. I didn't know if I would come across the killer or a ghost or what. On the other hand there was a perfectly good pistol sitting under about a foot of dirt. I battled over a number of things. So, after battling things out for a week I figured I might dig it up and keep it for myself. I knew the gun was down by the guys feet and I could dig that thing up and not have to see his face or the blood and I'd have a pistol. Being a dumb kid, and after it worked on me for a week, I decided to sneak back for the gun. I didn't realise at the time that sneaking back for the gun would be the biggest mistake of my life."
The old man just sat there staring blankly, and as he finished his last sentence I almost thought he was going to cry. I didn't say anything because I wanted the old man to take a breath. I've never been good with dealing with emotion in other men so I thought I would let him catch his composure. After about a minute of silence the old man looked up at me. He kind of had a look in his eyes, that made me feel like he was struggling with what to do next.
"Follow me", he said hesitantly, and I did. The old man began walking around the side of the hill. I walked close behind him to catch him if he fell. He walked slow, and by his breathing I could tell that it was taking all that he had to walk. As we walked around a juniper tree, his coat caught onto a branch. He struggled with it a little, said a swear word under his breath and kept walking. The pace was slow and I wondered how far he wanted to go. After about 220 yards the old man stopped and scanned the area directly in front of him and locked on to another small pile of rocks. He didn't say anything, he just walked straight towards the pile.
As we stood looking over the pile of rocks, the old man broke into another story. "I went back for that gun on a Sunday morning. My Dad and Mom and Sisters all went into town to church. I pretended to be sick. I didn't feel like I was lying because I was sick but just mind sick. A part of me wanted to get that gun and another part of me wanted to really see if that grave was there and if all of that was real and not a dream. As soon as my family pulled out of the house I threw some clothes on and started for the hills. I ran fast. As I approached the hills, I took the route that I normally took. It not only allowed me to sneak up there without being noticed but it gave me a pretty good view of anything around me. When I arrived to the grave site, I was taken back a bit. Everything came back to me and I got scared again. I wanted to turn around and go back to my house. I wanted to tell my mom what had happened. I wanted to have her hug me and tell me that it was all going to be ok. She would understand. My fantasy came crashing down as I realised that my Dad wouldn't understand. We were on the outs and I was already feeling that my Dad didn't want me around because of something else. I brushed it all away and went for what I had come for. I went to where I figured his legs were and grabbed a flat rock that was sitting there and started digging. After a few seconds I looked at the rock and saw a small dark stain on it where my hands were and realised that I was digging with the same rock that the killer dug the hole with. I dropped the rock and wiped my hands in the rocky sand hoping it would free me from any contamination. The sick feeling came back. I kicked the bloody rock about 20 feet from the site and grabbed another, and continued. After about 2 minutes of digging I hit something. It was rubbery and made a dull thud as I hit it. As I exposed more with the rock I realised it was the leather of the dead mans boot, and inside that boot was a foot. The foot of the guy that I watched get shot. I was sick inside, and it really scared me. It scared me almost enought to leave, but I decided to go for it. After locating the boot it only took me a couple of minutes to uncover the end of the gun. I pulled the gun free from the dirt, stood up and quickly kicked dirt back over the body. I stacked the rocks back on top of the body and ran around the side of the hill. I couldn't bear to be around the grave any longer. After I felt like I was safe, I hid in a little bunch of trees, sat down on a rock and looked at my treasure. It was a .32 caliber revolver and except for some sand in the cylinder, was in pretty good condition. I opened the action and there were four un-fired bullets and two fired. I knew where the two had went. The scene flashed in my mind once again for the 107th time that day. I pulled the cartridges out and began to shake and wipe clean the pistol. I buried the two empty cartriges. I blew air into the barrel to blow any sand out. After I was satisfied that the gun was clean enough to shoot, I placed the four live rounds back into the cylinder and closed it. I turned the cylinder and was a little surprised at how smooth it turned. The new gun almost made me forget for a second the horrible things that had happened.
I decided that I had better get home before my parents did. So I stood up and began walking. I decided to take a different route back home so I wouldn't have to walk past the grave. About 100 yards into my treck home, I heard a stick break to my right. I turned my head slowly to inspect the noise, only to find myself staring about 15 feet into the dark evil eyes of the man who had been haunting my thoughts and dreams for the past week.

The rest of the story Ch.2

As I stood on the stone and gazed into the hill, the hot breeze blew into my face. Not only did the breeze make me blink to get the moisture back into my contact lenses, but it brought with it an erie feeling. I kind of felt like I may be doing something wrong, or I was in danger or something. I brushed the feeling away. I thought to myself; what could possibly happen? This is an old man, I don't think that he could physically do anything. Even if this guy had a weapon, he probably would have a hard time hurting me. He was strange, really strange. What I was gazing at was equally strange in magnitude. The hill side was covered with Rocks of all sizes. Shale mostly, littered with Juniper trees, Brush and a little grass. But there it was, in the rock, and in between a couple of juniper trees was a perfect three quarter circle without a bottom. The circle was formed in what looked like black rock. From far away the circle looked to be a very thin line but very distinct. If I moved even an inch to the left or to the right I couldn't see it, but if I stood in the correct position on the stone it was as clear as day. The old man nudged me on the elbow, "can you see it, can you see it"? I told him I could, and said: "What is th...". "Quiet" he said, "you'll know soon enough. The old man turned around and walked back to my truck. I followed him to his door and helped him back into the truck. As I walked around to my side of the truck I looked at the old man and he had his eyes fixed on something else. I climbed into the truck and started it. "Where to next boss?" I asked. (I call people boss a lot because I think sometimes it makes people feel good, and lets face it, I knew who was in charge.) I started to ask him about the black circle again when he cut me off, and pointed to a hill in the distance. "Drive to the base of that hill" he said. I drove and he talked. He told me that he was going to show me two grave sites. One of the grave sites was of a man whom was shot in a gun fight, and the other was a grave site of a man that he killed. My gut instantly twisted in a knot. I looked at the old guy and didn't have to say anything, he knew that I needed more details. As we approached the hill I looked at the old man, and a sad look came over his face. He said in a low quite voice, "I swore that I would never come back here, and 75 years later here I am. Stop the truck". I stopped the truck and the old man groaned as he opened his door to climb out. I opened my door and followed. The old man started walking towards a small pile of rocks. The pile wasn't uniform, and I was a little surprised that I never noticed it before.

The old man pointed at the rocks and said: "When, I was a boy sneaking around up here, I used to just watch what was going on. I was sneaky, and I was quiet. I knew that if I ever got caught sneaking around the characters up here would probably kill me. So I learned to be sneaky just out of survival. I knew the dangers but I just couldn't stay away. I was curious. I guess you could say that I was as sneaky as an old Indian. One day I hid in between a couple of rocks up on that hill and watched two fellers. They were arguing about something, and the one feller said he was done and turned his back to walk away. As he was walking away, the other feller reached into a bag he was carrying, and pulled out a gun and shot the other guy in the back. The guy fell immediately, started shaking and moaning bleeding all over, then the guy shot him a second time in the side of his head. I pissed my pants. I really pissed down the side of my leg. I thought about running but I was frozen. I couldn't breath and I couldn't move. I sat up on that hill and watched for two hours as the other guy took a flat rock, dug a shallow grave and buried the other guy. I remember smelling the piss in my pants hoping and praying that the guy wouldn't smell it. The guy stacked those rocks on the grave, and left. When I saw he was gone, I ran as fast as I could those five miles back to the house. I couldn't tell no one. I just couldn't tell no one."

I just kind of stood there looking at the old man. A sick feeling came to me as I imagined the situation happening, and for the first time that evening, I just didn't dare say anything.


To be continued.

The rest of the story.

About 9 months ago, I wrote about an old man that showed up to my house. The old man was in his 90's and said that he lived on the ranch (that I now live on) when he was a boy. I took him for a ride through the 8000 Acre ranch, and I wrote about him showing me where a man was buried from a gun fight, where people panned successfully for gold, where bandits hung out, and a hidden mine. I left the story alone because, I felt that the claims needed further investigation. I mean the guy was 90 years old and he was telling me things that happened when he was 15. I left a lot out because there was something that seemed to validate the things that he told me. If the things that he told me were true, I could never tell anyone, at least until I secured a few things. I have secured a few things so, Here is the rest of the story.
When the old gentleman stopped by my house that evening, there was something strange about him, and he said something that really caught my attention. He told me in a low voice that there were secrets on the ranch, secrets that he had, and secrets that he felt he should divulge before he died. I didn't know what to think, so I offered to listen and take him for a tour of the ranch.
As we hopped into my pickup, the old man was visibly excited, and he had a look on his face that I can't really describe. It was a smile that carried, a little worry, and a little peace. It was strange. It kind of made me wonder what I was getting into. As we drove back into the hills he told me a story. He said that when he was a boy, about 14 years of age, he did a lot of messing around back in the hills. His parents didn't like him out there because it was rumored, that quite often under the cover of the thick Cedar trees and in the rough country there were bandits and shady characters that hung out there. He said that his father rarely ventured out there, only to gather stray cattle. He said that his father would tell a story of stumbling onto 3 men gathered around a wooden box, whom, after he surprised, all quickly raised guns at him. He said the story naturally awakened his young curiosity so he started snooping around. He said that in his snooping he found that back behind "the divide" there was an unusual amount of activity. So he snooped. He told me that he was going to show me a few things, a few things indeed...
As we drove into the hills, I looked over at my new friend and noticed that he was shaking. I started to ask if he was OK, when he cut me off and pointed across a flat and to five large rocks. I had never noticed it before but they were placed with one rock exactly to the north. Another to the south and another to the east, another to the west with one flat stone in the middle. Sort of a compass. The high grass almost hid everything. He told me to drive up to the rocks. I did, and we stopped and got out of the truck. The old man hobbled to the the flat stone in the center and stood on top of it. I looked down at the flat stone and there were two grooves that had been cut into the rock. The old man carefully aligned his feet with a groove that was facing about 10 degrees north of the east stone, and began to look into the rocky hills. As he did this I noticed a grin on his face. He stepped off the rock and with his crooked finger pointed to the stone. He looked at me with a grin and told me to stand on the center stone lining my right big toe and heel with the first groove. I stepped onto the rock and aligned myself. I jokingly asked if he would like me to dance. He didn't laugh and boldly said: "look straight forward!" As I stood there looking I kind of felt silly. Who was this guy? Thoughts began to race through my mind only to be cut off by what I saw. What was that?

To be continued...

Sucking up

Sucking up, Brown nosing, Butt kissing, it has many names and many different forms. It can be noticed and go unnoticed. It can be effective and it can be ineffective. It can draw ridicule and it can draw praise and I would like to write about it a little. As of recent, I have thought about sucking up and how I feel about it. Some forms of sucking up I hate with a passion and some forms I enjoy. But for the most part I hate sucking up. Every day that I age I hate it more and more. I don't hate getting sucked up to, I hate sucking up. I have to confess, I probably suck up more than the average man. I hate doing it but I believe it is one of those necessary evils.

The Riddle dictionary defines sucking up as: To be overly nice to a person or persons to enable a smooth accomplishment of a goal.

I would like share with you five key points to my theory of sucking up.

1. Sucking up is not effective until you realise that your end purpose is to no longer have to suck up to ANYONE.


I think that we all want to get to point in life where we don't have to suck up to anyone. Take for instance a president of the United States. He spends his whole life sucking up to everyone to get to where they are until they reach the goal of a second term. After that, the gloves are off and they finally do what they want. It has to feel good.

I love to talk to old men that have retired. They say it like it is and don't sugar coat things they don't suck up because they don't have to. Spending time with an old man is a good way to get a good honest self evaluation. My Grandpa for example, he was kind of rough character, and he didn't suck up to anyone. If he thought you were a sicko he told you. If he liked you he told you, If he thought you looked bad he told you, If he felt like having you pull his finger he would ask you. A person always knew how he felt about them because he had no reason to sugar coat. What was a person going to do if they did have their feelings hurt, take away his beer? Heck no, he'd just rack that person over the head with his cane, and he would enjoy that more than much more his beer.
That is the end goal in life. To not have to suck up to anyone.


2. Good friendships do not require sucking up.


If you are with a good friend, they truly like you for who you are. You can tell them the truth, you can be yourself, you can tell them anything and it doesn't change the way they feel about you. This does not rule out courtesy and being nice. With good friends you are courteous and nice because you love them and enjoy being courteous and nice to them. With a good friend you never feel like you are being "fake" nice, and if you give them a little crap, they laugh it off.

If you find yourself in the company of a person, and find yourself not having to suck up. You can be assured that that person is a good friend.


3. Sometimes it is OK to abruptly end the sucking up for a moment of truth.


In a fight the person who throws the first punch is generally the person charged with the crime or takes the blame. Moments of truth are the same way. Though it can be very advantageous to throw the first punch, you have to be darn sure you are going to get away with it. Otherwise, if you don't want a lawsuit, it's a good idea to wait until the first punch is thrown, then and only then comeback with with hell fire. The same concept applies when dropping the sucking up wall for a moment of truth. About 6 months ago while working on a project, I rejected a contractors work because it didn't meet a specification that I had told him over and over that he needed to meet. Through the whole job he sucked up to me and I sucked up to him. We both had a job to accomplish, so it worked for us to be overly nice to one another. Until that day of rejection. He lost it, screaming, ranting, raving calling me names. It was his moment of truth. Bad timing though because he still needed me to sign off for payment of $500,000 dollars worth of work. After he was done, I left the site calmly, and expected him to show up to my office with an apology. (500G's will always bring an apology) Sure enough the next morning he showed up to my office with an apology. He had his hat in hand taking back every thing that was said. He even thanked me for not loosing my temper. I then knew it was the proper time to throw my punch. I told him that I would never loose my temper on a job, I pointed at the picture of my wife and kid on the desk and told him that feeding them was more important. I then said in a low quiet, serious voice, looking him in the eyes, "just so you know, if you would have talked to me like that out on the ranch, I would have knocked every one of your fricken teeth out". He looked at me with a little shock. I accepted his apology, and invited him out to dinner on the Ranch. He declined saying," hell no, I'm not going out to your ranch." It was perfect timing to a moment of truth. I felt better, and there was no consequence.


4. Men can and will always be better and more effective suck ups.


Throughout time, as men were the hunters and gatherers, they learned to adapt. They learned to put food on the table by any means possible, that included sucking up. Women on the other hand stayed at home nurturing, taking care of the home and raising children. The women were the true masters of their domains. There was no need for sucking up. If the children got out of hand, they busted their chops and went on with it. When the man got home, she cooked a fine meal of woolly mammoth and they enjoyed it together. They put the kids to bed blew out the candles and laid down by the fire. This is a time at night where a man began to truly refine his sucking up skills. I attribute this time of the evening to the development of truly effective sucking up skills. I wont go into any more details, but needless to say, there isn't a woman alive that has ever felt out of necessity the need to give a back or a foot rub the way a man has.
I don't know if you have ever worked around women, but women (collectively, not individually) don't work well together.

Take for example an elementary school with predominantly women employees. It's a fricken war zone. Both my mother, wife are teachers, I know for a fact that that the mental trauma some women inflict on other women makes an elementary school faculty room environment comparable to Omaha beach during D-day. Throw a female principal into the mix and you have Hiroshima all over again. This is all a result of the fact that women do not, nor will they ever understand the true principles of sucking up it's just not in their nature.


5. Sucking up is an essential key to success.


If a person wants to be truly successful in life it is imperative that a person learns to suck up effectively.

In college, I took a class with a guy he was about 10 years older than I was. I wont name his name, but he absolutely refused to suck up. We actually had a number of discussions on sucking up. He argued that a man should never have to suck up. I can tell you so far, the up to date results of this man's not sucking up. He never finished college, never got married and still lives with his mom and dad. So much for not sucking up.

Sucking up has many names and there are many ways to suck up. Some good, some bad, most of the time you don't even know you are doing it.

I would submit that, If you are able to make the argument that you are and have been successful without sucking up ,more than likely you fall into one of two categories:1. You are a very attractive woman, 2. You inherited your success.

My question is: Is success truly success without having to suck up a little?

The day I met John the Baptist.

About 23 months into my LDS mission, I was stationed in a little town called Winnfield, Louisiana. It was my last area as I was training a new missionary. I was right at the sunset of my mission. I had worked hard for 23 months and had really put a lot of time into my studies. I felt good, I had been very obedient, and had a confidence that I think that most missionaries feel after nearly two years in the service of the Lord. I, at the time was about a month into training a new missionary from northern Utah. This young man came from a very wealthy upbringing. (His dad was the former owner of Price Savers, and at the time was the Executive V.P. For Walmart.) In the first month of his training he had lost 15 lbs. and was really picking up a good work ethic and took natural to the missionary work.
One day we were out knocking on doors and came to this large home. It was an old plantation home but it was in the hood. And like most old plantation homes in the area, had been converted into slum housing. Each bedroom became a tiny apartment, usually housing crack addicts and dealers. My companion hadn't quite become accustomed to the slums and was a little on edge as we knocked on the first door. After a couple of knocks a skinny black gentleman came to the door, he looked to be in his late-30's. He invited us in. The room was small and only had one chair. There was a bed and a small dresser and that was it. As I walked in I noticed a small 3" long metal tube about the diameter of a radio antenna with black electrical tape rapped around one end the other end had what looked like a piece of steel wool sticking out of it. From previous "hood" living I recognised it to be a crack pipe and knew that we were in for quite a discussion. I sat down on the chair and my comp sat down on the bed next to the black man. As we began the discussion the man stopped us and said:"Y'all don't know who I am do you". I said: "no we don't", He said: "look closer at me". I looked closer and said: "sorry nothings coming to mind" "Come on, look closer, y'all know who I am" I tell him:"I'm pretty good with faces, and I think it's safe to say that I really don't know you". He said: "Its me, John" "John"? "You know, John the Baptist". I looked at my comp, and I could tell he was getting a little uncomfortable. I mean who wouldn't feel uncomfortable, sitting on a small bed just inches away from some crack head who thought he was John the Baptist. I kind of smiled, stood up, reached on top of the dresser and grabbed the crack pipe and said, "tell me John, what does Jesus think about you smoking crack?" John kind of looked at me with his mouth open and said, Uhhhhhhh. I looked at my comp. and could tell he was really getting nervous, as he shifted himself to the edge of the bed. "You ain't gonna tell anyone are you?" John said. "No, I'm not going to tell anyone, but I am going to take your crack pipe." John just sat stunned. I asked John if he had any crack on him, because I needed that too. He said no, I don't have anymore. I said "John, this is a real problem, and we really want to help you, what other habits do you have that you need to quit?". "Well, I smoke." "Give me your smokes then", he handed me his pack of Bronco Lights 100's. "I want your lighter too". "Awwwww, can't I have my lighter, neither?" "Nope give it too me." He handed me his lighter. I pack my newly acquired goods into my scripture case, and said "John, your gonna need a lot of help, what other problems do we need to fix"? John scoots a little closer to my nervous and fidgeting companion, "Well, I am attracted to other mens!" Like a lightning bolt my companion, jumps up, looks at me and says "WE GOTTA GO, ELDER RIDDLE, I AIN'T SITTING HERE ANY MORE!" I really started to enjoy myself watching that, and said to my comp, just messing with him, "Elder, sit down, we have got to help this poor man." (Thinking of how glad I was that I wasn't sitting on the bed). My comp reluctantly sat down, and shot me a look that was a combination of a glare and a cry for help.
Almost immediately as my comp. sat down, I heard a ruckus in the hall of the old plantation home, dogs barking, a large slam, some muffled yelling and in the middle of all the yelling I could hear POLICE! I instantly realised that the room next door was experiencing a drug raid, and there I sat (not so smug anymore) with John the Baptist's crack pipe in my scripture case. I suddenly took on the fear of my new companion. I jumbled around in my scripture case for the crack pipe, stood up put the pipe on the dresser and said: "you can have this back, were getting out of here". John gave me a worried look as I walked to the door, as I looked down the hall, I could see that the coast was clear, so I turned around grabbed the crack pipe, looked at John and said "I think I will take this", thrust it into my pocket, and my comp and I took off to our bikes. As we walked to our bikes we passed a cop walking up towards the house, I got a little nervous but realising as we walked by the cop that he had no interest in a couple of Mormon missionaries, I felt better, and was glad that I grabbed the crack pipe after all. My comp and I jumped onto our bikes and drove away to the woods to dispose of the pipe. When we got to the woods I pulled the crack pipe out, we inspected it a little while I teased my comp for being so scared of the phony gay John. My comp smiled with a little relief on his face as we threw the crack pipe into the woods. "Back to work" I said with a smile, and we headed off into the sunset to save more souls.

Update

I guess it has been a while since I have been good at blogging, and I thought that I should give and update on my life. I like to make lists so I will make a list of updates on my life.

1. Cindy is knocked up again. I know that using the term "knocked up" isn't that nice of a term but I just love it. It just rolls off the tongue, I don't mean it in an insensitive way, I just like to break the news that way. I guess I just like the look that women give me when I say it that way, Its almost a look like shock that I used it, followed by a the "your an jerk look". (Yeah I get that a lot). The baby is due Nov. 3 just two years apart from Zacchy boy. I am really excited and not really scared. Cindy is a good enough mom to Zach that it makes up for my inadequacies in the dad department. With a wife like Cindy, I say bring em on.

2. I started Wrestling again. I am beat up and my cauliflower ear is back, I'll probably have to get a syringe and suck the blood out tonight.

3. I am taking my young men from church on a 50 mile hike in July for their high adventure. My first councillor Todd and I are stoked. We told the boys that we were going to turn them into men. I wonder if that transition will occur while they are packing my dead heart attacked body out of the deep Big Horn Wilderness.

4. It is supposed to be spring. Instead we got 3 inches of snow yesterday.

5. I have purchased a boat. It is fricken sweet. I would be willing to bet that it is the nicest boat in Wyoming. I don't even know anyone who has one like it. I Bought it for 50 dollars, its a 14', Steel Boat. I thought it was aluminum when I bought it, but when I lifted it up I realised by the rust and the weight that it was pure American Steel. It's gonna need a little work on the wood, but I think I can get it together in a couple of hours. I told my Wife that we were going to take it fishing to lake DeSmet. My wife declined. I told my wife that, that's what life jackets are for, She's not in. I bet I could get Stinky pockets to come up from Casper to go with me. The invite is open to anyone who wants a real fishing adventure. I think I'm going to paint a Rebel Flag on the side.

That's all I've got for now.

The F-Word.

When I was a boy, about the age of 9 was the first time I remember ever saying the F-word.
I wasn't a swearing boy, in fact I think that I was a pretty good kid, it's just, well, I said it at what I thought was the right time. I remember it like it was yesterday. Down the street from culdesac that I lived in, and over another street, was a street called Ironwood. It wasn't a heavily populated street, and it had a number of vacant lots. One day in a vacant lot my older brother, a few other friends, and I were messing around. We were doing our usual messing around, building huts, and playing games, around 4:00 PM a game erupted and due to some technicalities that I don't quite remember my older brother and I ended up in a fight. It wasn't an unusual showing, we probably had a good fight every couple of days. This was a little more intense because there were a few friends watching. There wasn't a lot of cheering or people trying to get us to fight, it was just my brother and I doing what came natural to us. I felt a little more pressure than usual because there were a number of older kids watching and I wanted to do a little better that I normally did. As my brother and I circled, I made the executive decision to not take the famous uppercut gut shot that I seemed to always step in to. It was a tool of evil that my brother always new how to throw just at the right time, always landing in the right place, sending all of the air out of my lungs paired with a deep uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, that seemed to last forever. I decided that I needed to pull out a tool that I had never previously used, the F word. I positioned myself correctly dropped my hands, looked my brother in the eye and said it. I won't go into details on how I used it, just that I did. I didn't say it more than once, I didn't need to. As I said it, I watched my brothers hands drop, his face go pale, his lip quiver slightly, and, for a brief moment that vacant lot went silent. The fight was over, and I had won, or at least I thought I had won. That was when I realized that my brother had even better ammo, he looked at me and pulled what I thought was an even cheaper shot that what I had thrown. He looked at me and said: "I'm telling mom". Not in a whiny tattletale sort of way, just a quiet, slow, you don't know what kind of trouble you are in sort of way. He turned around, got on his bike and rode for home. I stayed that evening a little later in that vacant lot, pondering what had happened, and wondering what I had in store. I wondered what would happen to me that night, would it be the running butt kick from my Dad, the soap from my Mom, or the Bedroom grounding? I just didn't know what I had coming. I had never crossed into this territory. I was in uncharted waters. All three punishments were equal in magnitude. The Running butt kick usually consisted of me running away from my dad, and him always catching up with a good kick in the butt. It didn't hurt the butt as bad as it hurt the feelings, the "washing the mouth out with soap" usually consisted of my mother taking my toothbrush, wetting it, scrubbing the bar of soap and then scrubbing my tongue for a short period of time. And the bedroom was just simply sitting in my room for the rest of the night. I could have only hoped for such a punishment when I got home.

I arrived home a dinner time, and by the look on my parent faces, I could tell something was definitely up. Nothing was said at first, we blessed the food, and and began to dig in to either deer meet or casserole. I can't quite remember. I looked over at my older brother to kind of read the situation, he looked quite serious, and for a brief moment I thought he hadn't told. Then I got it, the worse punishment, or worse form of punishment that I ever remember getting from my Mom or Dad. My mother looked at me and said:" David, I heard you said the F-word today?" I looked down and said yes, but.. I was cut off to something that I never forgot. "David, I'm really disappointed in you. I always thought you were a nice boy and didn't talk that way. My mother then went into a speech about how a lady a few streets over always complimented her on her boys language. After we sat there for a minute, my dad looked at me and said, "we don't talk that way around here". and that was it. No formal punishment, just me with my thoughts. Something kind of hit me and I thought about it "I always thought you were a nice boy". Was I not a nice boy any more? Did I loose that status? Did the F-word and it's use turn me to the dark side? Was I a stoner now? Did I need to stop by the store and buy a Motely Crue T-shirt and sew hair metal band patches onto my jacket? Should I start smoking? I liked being a nice boy. I wondered if I had given that up by the public F bombing that I had thrown out. I thought about that for the rest of the nights activities. When I would walk past my mom in the house she would give me that sad disappointed look that felt like needles piercing my eyes. I was different now, I had managed to make such a drastic change from light to dark, green light saber to red, through the thoughtless use of a single syllable four letter word. What had I done? I felt horrible. I went into my room and sat down on my bed. I looked out the window as the sun set in the sky. The room was bright as the sun hit the yellow bedspreads draped across the two twin beds in my room. I didn't even want to think about the F-word. Look what I had become. As night fell, my younger brother came into the room, I watched him kneel down to say his prayers. I sat there for a moment and contemplated weather I should even say my prayers. Would they be heard? Now that I was not a nice boy would my prayers stop at the sparkled ceiling of my bedroom? I decided that I would give it one last shot before I gave into that dark side that was slowly trying to overcome me. I slowly slid off the bed and onto my knees. I folded my arms and closed my eyes and began my silent prayer. Heavenly Father, I'm sorry for saying the F-word, I don't want to be bad, please don't be mad at me. I knelt there for a minute and a feeling of peace started to overcome that knot of guilt that had been hurting my insides. I felt better. I didn't feel like a stoner or a bad boy. I felt at peace, I didn't feel like I had set my course for eternal damnation any more. I closed my prayer and climbed into bed. I quickly fell asleep. The next morning I woke up to my mother making breakfast. I walked into the kitchen, my mother said "good morning Dave" with a smile, and kissed me on the forehead. I felt good, I knew that God had forgiven me and my mother had forgiven me. I realised that, just as my Mother would always love me, there is a Father in Heaven that will always love me.
I think I learned at a young age, that regardless of what we do, weather they be big mistakes or little mistakes or a whole bunch of little and big mistakes mixed together. At the end of the day we don't have to be that bad person that Satan tries to make us feel that we are pre-destined to be. It doesn't matter if we have days or years worth of mistakes. There is always a way out, and there are always arms open waiting to take us back.
I learned a better F-Word. Forgiveness

Blog

So yesterday was the last day on my bridge. I am back in the office again today and decided that I would blog a little. I don't know what to blog about. Ive never written a tag and so I would like to tag anyone who reads my blog, if there is anyone left that reads my blog. My questions.

1. If you were trapped on a desert island who wouldn't you want to be there with?
2. For 100 million dollars would you cut off the first inch of your pinky finger?
3. Who do you find more attractive yourself or Bill Clinton?
4. What would you rather clean up poop or puke?
5. On a scale of 1-10 how would you rate your intellect against your friends?
6. If you had to choose one food to survive on for the rest of your life and only had the choice between mayonaise, catsup, horsey sause, or fat free Italian dressing what would it be?
7. If you had a free pass that let you commit any sin without having to pay for it what would you do?
8. If you had a billion dollars given to you what would be the first thing you would buy?
9. If the best plastic surgury clinic in the world told you they would fix any part of yourself for free what would you have done?
10. If you were given a choice to start your freshman year of high school knowing what you know now, having the mentality you have now transporting back into time into the old body you had with your adult brain, would you do it?
11. If yes to #10, do you thing you would be a better person reliving your life knowing the consequences, or would you be a worse person having a much more powerful brain?
If no to #10 why no?
12. Name one person that you would never eat dinner with, even if you were paid 300 dollars to do it?
13. Have you picked your nose within the last 7 days?
14. How many questions on my tag have you not been 100% honest to?

I guess it is only fair if I write a tag that I answer my own questions. So..

1. If you were trapped on a desert island who wouldn't you want to be there with? Rev. Jesse Jackson
2. For 200 million dollars would you cut off the first inch of your pinky finger? This took some thought for me, Yes.
3. Who do you find more attractive yourself or Bill Clinton? Myself
4. What would you rather clean up poop or puke? poop
5. On a scale of 1-10 (ten being highest) how would you rate your intellect against your friends? 2
6. If you had to choose one food to survive on for the rest of your life and only had the choice between mayonaise, catsup, horsey sause, or fat free Italian dressing what would it be? Fat free Italian Dressing
7. If you had a free pass that let you commit any sin without having to pay for it what would you do? I would Rob a Bank. A big bank.
8. If you had a billion dollars given to you what would be the first thing you would buy? A H4 model of the duramax diesel.
9. If the best plastic surgury clinic in the world told you they would fix any part of yourself for free what would you have done? I would fix my Cut off Pinky finger from question #2
10. If you were given a choice to start your freshman year of high school knowing what you know now, having the mentality you have now transporting back into time into the old body you had with your adult brain, would you do it? No.
11. If yes to #10, do you thing you would be a better person reliving your life knowing the consequences, or would you be a worse person having a much more powerful brain?
If no to #10 why no? I couldn't wait that long to see my little boy and wife, plus it wouldnt be worth the risk of that not happening.
12. Name one person that you would never eat dinner with, even if you were paid 300 dollars to do it? Rosie O'donnell
13. Have you picked your nose within the last 7 days? Yes.
14. How many questions on my tag have you not been 100% honest to?1

I tag everyone, you know who you are. If you do not have a blog answer in my comments.

Big Jake

I just wanted to give a big shoutout to my little bro Gregg and his wife Lisa, a big congrats on the new baby, Jake. Thats a good looking little man.

3 years

Well, I guess I will continue on with my story. 3 years ago today, I woke up around 6:00 am. The sound of an alarm clock buzzing in my head. I sat up in that dingy, dive of a motel room and reflected on the last nights dreams. I had crazy dreams through the night, dreams of Wyoming, dreams of my wife living in Wyoming. I guess they were the type of dreams that you wake up and it takes a while to figure out if they were a dream or not. The kind of dream that sticks with you for the rest of the day.

As I shook it off I climbed out of my sleeping bag and plopped on to the floor again for another prayer. I don't think it was a regular prayer, not my usual, "help me have a good day" la da da da da, but It had a little more meaning to it, in fact it carried more pleading, more pleases, more thank yous, and more help me I don't know what I am doings , in fact there were a whole lot of help me I don't know what I am doings.

I wasn't to meet my boss's son until 8:00 AM, so I had plenty of time to get ready, plus the office was about 2 minutes away from the Western Motel. The sick feeling looming about four inches behind my naval had fled through the middle of the night but started slowly creeping its way back with every click of the clock. I jumped into the shower, nearly slipping on the mildewy tile, took a quick navy shower and got dressed. I had some clothes set aside, new clothes a yellow plaid button up shirt and a pair of new pants. I thought it would be important to make a good 1st impression with nice new clothes. The funny thing about that shirt, is that day was probably the only time I ever wore that shirt. It still sits in my closet having one wash and as new as it was three years ago. I don't know why but the sick feeling of that day comes back every time I look at that shirt.


After getting ready, watching a little TV, kneeling down for three or four more prayers, I loaded my crates back into the back of my truck, and headed for a gas station. It struck me as I pulled into the gas station that the parking lot was not paved. I know that is something little but that was a type of catalyst to that sick feeling that I was feeling, and that doubt and fear that was taking everything that I possibly had to not succumb to.


After filling up with gas, I drove to my new home office. I was a little early and after about five minutes Will (my bosses son) pulled up in a nice Duramax Diesel. Will was about 6'-1" a lean 200 lbs, he looked normal, I noticed his lower lip protruded a little more from a morning dip of Copenhagen satisfaction. I climbed out of my truck and walked to the front door of the office as he unlocked it. He said, You Dave? I mustered up a pretty good smile, stuck my hand out and said "I sure am, you must be Will, nice to meet you"), (hell, I think I'd make a good politician sick feeling or not). We walked into the office, the building was large, which pleased me. The first think that I notice was the cigarette smell as I walked into the office, it was quite imposing, and coming from Utah, I just wasn't used to the smell of cigarettes inside a building, as I looked around, I noticed numerous trophy animals on the wall and that pleased me, in fact it pleased me enough to forget about the cigarette smell. We walked back into Will's office and another thing that pleased me was the equipment. Everything was the best, the best computers, the best printers. I noticed that Will had a box with a new pair of Danner hunting boots on the couch of his office. That kind of made me feel a little better. I don't know why, I guess I am a little weird. After about an hour of talking and meeting people in the office, I said my goodbyes, left the office and climbed back into my truck. I have to admit that I was getting pretty excited to see Sheridan, I had only heard good things about the place and needed to see for myself. What if it was like Green River??? What if? The sick feeling made itself aware again.

As my red Chevrolet pickup pulled back onto I-80, I took in the sights and thought, it could only get better from here. After about 30 minutes on I-80, I was still saying it could only get better from here.

There is something lonely about the high plains of Wyoming, and if you have never driven between Green River and Rawlins you will probably never know what I mean. About mid-way between Rawlins and Green River I had to take a wizz so I pulled off a ranch exit and pulled under the freeway. As the wind blew and I heard nothing but diesels driving overhead I wondered what kind of desolate hell I was getting myself into. While I was taking a wizz the cold wind and dust hit me and I began to contemplate my sanity. I thought about the good job that I had turned down in Saint George, I thought about my wife at home alone having to live for the next couple of months by herself, I thought of the good times that I would be leaving with my family and my wife's family, I thought about missing the daily stop at my Dad's office after work to just talk. But then I thought about what it would do to me to give up before I even gave it a shot, I thought about telling my wife that I was going to make it in Wyoming and going back on that and what that would do to me, and I thought about the new Duramax Diesel and Four Wheeler waiting for me at my new job, I thought about the answered prayers and what God wanted me to do, and the money, yes the sweet money.

I jumped back into my truck and began to drive. After about 30 more minutes of Hell, I called my wife. She asked how it was going? I said, I don't know, I just don't know. She asked if it was pretty, I said well not really, pretty close to hell. We hung up. I looked north-east, no mountains for a million miles. I couldn't see mountains anywhere, just sage brush and wind.

Rawlins. After what seemed like forever, I had reached Rawlins. Rawlins was the point on the map that stopped my eastern route and took me north. I wasn't impressed with Rawlins. Rawlins was the dumpiest town that I had ever been in. I stopped at a Loaf and Jug, but didn't feel much like anything. So I headed north. The drive between Rawlins and Casper didn't seem to get any better in fact as I drove past the Martins Cove area my moral hit an all time low. In fact, I don't know of a time in my life that it had ever been that low. I began to think about the pioneers. I thought about the pioneers leaving there homes, and I wondered if when they hit the Martins Cove area if they about lost it. I realised that it was faith that brought them to that point, and it was a something of a spiritual experience as my path crossed the path that I had envisioned they had made. I realised that I was a pioneer in my own sense and also realised the faith that the earlier pioneers had, made mine seem bleak in comparison. There they were burying their children in frozen graves and still pushing on, on the other hand there I was driving 75 mph down the highway about to give up because I was homesick. I had a couple of realizations in about a five mile stretch that I will never be able to forget.
One realization that I will never forget was how important it is to understand God's will before you make a decision because God sees the whole picture. I think it is easy sometimes to want something so bad that we do not allow God's will to play into the picture. I knew that before even praying about the Wyoming move that I really wanted to live in Wyoming. I had to do a little praying around Martins Cove to check myself, because I no longer wanted to live in Wyoming. I was really ready to accept God's will. To my relief I had gotten another answer that, yes I needed to be making this move.
As I drove away from Martin's Cove, I sang Come Come Ye Saints. The song would never be the same to me again.
Casper. Beautiful Casper. As I pulled into Casper, the wind about blew me off the road. I pulled into another Loaf and Jug to get gas. I called my wife and told her about beautiful Casper. It had mountains, it had wind, it was cold, and frankly wasn't the beautiful Wyoming that I had envisioned. I walked into the gas station to use the bathroom, the lady at the counter pointed to the out of service sign on the bathroom door and directed me to the port-o-potty out side. As I sat in that port-o-potty and as the wind nearly blew me over, the thought came to me. I am only 2 hours away from Sheridan, there is no possible way that in just 2 short hours that the landscape would be able to make the transition to the paradise that I had imagined. I thought maybe God wants me out here because that's what I deserve, I mean shoot, I ain't that good of kid. I left the poly-john wondering.
I jumped back into my truck and headed for Sheridan. As I passed Kaycee Wyoming the home of Chris Ledoux, I wasn't overly impressed. I said to myself "that Chris Ledoux is full of sh%#." and "Sweet Wyoming Home my @ss!" How could I have been so mis-led by his songs of Big Wonderful Wyoming? I didn't stop.
Hmmmmmmm. Okay, I thought to myself after about ten more miles. Maybe this isn't too bad. As I reached the town of Buffalo, a calmness settled into my soul. I apologised silently to Chris Ledoux for all of the bad things that I had said. Buffalo was absolutely beautiful. How could this have happened? No wind, What? I had to stop. I saw a gas station, so I pulled off. The gas station was named the G-spot. I giggled to myself... G-spot heh heh heh, your telling me. I talked to the fat kid at the counter about Sheridan as he rang up my soda pop. I asked him if Sheridan was as nice as Buffalo, he said yeah, we just have more white trash in Buffalo. I laughed, thanked him and got back into my truck and headed north for the last 30 minutes of my trip. That 30 minutes was the most stress relieving trip of my life. I looked at ranches and houses, and imagined places that I would live. It was beautiful. In fact, I did not remember ever being in such beautiful country.
Sheridan. As I pulled into Sheridan, I felt good. I said a quick prayer and thanked God for his mercy and love. I told God that I loved him and that I would make it right with him for hooking me up. I called my wife and told her I was there. I told her: "Cindy, you can't believe how lucky we are!" I hung up. I was here. I called the guy I was supposed to meet, we met and I made it. I would make it my Sweet Wyoming home.

I wrote about this, not to bore the world with my whining and stories but, I guess it was the most pivotal thing I had ever done.
I have had a good life as an adult. I mean I went on a mission away from home when I was 19 for two years, I got married, my wife and I lived on our own, we put ourselves through school without scholarships, we have never taken a dime from our parents, We both earned college degrees. We made it on our own without trust funds or inheritances. We did everything on what we learned from our parents and faith in God.
I did a lot of things as an adult, but moving to Wyoming with nothing but faith in an answered prayer made me a man. I guess that's why I wrote about it.

3 Years

Three years ago today, with a wild excitement and a hint of fear, I packed 4 large grey crates full of books, clothes, a sleeping bag, and a couple of guns into the back of my Red Chevy pickup, wiped the tears off my wife's cheek, kissed her, told her I loved her, smiled and said, I'm off to make it in Wyoming. I climbed into my truck and started to drive. After a month of deep prayers, and reasoning, and revelation. I was off to where I thought God wanted me to be. It was Sunday and I listened to conference as I drove up I-15, hoping to get a little more revelation to help me on my journey. I was comfortable, and I felt good. I think that I had been dreaming of living in Wyoming since I was a kid, having only been there a couple of times, there was something about it that made me want it.
As I hit Provo I found myself in a traffic jam, thinking to myself, man I am sure glad to not be settling into Provo. As I ventured further looking for the belt route that led me to Wyoming, I saw a large maroon pickup with Wyoming plates and a bumper sticker that said ONE WOLF WILL KILL 300 Elk IN 1 YEAR! or something like that. I knew what truck to follow. I followed the truck through the belt route, up over Parley's Summit, Through Park City, and into Wyoming. I stopped at the welcome to Wyoming sign and took a picture to send home to my wife, (of whom I was already missing terribly). I lost my conference signal as I drove past Evanston East on I-80 and the silence came.

Silence. Wyoming Silence, High Plains Cold Windy Silence. As I drove across the high plains of I-80 through Southern Wyoming, my excitement kind of went to the back of my mind. I was in country that I had never been before, and I think a little fear came to the front of my mind as if to say, you dummy, what are you doing? What if Sheridan looks like Southern Wyoming? What if? What if? What if????????

A lot a questions, a lot of doubt, and fear seemed to be exponentially creeping up on me. The only thing that would slow the fear was prayer. I prayed in that old red truck, I prayed hard, I prayed out loud. I talked to the Big man like he was there with me. (looking back, I really think he was there with me.) My destination was Green River, Wyoming. I would stay the night there, meet my Bosses son at the home office the next morning, and head to Sheridan. It was a good halfway mark. As I pulled into Green River, I've got to say I was a little disappointed. I drove through town saying more than five times under my breath, what a dump. I drove around searching for a Motel that I could back my truck to the door, pull my crates in for the night and sleep. I found a place called the Western Motel. Not to be confused with the Best Western. You all know Motel Six, this was about a Motel 2. I went to the front desk, asked him the rates, (not hourly), and got a room. I backed up my pickup to the door and unloaded my crates. The room was a non-smoking room but it was a hard sell by the evident cigarette burns. The burns were so frequent I almost thought that they were part of the decorations. There was even a cigarette burn through the television. But hey for 30 Bucks a night, that wasn't too bad.

I wasn't hungry and I thought that if I ate I would be able to rid my stomach of the sick feeling that was beginning to collect about 4 inches behind my naval. So I drove to Hardees and bought some double Angus burger meal. It was starting to get dark so I grabbed my food and drove back to my Motel. I walked into my room ate a couple of bites. I wasn't hungry so I set my burger down on the lamp table and grabbed a phonebook. I had the Idea to call my bosses kid, perhaps he'll be friendly and possibly make me feel better about all of this.

I called him, and after a brief discussion hung up discouraged even more. The sick feeling starting to set a little deeper. I had another thought. I'll call the guy that recruited me he could make me feel good again. So I called him. I think the first think I said was I talked to Will and I am wondering if you are screwing me, Bro, you ain't screwing me are you? He assured me that I was hooked up better than I could imagine. I hung up, feeling a little better. I called my wife talked for a minute. Talking to her made me homesick for her, she was positive, and there was something comforting and motivating in her voice. I got off the phone, and wishing that it was my own bed that I was climbing into. went to the bed, knelt down on a cigarette burnt carpet and prayed for a good hour. After I was done, I got up, felt a little better, pulled down the covers to the bed to climb in, only to find that the sheets had holes in them down to the yellow stained mattress. I pulled the covers back up, opened my crate with my sleeping bag, rolled it out and laid down. After about 30 seconds of laying the sick lonely feeling came back. I climbed out of my sleeping bag and knelt down on the burnt carpet again, asking for help, asking for courage, and a good night's sleep. I climbed back into bed and very quickly fell asleep.

To be continued tomorrow...

Back on the Bridge

As you can tell, my blog is back to suffering. I think I blogged pretty good for a couple of days and now I am back trying to finish up my bridge. I only have a couple of weeks left on that dog of a bridge. Sorry for the inconvenience. I will be back to dumbing up cyberspace before we know it.

Dummy.

In the office complex that I work, just outside of my office, sits a table. This table is large and usually people put plans, snacks ,or what ever on it. Monte, the guy in the office to the east of me walks by and asked me if I like nerds (the candy). I said yeah they are all right. Well Monte drops about 10 boxes of nerds on the table outside of my office for the rest of the office to eat. I grab a box, and Hanns the guy in the office to the West comes out of his office and grabs a box of nerds. After a few minutes Hanns comes into my office and asked if I thought a person could eat four boxes of nerds in one minute. I studied a box and told him that I thought that a person could. Hanns then proceeded to place a bet. He bet me a dollar that I couldn't eat 4 boxes of nerds in one minute. I thought about it for a minute and started wondering if it was possible. I wondered if I could be that man that could defy all laws of eating and do it, and me, being the kind of person that doesn't take a challenge lightly decided that I would take the bet. I opened the boxes, set them on my desk and began, box after box chewing and crunching fruit punch valentine nerds. Swallowing gulp after gulp of sour flavored sugar until all four boxes were gone. As I finished I knew that I did it. I asked Hanns the time. It took me one minute and five seconds. I lost the bet. So not only am I a dollar poorer, I am sick as a dog and I think I have diabetes now.
Dummy.

The Rest of 100 things about me.

76. I believe that there should be a weight limit on any belly button piercing and if that weight limit is exceeded, a minimum of 3 layers of long shirts should be worn.
77. I think that if your mid-drift is showing it must not protrude over the top of your belt buckle thus hiding the belt buckle. Unless you are a redneck and work in a scrap yard. Then it is allowable.
78. In High School, White Trash Jeff Orton took me for a ride in his sweet 88 Camaro. The car's body was beat up but he had just dropped a new 350 engine into it. We were driving down mainstreet listening to AC/DC while his dirty blond mullet flapped in the breeze. While he was chugging an Old Milwaukee he accidently ran a stop light. On the other side of the stoplight was a cop. The lights flipped on, and trying to impress me with his new engine, Orton gunned it, we turned down a side street and headed for the Indian village to hide out. Orton cop-slid around corners like it was the Dukes of Hazzard. He found a parking spot between a couple of other cars shut the lights off and tossed his beer. About 20 seconds later the cop car came zooming by. I was so relieved to have gotten away. I wasn't that scared of getting caught, I just didn't want to have to share a jail cell with Orton.
79. My senior year in High School I was walking down the hall next to my science teacher. He pulled the hat off my head and reactively (it was wrestling season) I put him into a headlock and began to give him a noogie. After I let him go, I realized that Science teachers do not like to be put into headlocks and noogied.
80. I love to get coal at the coal yard. Because it gives me other white trash to socialize with.
81. I love to cut wood.
82. I love lighters.
83. I am a pyro. I love to play with fire of any kind.
84. In college, one day my dog jumped out of the back of my truck and bit a kid. It wasn't an angry bite, just a playful fetch the kid bite. I was sick about it. I walked the kid home, and waited for his parents to come home wondering what kind of lawsuit I was about to get into. When his dad got home I was relieved when the kid's stoner dad gave him five for getting his first dog bite. The guy asked me to bring my dog over the next day so his kid could play with it so he wouldnt be scared of dogs. I took the dog over and in the 45 minutes that I was there he drank a 12 pack of beer. I became his new best buddy. He invited me and the dog in the house to look at his gun collection. While we were looking at his guns I noticed that my dog was peeing into his closet. I didn't say any thing because I didn't want to ruin our new friendship.
85. At the age of 12 on the way to a scout hike, I sat in the back of my scout leaders station wagon that had in-operable windows. I got car sick really easy back then and the Zion trip just wasn't doing it for me. As I realized that I was about to call Ralph. I told my scout leader that I had to puke. He said are you sure? I said yes I am sure. He asked if I was sure again, I said yes again. He asked if I was sure again and I blew chunks all over his car and on him. I think that was enough to convince him that I had to puke.
86. When I worked with my younger brother Gregg as a telemarketer, we were sitting next to this kid name Andrew. He was a Dungeons and Dragons dungeon master. Just messing with him we told him that Gregg was adopted and when I went with my parents to the orphanage to pick Gregg up, my parents told me that they would never love Gregg as much as they loved me. Gregg acted sad as I relayed the story to the dungeon master. The dungeon master rebuked me for my unkindness nearly casting an evil spell of warts upon my body. That day I realized that even dungeon masters have hearts.
87. One time my friend Todd and I started a heavy metal band called KRANK. We were pretty Hard Core. I wrote the Lyrics and Sang While Todd put the tunes to the Lyrics on the Guitar. We were kind of like a mix between AC/DC and Cinderella. We had a drummer that was supposed to be pretty bad A on the drums named Brent but he didn't have any drums. And when It came time for me to buy a microphone, I just didn't think that I was ready for that kind of committment. So we broke up.
88. One time I went to a Poison/Cinderella/Dokken/Slaughter concert at the Joint at the Hard Rock Hotel in Vegas with my wife and Mark Slaughter came out into the crowd and gave me five and I was like "you rock Mark Slaughter!" and he gave me a look like "yeah I know I rock, I'm Mark Slaughter."
89. One time I went to a Poison/Ratt/Great White/LA Guns concert in Salt Lake. LA Guns opened and they were all wasted and everybody started booing and I was booing until The lead singer held up a bottle of booze and then every one started cheering for the bottle of booze. That is every one but me. I'm a Mormon, I don't cheer for Alcohol.
90. One day at work I was out in the field working near an electric fence. It kept calling to me to mess with it. I inched closer and closer. I decided that if the fence didn't kill the horses that it housed, it wouldnt kill me so I touched it. It zapped me a little but not bad. Then I realize that my boots were preventing the power from grounding so I held on to the ground rod and then touched the wire. It shocked the hell out of me. I felt my heart almost explode. I sat there for a minute and realized how stupid that I really was for doing that.
91. On my High School Senior Trip at Universal Studios there were a couple of old Iranian guys that got into a fight. They were yelling at each other, We didn't know what they were saying but we could tell that they were mad and instead of hitting each other they would slap themselves, and the madder they got, the harder they would hit themselves. My friends and I kept yelling to them to stop hitting themselves and hit the other but I guess they didn't understand what we were saying because they just kept hitting themselves. When it was all over it was really difficult to tell who won the fight.
92. In Brookhaven Miss. there was a guy from India that owned a gas station. The gas station doubled as a greasy spoon. The guy from India made some of the best hamburgers. We were talking to him one day and he said that he didn't eat beef because Cows were sacred and like Gods in their culture. I thought it was a little odd that he cooked up such a mean burger.
93. I have a Black Lab Named Angus.
94. My eyes are blue
95. When I was a boy I went fishing with my dad. We weren't catching fish so we had a rock skipping contest, after a minute my dad picked up a rock and bet me that he could skip the rock and it would never sink. I took the bet and he skipped the rock after two skips the rock stopped and floated. I was amazed until I realized that my Dad hustled me and skipped a piece of wood.
96. One year at a Fathers and sons outing my Dad invited a guy Named Hal and his boy to go camping with us. When we got to the camp site the guy was all chipper and singing songs and would get a little hurt when we would kill snakes and cut down trees. I didn't think that Hal was a very good camper. I don't think my dad did either because that was the only time my dad took Hal camping with us.
97. When I was working as a Telemarketer there was a 16 year old out of the closet homo that worked there. One day I was sitting by him and we were talking, I said dude you are too young to be set on being gay you should try dating girls,have you ever dated a girl? He said no, I said, man don't go making your mind up so soon that you are gay until you try dating girls. He quickly came back with well have you ever dated a man? I said hell no, and decided that I didn't want to go any further with that conversation.
98. When I first moved out here to my buddy and I stopped by a landowners house. Rumor had spread that Marathon had hired a Mormon long before I had gotten there. As we drove up to the landowner he yelled to my buddy: Is that one of those multi-wife mother effers. But not so cleaned up. I said, Yea, do you have any daughters? He went quiet looked down at the ground and said, no. We became good friends after that.
99. I love tools. I don't think it is possible for a man to have to many tools.
100. I am very happy to be done with my 100. I didn't realize that I was such a complex man.