tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4625191165990842832024-02-20T07:06:25.098-08:00Waldo's Weird WorldI live a simple life where interesting things happen to me. Interesting being open for interpretation.WaldoGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12059751035163482707noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-462519116599084283.post-30379644699837223992017-10-29T10:19:00.001-07:002017-10-29T10:20:17.732-07:00Sunday talk "The Priesthood"<p dir="ltr">My name is Waldo Gonzalez, I was born in El Paso, Texas. But I was basically raised here in Glendale. I’ve lived roughly in the same neighborhood since I was 11 but I’ve only been in this Stake for about 4 or 5 years. I am 31 years old. And I am a single male that has never been married and aged out of the single’s ward. <br>
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Feel free to judge accordingly. <br>
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For those of you who remember me from when I was a kid, I kept all the good things you remember and the fun ones that were bad. And for those who don’t know me……. I like long walks on the beach and am a sucker for anything remotely funny. <br>
	I served a mission in Mexico City back in 2006. As any ex-missionary can tell you, it was the best two years of my life until I realized that looking back on it like that was unfair to everything that happened afterwards. I got some really good stories I can tell you, but almost none of them relate to what I need to talk to you today. <br>
	Two weeks ago, a member of the bishopric came up to me and asked me to talk about the priesthood. I asked him if he had anything particular he wanted me to talk about, but he said, “no, just make it about the priesthood”. And so with the very broad subject of “the priesthood”, I’m going to give a 10 minute rundown. <br>
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To begin with, what is the priesthood? We learn from scriptures that the priesthood is the power and authority of God by which he created and governs all creation. <br>
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What does that mean to us? He has bestowed this power to us so that we can aid in the salvation of our fellow brothers and sisters. <br>
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What can we expect out of it? Although it can be used to perform miracles where extreme circumstances required a direct action from our Heavenly Father, we are taught to use it for comparatively more mundane acts, but much add up to be more significant portions of our lives. We are taught that we are to use to govern our homes in righteousness, to bless the sick and the afflicted, and to guide back those who are lost. It is used to seal families together for all time and eternity and to baptize those who begin their spiritual journey back to celestial glory. We are to use to is to bring hope to the hopeless and comfort those who need succor. The priesthood is to be used, above all, for charity. <br>
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Back in my mission, we were given a scripture to memorize every month. Most of these scriptures were 1 to 3 verses long and honestly, I’ve forgotten every single one of them except for one. Moroni 7:40 to 48. <br>
And again, my beloved brethren, I would speak unto you concerning hope. How is it that ye can attain unto faith, save ye shall have hope? <br>
41 And what is it that ye shall hope for? Behold I say unto you that ye shall have hope through the atonement of Christ and the power of his resurrection, to be raised unto life eternal, and this because of your faith in him according to the promise. <br>
42 Wherefore, if a man have faith he must needs have hope; for without faith there cannot be any hope. <br>
43 And again, behold I say unto you that he cannot have faith and hope, save he shall be meek, and lowly of heart. <br>
44 If so, his faith and hope is vain, for none is acceptable before God, save the meek and lowly in heart; and if a man be meek and lowly in heart, and confesses by the power of the Holy Ghost that Jesus is the Christ, he must needs have charity; for if he have not charity he is nothing; wherefore he must needs have charity. <br>
45 And charity suffereth long, and is kind, and envieth not, and is not puffed up, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil, and rejoiceth not in iniquity but rejoiceth in the truth, beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. <br>
46 Wherefore, my beloved brethren, if ye have not charity, ye are nothing, for charity never faileth. Wherefore, cleave unto charity, which is the greatest of all, for all things must fail— <br>
47 But charity is the pure love of Christ, and it endureth forever; and whoso is found possessed of it at the last day, it shall be well with him. <br>
48 Wherefore, my beloved brethren, pray unto the Father with all the energy of heart, that ye may be filled with this love, which he hath bestowed upon all who are true followers of his Son, Jesus Christ; that ye may become the sons of God; that when he shall appear we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is; that we may have this hope; that we may be purified even as he is pure. Amen. <br>
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There’s a church by my house that for the longest time has had on its sign, “It isn’t what you do, but why you do it”. And ever since I saw it, it’s bugged me. Until one day I had a eureka moment. What bothered me about it is that it isn’t “It isn’t what you do, but why you do it”, but rather “What you do is as important as to WHY you do it.” <br>
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Brothers and sisters, the priesthood was restored to this earth 1829 in this dispensation so that we can do God’s will. The priesthood is meant to be used in our daily lives in righteousness and with charity. <br>
We are to strive higher and higher, grace by grace until we become like unto Nephi in the book of Helaman. <br>
5 And now, because thou hast done this with such unwearyingness, behold, I will bless thee forever; and I will make thee mighty in word and in deed, in faith and in works; yea, even that all things shall be done unto thee according to thy word, for thou shalt not ask that which is contrary to my will. <br>
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Testimony</p>
WaldoGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12059751035163482707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-462519116599084283.post-12753486939248012292017-06-29T22:34:00.003-07:002017-06-29T22:45:44.027-07:00Focus and look straight forwardDuring the olden days of two thousand double-aught seven, I was a missionary in the ward of Lomas Lindas down in México. This was in the heart of México City and my companion was Elder Rodriguez. He was from some island in northern Veracruz or something. Anyways, this guy sold himself as being hard. He kept telling me about how he was all 'hood and his exploits on how he did everything his way. He was my junior companion.<br />
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Anyways, this one time we have to do splits with our zone leaders. We agree on a place and time where we're going to meet up. And it all went downhill from there.</div>
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On that day, we arrive on where we're supposed to be, when we're supposed to and, the other Elders are late. This was back in 2007 and the only people who had cell phones were the zone leaders. We only had a prepaid phone card.<br />
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After a while we decide to call them, and they were stuck in traffic. Specifically, they were stuck behind a pilgrimage for La Virgen de Guadalupe and those guys were using the entire road. They were going to take maybe another hour and we had to wait for them. And we were to wait for them by a pedestrian bridge.</div>
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My companion, who legitimately thought he was an OG, decides that the best way to pass the time is to literally stare ahead. At what, who knows? And me, well, I had an hour to kill. My mind wandered.</div>
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A couple minutes go by, and this cop looking guy starts walking up to us. While he's getting closer we realize that he's yelling. And he's saying that he caught us looking up girls' skirts on the pedestrian bridge. And that's when my heart sank.<br />
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Then it jumped right back to where it was supposed to be because he's yelling at my companion! He's yelling at Mr. Mugshot for supposedly trying to be a pervert. Elder Felipe and I look at each other because we both know it was me who would've been the sketchy one of the two. I'm the one trying to see if my neck can turn around like an owl. We find out this guy is a private security guard, and he's trying to tell us that we're breaking municipal code such and such and we should follow him over to the "station". It was his car over in the parking lot.<br />
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It became clear pretty fast that this aspiring mall cop is just looking for a bribe, and so we start arguing with the one-shirt-size-too-small rent-a-cop. But then he calls the real cops on us. We sneak a call to the zone leaders and they're telling us, "don't pay anyone, we'll be there eventually". The situation is slowly escalating to the point that I know I'll have to call my Mission President and explain to him why my companion is in jail.<br />
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Fortunately, a member from the ward pulls up in the nick of time and starts berating the fake flatfoot with, "I'm a lawyer and I know these two and you will be fired from your job!" All of it lies. He had been to church maybe twice since I'd been there.<br />
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In the end, the sticky gumshoe gave up just as our zone leaders show up.</div>
WaldoGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12059751035163482707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-462519116599084283.post-61918186009992345082016-10-07T18:20:00.000-07:002016-10-07T18:20:30.036-07:00Day trippin' in Nogales, MéxicoLast Saturday, I went on a fairly quick day trip with my parents and one of my aunts to Nogales. We had a really good time! We took off early in the morning in my truck because it's comfortable for long trips and they were paying for gas. There's only one drawback. IT'S HUGE. Roads down there are wide enough for 2 parking lanes and 3 driving lanes in a 3 lane, US sized road.<br />
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Squeezing my 7 ft wide (with mirrors sticking out), 20 ft long truck into some of those parking spots made me wish I had a Toyota or something. Thankfully, for the most of the day, that was the only problem we had. We did some shopping, enjoyed some delicious food, and took in the sights and sounds. All the while I daydreamed about buying a cargo tricycle.</div>
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Anyways, the afternoon sun is starting to go down and my mom and aunt only have to go to one more store. I park the truck one street away from the main avenue and hang out with my understandably tired dad. We grab some chairs (my mom plans ahead) from the back of the truck and we chill in the shade.</div>
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I immediately realize something's off. This store where I had innocently parked in front of has these two people with walkies-talkies. Cars are driving up kinda slow to the store, one by one most of the time, where one of the attendants walks up for maybe a minute, goes inside, hand something to the driver and then the cars drive away. I quickly realized what's going on and decide that ignorance is the best option.</div>
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My dad.... was not so fast on the trigger. After reading his newspaper, my dad looks to me and not using his inside voice asks, "Hijo, why are all these cars driving by?" I try to scream at him with my eyes and tell him, "Don't ask, you'll be happier not knowing."</div>
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A couple more minutes go by and my dad asks me again in the same voice, "Hijo, why are those shoes hanging off the electrical wire?" I deduce that subtlety is not strong enough and quietly and lovingly tell him, "That store is selling drugs, don't say anything or we might get in trouble"</div>
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Have I said yet that before he asked me any of this, one of the cars had already stopped in front of us and had decided to ride the magic mountain? After maybe half an hour, I'm already getting antsy wondering what's taking my mom so long when a paletero walks down the street and tries to sell us some popsicles. We buy some, and then the guy notices what's going on too and he starts COMPLAINING about Mexico's drug problem at <b>full blast</b>!</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Mexico is corrupt! Look at these drugs! Why can't they sell this crap away from the children?! What a waste! Drugs are the worst!</span></b></div>
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On and on he went while I started to wonder if I was going to die within half a mile of the border (also Scott, this was about when you called me).<b> </b>It was during this that my mom and my aunt showed up. My aunt immediately figured out what was going on and knew the procedure. Meanwhile, my mom is listening to this guy talk about how drugs are ruining the country's young, beautiful women. (also, mom, she was right behind me, I couldn't help but look when he pointed her out).</div>
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FINALLY, mom gets the hint and starts freaking out. "How could I subject my son to this?!", she asked, not realizing I'm 30 and have already been to shady places. She shoves us into the truck and keeps talking about how embarrassed she feels for having done that me. Meanwhile, I had already been there for over an hour and was positive that some of the clients thought my dad and I worked there.</div>
WaldoGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12059751035163482707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-462519116599084283.post-41253953195415667732016-01-03T17:57:00.002-08:002016-01-03T17:57:35.154-08:00Why I believe in God<div dir="ltr">
Back in September, I gave a talk in Church. And some members told me they liked it. So, in following in the proud tradition of posting my talks, here are the notes that I used that day.</div>
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Who is God?<br />
- He is my Heavenly Father<br />
o I am His child<br />
- He’s not incomprehensible<br />
o We can come to know and understand Him.<br />
o He’s willing to teach us, if we’ll listen<br />
§ Exodus 4:12 Now therefore go, and I will be with thy mouth, and teach thee what thou shalt say.<br />
o Just because we don’t understand now, doesn’t mean we won’t.<br />
- He is a perfect being<br />
o He knows a lot more about a lot more things than I do<br />
o He has given us our agency<br />
o He has perfect plan<br />
o D&C 101: 16<br />
§ … for all flesh is in mine hands; be still and know that I am God.<br />
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Before I get too far ahead. It’s nigh near impossible to talk about God without mentioning faith. So this is my take on it:<br />
- It’s ok to doubt every once in awhile. We ARE human and we don’t have a perfect knowledge about just about anything. Many things happen to us that cause us to pause in life and wonder about things. It can be little things or big things, things that someone might say or do.<br />
- It all depends on what we do with it. Do we use it as an opportunity to learn something new or shrink from it? More often than not, we come out a little stronger for it. We’ve all probably have gone through it once or twice before. None of us is perfect. And we as imperfect beings tend to have a short memory.<br />
- So here’s my advice; remember. Remember the times you have already overcome another doubt. Remember the times you have received a promise and its reward. Remember the things your faith has already got you through and trust in yourself, and your faith that it’ll carry you through this time. God is there, He knows us by name, and He is waiting for us.<br />
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What is His purpose for us?<br />
- According to His plan, we’re to come to this earth to learn, be tested and find joy.<br />
o Sometimes it feels like we got stuck on “be tested”. We’ll sometimes feel like all we do is seem to be stuck in sorrow, a trial, a tribulation, a doubt or a pain. And we’ll cry out<br />
o D&C 121:1, 7-9<br />
§ O God, where art thou? And where is the pavilion that covereth thy hiding place?<br />
- I believe this is normal for us mortals. Again, because we’re mortal and have a short memory. We tend to look on these things, which can truly be big deals, as the end, or even worse, the beginning of a horrible time in our lives. Prophets and other people with great faith have wondered the same thing! But, it all depends on what we do with this hardship. I believe in a God of mercy, compassion, and who knows each and every one of us. A God that can see the possibilities of our lives and who genuinely wants us to succeed. I believe in a God that has an eternal perspective on our daily and long term troubles and knows that these things too, shall pass.<br />
§ My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment;… And then, if thou endure it well, God shall exalt thee on high; thou shalt triumph over all thy foes. Thy friends do stand by thee, and they shall hail thee again with warm hearts and friendly hands.</div>
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And armed with this knowledge, I know there to be a God.</div>
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How did I come to believe in God?<br />
At first it was because my parents told me so.<br />
- I, having been born of goodly parents.<br />
And then it was because I believed it too.<br />
- How I came about to wanting to go on a mission<br />
- Stopped from getting a certain electrician job<br />
o Coworkers who were good influences<br />
Finally, I knew it for myself.<br />
- Read book of Mormon<br />
- Saw changes in people’s faces<br />
- I've gotten to know my Heavenly Father in a way that I know that he expects so much of us. He expects what, by ourselves, is impossible. We are such fragile creatures. And through it all, our doubts, our trials, and our many opportunities to fail, He will be there to love, encourage and help us.</div>
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Why<br />
(Testimony)</div>
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Moses 1:39<br />
For behold, this is my work and my glory—to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man.<br />
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WaldoGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12059751035163482707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-462519116599084283.post-25338371841683815462015-11-19T19:43:00.000-08:002015-11-19T19:43:32.018-08:00Alcohol poisoning.During my mission in Mexico, I got to meet a lot of people. I mean, a LOT. Here's a story of one of them, who was drunk. AND. HE. LOVED. TALKING. TO. US.<br />
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The first time I met him, I was brand new to my area and my mission. My companion and I were covering opposite sides of the street looking for doors to knock on when this guy saw me at around 4:00 P.M.(foreshadowing) and immediately wanted to talk to me. After a full afternoon of people shutting their doors on me, this guy seemed awesome!<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">My Spidey-sense had not fully developed yet</span></div>
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I, being a greenie, enthusiastically called out to my companion so he can also meet my brand new friend. My companion was signalling me to walk away. But how could I walk away form this friendly investigator, who undoubtedly is golden?</div>
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Turns out this guy was wasted beyond belief. He was the neighborhood drunk. And he was drunk nearly 24/7. AND he wanted to have a prayer with us...</div>
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Anyway, Drunky, as he was called by us, was convinced that he should be the one praying, as we had no idea what... a drunk guy would pray about. </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Not the same guy</span></div>
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So imagine this in your head, two missionaries and a drunk guy by the
side of a busy road standing in a circle getting ready to pray. Yes, he was screaming at the top of his lungs, and also, when in caps, he was throwing his head back.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Lord!... you have taken, my BROTHEEER!!!!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">today!... is his FUNERAAAALLL!!!!</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">He's being buried.... at THREE!!!!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Isn't it...? </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">why did you... TAKE HIM?!?!?!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">amen.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">We never knew if there really was a funeral because most of the time, he didn't know what day it was and he never mentioned it again the many, many times we saw him afterwards. But, as we walked away that first time, my companion gave me this look of "and now you know".</span></span></div>
WaldoGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12059751035163482707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-462519116599084283.post-129645418282901872015-11-02T21:48:00.002-08:002015-11-02T21:56:54.753-08:00Death Metal SpidersNightmares, by definition, are scary things. They can be brought around by sleep disorders, anxiety or stress. But every once in a while, they can be absolutely hilarious.<br />
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This one time, my roommates and I were all at home. One of them decided to call it an early night because he had started a new job and there was much to get used to there, the other one was in his room studying because everyone needs a hobby and I was in the living room playing some GTA V because... it's a good game. Anyways, it was an incredibly quiet evening, nothing out of the normal.<br />
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Out of nowhere, the sleeping one comes out of his room with bloodshot eyes and YELLING...<br />
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What follows it the conversation we had;<br />
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He comes into the living room and immediately starts asking me, "Did you put that in my room?!"<br />
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I decided that it behooved me that I hit pause.<br />
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I ask him, "Put what in your room?"<br />
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He points at the lit candle in the living room. "Did you put that at the foot of my bed?"<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">To be fair, I'm capable of doing many things, but arson isn't one of them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">"Why would I put a candle on your bed?"</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">"The fire! No, I mean, did you put the spiders on my bed?"</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">"What spiders?"</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">"The metal spiders, did you put the metal spiders at the foot of my bed?" </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">A legitimate fear.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">It is at this point that I realize that this wasn't my fault.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">"No dude, I wouldn't put metal spiders on your bed" - A phrase I never thought I'd say.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">It's a this point that he finally blinks and kinda regains consciousness. He looks at me with newfound realization at what has been said. We look at each other for maybe 10 seconds.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Finally he mutters, "I must be really tired, I'm going back to bed." </span> </span></div>
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WaldoGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12059751035163482707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-462519116599084283.post-16305572697132620322014-08-10T21:41:00.000-07:002014-08-11T03:00:41.623-07:00It's not a tumah!<div dir="ltr">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">There's a song from the 90's called 'Everybody's Free(To Wear Sunscreen)' and there's a part that says, "The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday." I found out this weekend that that is pretty true.</span></div>
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Thursday</h2>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">This last Thursday while driving home from work a little after 5pm, I get a call from my brother asking if I could give him a blessing. He's been ordered to go to the hospital by his doctor. He has to go, right now. He had just had an MRI done and they found a mass in his head.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">You know, nothing prepares you for the absolute flooring that hits you. You almost want time to stop right then and there. You almost step aside from yourself. What kind of mass? What does this mean? This is something that happens to other people. What do you do with something like this? What do you do? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">You want answers, but none are to be had. You want comfort, but you're not the one who needs it the most right now. You want it to go away, but it's all too real. You want light, but a</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">ll you see now is the darkness ahead...</span></div>
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But then I looked around me, and I found that I could see my family. Within two hours, we joined together so we could pray. We were together as one. We had love. We had each other.</div>
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Friday</h2>
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The next day, for me was a mess. I, for some reason, went to work. What else was I going to do all day? I'm miserable, so I might as well be miserable at work! I regretted my decision almost immediately. As the day dragged on, I found myself doing my work, but inside I kept thinking; 'They're doing the surgery today.' I found myself making jokes and laughing, but I wasn't there; 'They're going to be digging into his brain!'</div>
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Soon after work, I found myself at St Joseph's Hospital's waiting room with my sister in law. It was soon about 8:30pm and my brother was in his sixth hour of the operation when the surgeon came out. Everything came and went as best as they could hope for! The tumor was benign and in the best possible place for them to operate. A weight had been lifted off our shoulders!</div>
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We were allowed to wait for him in his room. We couldn't wait to see him! We were tired but now the worst was over. We were going to get him back... alive too!</div>
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<a href="http://youtu.be/QiAonyJIV_A" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Play for full effect</span></a><span style="font-size: xx-small;"></span></div>
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My brother has always had a funny side to him. And he hadn't lost it when he came out of surgery. And as an aside, if you ever get the chance, be with someone when they come out of anesthesia. Within 3 hours, he was wanting to get up and walk around. Within 5, the nurse let him. Within 8 hours, he wanted to eat. And within 12, they were getting ready to let him out of the ICU. We were witnessing a miracle.</div>
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Saturday</h2>
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Originally, they we talking about keeping my brother until at least Tuesday, maybe Thursday. But as Saturday went on, the doctors and staff became more and more confident that it wouldn't be necessary. They were amazed at his progress. Everything that could possibly go right, was.</div>
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Sunday </h2>
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And so, on Sunday afternoon, about 72 hours after he got the news that he had a tumor, my brother got discharged from St Joseph's hospital. Tired, and looking worse for the wear, but he got to go home to his wife and kids. There's a lot more for him to get through before this is over, but we're looking back at this with gratitude in our hearts.</div>
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We were blessed. We were blessed to be sent to one of the best hospitals in the U.S. that specializes in brain surgery, we were blessed to be surrounded by amazing doctors, nurses, staff and friends. We were blessed that the tumor he got was the best possible kind(as far as tumor's go).</div>
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And we are blessed that we have each other.</div>
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WaldoGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12059751035163482707noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-462519116599084283.post-42708745828636411322013-12-17T21:46:00.005-08:002013-12-17T21:46:47.417-08:00I didn't see him!So yesterday my older brother, Wil, came by my house to pick up some stuff he has stored in my shed. This was going to be in the morning while I was at work. Jeremy, one of my roommates, was going to be home to let my brother in. In a <em>normal</em> situation, this shouldn't be that big of a deal... if everyone communicates to each other in a clear manner. <br />
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This was not a normal situation. Remember children; Assumptions suck.<br />
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The following takes place between 8:45 and 10:30 am in Glendale on Dec 16th...<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="http://youtu.be/-8lDYrvTILc" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Play for full effect</a></span></div>
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At about 8:45, Wil texted me asking if the gate was open. What he meant was, "I hath arrived, please allow me entrance to your domicile." <strong>I didn't know I had to read between the lines</strong>. So I text Jeremy to keep his eyes open while my brother gets there. </div>
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Unfortunately, at around 9:30, Jeremy has a doctor's appointment. And he texts me saying, and I quote: "Can you have your bro lock the door when he leaves I didn't see him and I'm late" What <em>he</em> meant was, "I saw your brother earlier this morning and at this particular moment in time, he is not in my field of vision. Please have him secure our habitation when he departs. It behooves me to make haste to the healer's as I am tardy." Again, <strong>I had no idea I had to read between the lines.</strong></div>
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So right now, in my mind, from what I've been told, is that Wil hasn't gotten to my house yet and Jeremy has just taken off. What they <em>assumed</em> is that I know my brother is there and enjoying some pop-tarts.</div>
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So to me, the house is unlocked, the alarm is turned off and the memory of the break-in a couple months back is still fresh in my mind. So I set the alarm remotely from my phone.</div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Not his time, bucko!</span> </div>
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At around 9:55, I get a text from my security company that the alarm has been tripped! So I called my brother immediately, from work, to ask if he was at the house. While I'm calling him, I get a call from the security company. I don't know what to tell them, I'm on the phone with my brother and I don't want to give them guesses so I ignore their call.</div>
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<em>They</em>, therefore, call Jeremy because he's the backup contact but he's ADD'ing at the doctor's office... he doesn't recognize the number and he ignores them too.</div>
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Bad move</div>
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You see, my security company takes non-answers very seriously. If you don't pick up, they assume you're under duress or a hostage. So... they call the cops.</div>
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Picture this: My brother is at my house with a dolly and a bunch of boxes when the cop pulls up with a report of a robbery. Oh, he's suspect number #1. Fortunately, the guy is pretty chill and doesn't shoot my brother. The cop winds up calling me asking me if Wil is supposed to be there and whatnot. I say yes and everything so the cop says he has to confirm that the house is mine by asking me to describe some of my decorations that he chooses.</div>
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I got nervous.</div>
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You see... a while back Jeremy decided to put up a poster of "thou shalt not commit logical fallacies" in the living room. My other roommate, James, in order to keep balance in the force and as a joke, put up a "Don't tread on me" flag on the opposite wall.</div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Hilarious</span></div>
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So the cop asks me, "What flag is hanging on your wall and what does it say?" And I'm thinking, "holy crap, this guys thinks I'm a tea party nut."</div>
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I tell him and he goes, "One final question: on your corner table in the bottom, what do you have there?" And it dawns on me, "oh no, my stormtrooper helmet. He thinks I'm a racist dork! I'm on a list!"</div>
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And that's how I accidently wound up calling the cops on my brother</div>
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...And that's how the cops have shown up to my house twice in 4 months.</div>
WaldoGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12059751035163482707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-462519116599084283.post-66850256603402370552013-11-22T19:12:00.001-08:002013-11-22T19:12:38.669-08:00Paranoia, or; how I learned to pay attention to water leaks.So I've had my house since April and let me tell you, it's been a blast. I feel like I've learned a lot this past 1/2 year, so I figured I'd share some with you.<br />
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First, let's get the obvious out of the way. Pick your roommates wisely...<br />
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... moving on.<br /><br /><br /><br />Second, any delusions of manliness go out the window when shopping for curtains. Seriously, I have never felt so out of place buying curtains. Because, I mean, at some point I'm going to have to impress a lady and I don't want her to freak out because the living room curtains don't match my green love seat and purple couch.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The rug really ties the room together.</span></div>
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Rule number three! The last possible thing you expect to break, will.</div>
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So last Friday as I was getting ready for work, I noticed that the carpet right outside my bathroom was really wet. I paid no mind to it because it was 5:15 in the morning and I had just gotten out of the shower. The next morning as I got ready yet again, I noticed that the really wet carpet was even wetter. When I took a quick look in my bathroom, I thought that the supply line to my toilet broke behind the wall as it looked kinda wet. So I called my insurance and 60 bucks later, boom, leak fixed... it was underneath the sink in the guest bathroom. Turns out all the water went underneath the tile and travelled a good 6 feet to where my feet noticed.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Hooray?</span></div>
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After a good scare about mold from a shady company that wouldn't give me an estimate and that it would, 'work with my insurance'; I realized that dang it! "Me have tools, me fix". So, 3 days later, everything is drying up and the mold still hasn't turned up.</div>
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Is it all your fault? Definitely.</div>
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Is the hassle worth it? MOST definitely. There's something about entering the doors to your own home. That no matter how bad the world outside (or inside) is, you feel a little bit of joy because, in thirty years<span style="font-size: xx-small;">*</span>, the whole thing will be yours.</div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">*Thirty years typical amount of time to pay off the leach that you call a mortgage. If moving, please consult a realtor as it will change the amount to pay, where to pay, and even change leaches. Side effects may include, but not limited to; stress, confusion, stupor, helplessness, blind rage and death. Results may vary.</span></div>
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WaldoGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12059751035163482707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-462519116599084283.post-15136979848584702182013-08-08T21:21:00.002-07:002013-08-08T21:33:10.619-07:00Did you guys take my Xbox?On Tuesday, August 6th 2013, between 10:00am and 2:45pm, a most curious thing happened. An individual, or individuals, decided to invite themselves into my house and peruse the vast catalogue of material goods that three middle-class bachelors could offer. The individual(s) ultimately decided that we were overstocked and decided to help us out by taking some of our inventory...<br />
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Long and short of it, some punk broke into my house in the middle of the day while we were at work and stole about twelve hundred dollars worth of our stuff.<br />
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There's something unique about being robbed; any feeling of normalcy you had up until that point utterly disappears, takes the first flight out of town and leaves you with raw emotions and a brain that's only working part-time.<br />
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<em>These are my thoughts so results may vary. And if you've gone through any of this, this sucks.</em><br />
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So for me, Tuesday already started off pretty sucky. A two man job was dropped down to one, and I basically had to drop whatever I was doing to become the one guy doing it. So once quitting time came around, I was more than happy to go home.<br />
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Here's the funny part of coming home to a robbery, you don't expect it. I came home, went to the kitchen to throw away the junk mail and went to my room. From my point of view, the entire house looked like normal. <em>I thought everything was normal for about an hour</em>. It wasn't until I wanted to play some Call of Duty on my Xbox in the living room that I even noticed anything; and that was mostly because the Xbox wasn't there. And that's where my mind skipped a gear and stalled. And work became a distant, pleasant memory.<br />
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The denial.</h2>
I went back to my room and walked back into the living room. Nope. Xbox still missing. I went to my room and back. Still missing. "Huh, weird. Better check the sofa." - said my mind. Not there either. "Maybe one of my roommates has it... even though none of them have a TV." "Better check", I thought, so I sent them a text. Before any of them answered me I noticed the glass next to the kitchen. "It could've been a bird". I knew at this point that someone had broken in, but I just didn't want to admit it. <em>There's just no way this could happen to me. </em>And then I noticed the unlocked kitchen door that no one uses. And that's when the sinking feeling struck. A coldness washed over me and I knew I couldn't deny it anymore. I had been robbed.<br />
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The haze.</h2>
The next 6 hours became a blur. I called the cops and called my roommates to let them know what happened. But then what? I had to wait. So I called my parents. And at this point, I'm numb. My emotions have collapsed in on themselves, leaving only anger, and my brain is repeating over and over "<strong>THIS DOESN'T MAKE ANY SENSE. Who would come into my house and take my stuff?</strong>" My parents are talking to me, but I can't process their calming words to me. I call my brothers and sisters(most of them, I forgot one), and their words also echoed to me. And at some point during this, the cop shows up and takes a report of what's missing;<br />
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<li>The Xbox</li>
<li>Two of the four controllers</li>
<li>One game (It later increased to three)</li>
<li>One laptop</li>
<li>Two handguns</li>
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And he dusted for prints, which came up empty. And during this, it dawns on me, whoever broke into the house did not move a single thing he didn't need to. And what he did move, he put back in it's place. I feel sick and confused. Why did he put everything back? Why only this stuff? Why not some of the other stuff? Why this house? Why today? Why<strong>? Why? WHY?! WHY!!</strong><br />
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The only other things I remember is that a friend's battery died on her and she called me for help, one of my roommate's dad bought us dinner, and that I went to sleep at around 11pm.<br />
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The day after.</h2>
I woke up at 4:30 in the morning feeling powerless. This was no longer my house, my stuff wasn't really mine. If anyone wanted any of it, what's to stop them? How are my roommates taking all of this? How should I be feeling? Who steals an Xbox and leaves two of the four controllers? What am I going to do with two controllers and no Xbox? Is anyone else I know in danger of being robbed from what they could've found here? Should I still go to work? But there was one question always behind the others... simmering..<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">How come I wasn't able to stop any of this?</span></div>
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All of my plans, strengths and talents had been overcome by some random kid with a rock he grabbed from <strong>my</strong> front yard. I thought, "If he had been here while I was here, I could've done something." "I would've been able to protect MY domain" "If there was more than one and I got beaten, I wouldn't have gone down without a fight." <br />
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But one thought kept coming back: "I... <span style="font-size: x-small;">wasn't there for when I was most needed</span>..."<br />
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I was able to get off of work early so I could fix the window, get quotes on home security, take full stock on what was missing, buy some stopgap home security measures, think about getting a dog and miscellaneous chores that kept me busy until around 10:00pm.<br />
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Every time I left the house, I kept thinking, "The kid could've come back. I'm not there. I should get back now." And only had one feeling that could only be best described as a murderous rage that can only be satisfied until the blood of the guilty paints my walls, their entrails are used as rope and their head is on a pike in my front yard. (It's a strong feeling)<br />
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It's been two days and some feelings have tempered, but now I get paranoia whenever I'm gone from the house. As I get closer to home, I get a panic attack as my thoughts go wild on what could be missing when I pull up. I know that sooner or later, normalcy will return and this will become another experience of the which I will be able to learn from. And maybe even laugh about. But until then... <br />
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...this sucks!</div>
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At what was probably the funniest/ironic thing about the whole day. This is what I had on that day...</div>
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WaldoGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12059751035163482707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-462519116599084283.post-51991299733268781312013-04-30T03:23:00.002-07:002013-05-02T17:06:04.010-07:00So you decided to buy a house.<p dir=ltr>First off... HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!</p>
<p dir=ltr>Congratulations... are in order, I guess.</p>
<p dir=ltr>HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!</p>
<p dir=ltr>Seriously though, how well have you thought this through?</p>
<p dir=ltr>HAHAHAHaaa ooohh..  HAHA... HA..</p>
<p dir=ltr>You're funny...<br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br></p>
<p dir=ltr>What did you learn?</p>
WaldoGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12059751035163482707noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-462519116599084283.post-63195111302255509532013-02-20T21:19:00.001-08:002013-02-20T21:19:02.735-08:00TakenFor almost my entire life, I've heard the same joke of, "Where's Waldo?" This quote/unquote "joke", got old about the fifth time someone said it.<br />
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Now, truth be told, I was born about a year or two before the 'Where's Waldo' books came out. And I've honestly no clue where my parents got my name as both of them have given me different stories. But that has not stopped random people from giving me the most <em>peculiar</em> look when I tell them my name. And it also hasn't stopped them from calling me 'Walter' for some reason...<br />
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In short, I have nothing to do with the the 'Where's Waldo' character.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Those soulless eyes have mocked my pain for over 20 years...</span></div>
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But if there's something I've learned, it's that the universe has an ironic sense of humor...<br />
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For you see, back when I was about a year old baby, I was kidnapped. Causing the one and only time that it's been appropriate for someone to say "Where's Waldo?" Everything you're about to read is 100% true.<br />
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For a while, my family lived in Juarez, Mexico. Now, this was the 80's and during that time, it was perfectly normal to let children play out in the front yard. It was during one of these times that I up and disappeared.<br />
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Now, my family was understandably pretty freaked that I vanished and so one the first things they did was to check a nearby river for a body. And <em>then</em> they decided to ask the neighbors if they've seen me. Not one person who was asked knew where I was.<br />
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It looked like I had fallen off the face of the earth.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you.</span></div>
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Turns out what happened was that an 8 year old girl apparently saw me and decided that I would make a great tea party guest. And so she picked me up and took me to her house straight to her backyard. I was apparently very trusting of strangers because I went along with the WHOLE thing. I played along and made some happy baby noises because the girl's mom even heard me and thought to herself, "Wow, new toys are getting better and better" It was during this time that my parents went to her house and asked if she'd seen me. The lady even asked the girl if she'd seen me.<br />
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The little girl said no.<br />
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Seriously, nothing clicked in this lady's mind that the newfangled toy might just be me. It wasn't until a while later that the 8 year old went inside and told her mom that the 'doll' was crying and wouldn't stop. One look and about two seconds later, I was returned to my incredibly relieved parents.WaldoGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12059751035163482707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-462519116599084283.post-56377865134156726212012-12-22T15:46:00.003-08:002012-12-22T15:46:40.693-08:00An object in motion...There was a time in high school where I rode a bike everywhere. And in my mind, my bike was awesome. I had this baby <em>tuned</em>! It had 24 gears and all of them went in smooth. It had that front suspension dealy and that made me feel like I could go anywhere. And the brakes! Oh man, let me tell you about those brakes. They were my pride and joy. I had those things adjusted that the lever would only have to move 1/8 of an inch before they clamped on tight. <br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">
Anyways, during my sophomore year in high school, there was a corner that my friends and I would hang around after school to kill some time and wait for my friend's mom to come pick them up. There was nothing too special about that corner, until this one time that I somehow got there earlier than everyone...<br />
<br />
On this fateful afternoon, a charming thought came into my head. I thought, 'Hey, it would be pretty cool that when my friends show up, I come speeding down the street and skid to a stop right in front of them!' That would be the best thing ever! And in my mind I saw praises being heaped upon me for such an awesome entrance.<br />
<br />
My plan was simple; step one would involve me going down the street a bit and wait for my friends. Step two would involve me going as fast as I could and slam on my brakes right before I got to my friends. Step three? Hear their awe and bask in glory.<br />
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So I set my plan in motion. When they showed up, I pedaled towards them as hard and fast as I could to pick up as much speed as humanly possible so the skid could be of legend. But as detailed as my plan was, I forgot one thing; which one of the brakes did what. And I wound up slamming on my front brakes.<br />
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What happened next went in super slow motion. I distinctly remember looking over to my friends and seeing their faces of wonder. I then remember myself feeling as if I was being lifted up by celestial forces into the heavens. And when I reached the heavens, I found myself looking down upon them, as if they were ants, and I contemplated to myself, "something is wrong".<br />
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When I awoke, I was tangled with my bike and backpack, lying on the ground exactly three feet ahead of where I slammed on the brakes. It took me a moment to realize that I was looking at the sky and that my friends were staring at me. In what had to be the most pathetic attempt at trying to save face and trying to look cool, I quickly unpretzeled myself and started laughing saying, "Dude, I totally planned that!"<br />
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No one bought it.<br />
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As I was justly being laughed at and laughing at the utter stupidity of what had just happened, my friend's sister screamed bloody murder and said, "Waldo! Look at your arm!" I quickly looked and found nothing to be wrong. It was then that I noticed that blood was dripping off of my pinky. I have a five inch gash on my forearm! It was then my friends decided that I should go home and get that looked at. I say my friends decided that because I was still trying to play to the whole thing off as if I planned it.<br />
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Anyways.... I get home and I quickly get to wrapping up the hole on the side of my arm with white gauze. And then I realize, I can't let my mom see this! She'll freak out! I look at the the wad of gauze that is my arm and I think, "she won't notice"<br />
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My mom noticed within two seconds after coming home.</div>
WaldoGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12059751035163482707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-462519116599084283.post-53649396854884723932012-05-18T19:17:00.002-07:002012-05-18T19:17:26.423-07:00'All-terrain' tires are a misnomer.OK, I tried a whole lot of different styles to write this. None of them worked out, so I'm just going to be as honest as I can.<br />
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<h4>
Last week I got stuck in the sand and I had the time of my life!</h4>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrGIyrEsWFi1ZVGcwgpSbrA7qkK7UdtZFB7au30y40Sw7B6sDqrA6FMmzhCUtCmI64TShoU-eIm9Pws0vb_YQPES1QOSutJx9pauNIxkmQHjeySn4eb75l64nUEbCHbBHTEcQ9gxY7d-Q/s1600/IMAG0239.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrGIyrEsWFi1ZVGcwgpSbrA7qkK7UdtZFB7au30y40Sw7B6sDqrA6FMmzhCUtCmI64TShoU-eIm9Pws0vb_YQPES1QOSutJx9pauNIxkmQHjeySn4eb75l64nUEbCHbBHTEcQ9gxY7d-Q/s400/IMAG0239.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Exhibit A</span></div>
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Never have I felt as retarded as I did that day. I've driven my truck for about 9 years and I've known for the longest time that I can't drive in sand. But! Last Thursday I felt adventurous and then committed the worst sin when going exploring.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2T0LrLM-R4qYBZCrBCxMJSuNLyizI1TdwtyfEconAJH-NCPHqDh7OXSEc2ZVmquQgq0tO6rd8n9o3Jdbi_t9sLq5kZCnVy3And4Sa7AqFgayvgJFW9_llgQ-Qs8yYgoQiiRcAgXEcTgk/s1600/IMAG0243.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2T0LrLM-R4qYBZCrBCxMJSuNLyizI1TdwtyfEconAJH-NCPHqDh7OXSEc2ZVmquQgq0tO6rd8n9o3Jdbi_t9sLq5kZCnVy3And4Sa7AqFgayvgJFW9_llgQ-Qs8yYgoQiiRcAgXEcTgk/s400/IMAG0243.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">The sin is that I live in Arizona</span></div>
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Anyways, while exploring, I found a path that I had never been on and quickly found myself in sand. Knowing full well that if I stop, I'm stuck, I started looked for a place where I could do a U-turn. When I found out that wasn't going to happen, I hoped for the best.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFy_EVK4pNahqgOtFz5OraJYNdY-RfRligTwkFiooAF8hORyNJv2FqBaJ3G_HpFzGy2NvWOSKfg7hcq7QbT0mvdL-xiPKm_sDGE6XIkoQXlHHpOSw3xwCbQn7f0Iqskn5S_Z6rI4iETYg/s1600/IMAG0245.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFy_EVK4pNahqgOtFz5OraJYNdY-RfRligTwkFiooAF8hORyNJv2FqBaJ3G_HpFzGy2NvWOSKfg7hcq7QbT0mvdL-xiPKm_sDGE6XIkoQXlHHpOSw3xwCbQn7f0Iqskn5S_Z6rI4iETYg/s400/IMAG0245.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Those bumps in the sand are nature's way of laughing at you.</span></div>
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Well... it worked out as well as expected. I tried to get myself out, by rocking back and forth and trying to put rocks underneath, but...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibL-vdcbfY52xa4SwxXK2Y21XpQhRIqDyUdk10k1zbquld5qwEi218wKl_U1mXnBkAR78UCBbbPeszUpDxPdhfIeVzLmOouC3S7Sv1Ac_heYK94HKQZK8E2e5zuU9iLKoRAWSFCe0BPVw/s1600/IMAG0241.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibL-vdcbfY52xa4SwxXK2Y21XpQhRIqDyUdk10k1zbquld5qwEi218wKl_U1mXnBkAR78UCBbbPeszUpDxPdhfIeVzLmOouC3S7Sv1Ac_heYK94HKQZK8E2e5zuU9iLKoRAWSFCe0BPVw/s400/IMAG0241.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Sand makes fools of us all.</span></div>
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Here's the thing when you're stuck; to get unstuck, you need at least a shovel and a second person. I had neither. I needed someone who could make their way out to the middle of the desert and bring a shovel. And to make things worse, I got stuck at 9 in the morning, I was working the second shift at work. Convincing anyone to get out of work to save my moronic butt would be hard, few people would be willing to leave their job. Except for one man....<br />
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Scott Sorensen.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihCaFsJsDsSxVWtp-0hP8aoJ_tz20wza0YXAPLmhXKtT5ekKS3KfeXhh52W9AmvXDAulyJaa6AnGAlokEwkVx5G-qwlvJS5O6XbjLEcfn3EfuMO-8NU5gd-V3RgNgpTzfvzbDzFt3ueDE/s1600/IMAG0247.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihCaFsJsDsSxVWtp-0hP8aoJ_tz20wza0YXAPLmhXKtT5ekKS3KfeXhh52W9AmvXDAulyJaa6AnGAlokEwkVx5G-qwlvJS5O6XbjLEcfn3EfuMO-8NU5gd-V3RgNgpTzfvzbDzFt3ueDE/s400/IMAG0247.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Seen here being a most awesome friend while still finding the time to laugh at me.</span></div>
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While I waited for him, I decided look around and see if I could find <em>anything</em> that would help us get me out of the hole. What I found made me feel a little better.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrkKr8JLMP3KEo8O-US_qE6fbNmoLsopMUICYZ9ja2aNcbiMUfqh4bNbm_bsFjOzIKYRKfb4CbsO48_Kt1DdnNM-iK0dSza1SPtC3QTnEOnRIqEZ_RDVKDG1JsGIdim3TnNKMUh5ay95M/s1600/IMAG0248.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrkKr8JLMP3KEo8O-US_qE6fbNmoLsopMUICYZ9ja2aNcbiMUfqh4bNbm_bsFjOzIKYRKfb4CbsO48_Kt1DdnNM-iK0dSza1SPtC3QTnEOnRIqEZ_RDVKDG1JsGIdim3TnNKMUh5ay95M/s400/IMAG0248.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">The desert provides.</span></div>
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That board and a couple like it along with that tow strap let me know that I wasn't the first idiot to get stuck there. Soon after, Scott showed up. Time to start digging!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQbKherWeXRxN9-S0ZZD0jioazlVH-KKWg6I2uoVx2bhpgwPc7cyRY0NoWfFam-vI5RKZo12R4b37cCbCmcaRo_Aih5uhll5b2hCIl7QELJ2WxnmladjA27nztynqLzo1Xw7G0eQsr5oA/s1600/IMAG0242.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQbKherWeXRxN9-S0ZZD0jioazlVH-KKWg6I2uoVx2bhpgwPc7cyRY0NoWfFam-vI5RKZo12R4b37cCbCmcaRo_Aih5uhll5b2hCIl7QELJ2WxnmladjA27nztynqLzo1Xw7G0eQsr5oA/s400/IMAG0242.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">You start...</span></div>
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Fast forward a little more than 3 hours and a couple of brainstorming sessions, and this how far we got.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5WMpSwxd1O5eHSOHOYbaatTs5dpLvqvEx2GMSBbr93cYtkE06U2uSnlWI50vf-C4pb9x4q6dwGbpDq9sjn_ZUAlYMiXjEh1leAF77zgiejsJjFGp4Oc6VVam5ZkREIN6Jguok3y692QA/s1600/IMAG0250.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5WMpSwxd1O5eHSOHOYbaatTs5dpLvqvEx2GMSBbr93cYtkE06U2uSnlWI50vf-C4pb9x4q6dwGbpDq9sjn_ZUAlYMiXjEh1leAF77zgiejsJjFGp4Oc6VVam5ZkREIN6Jguok3y692QA/s400/IMAG0250.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Progress!</span></div>
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Now, Scott drives a 4x4 Ford Ranger, which weighs about 2.5 tons soaking wet. My truck is pushing 3.5 tons. That extra ton meant that he couldn't pull me out of the sand without him digging himself in. We found ourselves in a dilemma. We still had to go about 30 yards before the sand ended. It doesn't sound like much, but...</div>
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At the rate we were going, it was going to take us the rest of the day before we got out of the sand. We needed a miracle.</div>
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And we got one!</div>
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On the way in into where I was stuck (I say I was stuck and not us because Scott could 4 wheel his way out any freaking time he wanted. Seriously, next truck I buy is going to be a 4x4), there are some fully grown trees that are inside some huge planters. Those trees have been there for a really long time. And not once, have I ever seen anyone working on them. Except for that day. That day, there was a huge front end loader moving these trees into a semi bed. In what must've been the smartest idea we had that day, we decided to go ask the guy for help.</div>
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It took the guy about a minute to drag me out of the sand.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXhSHfjqJnHZGEez7wvpT7vdQc40WbWNk5bJqzzLDT2dJttiVwZfvbsvKcviF74OIfSdthuiNswszC1bH4l2FNeGqi2SaqQq9qWqnvcA6hsOILHVWc8oLaAivrJ5W7E0OtFwmg935VqF0/s1600/IMAG0251.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXhSHfjqJnHZGEez7wvpT7vdQc40WbWNk5bJqzzLDT2dJttiVwZfvbsvKcviF74OIfSdthuiNswszC1bH4l2FNeGqi2SaqQq9qWqnvcA6hsOILHVWc8oLaAivrJ5W7E0OtFwmg935VqF0/s320/IMAG0251.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">The mysterious stranger roams the desert helping those in need.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Hoping that one day he'll make amends for his troubled past.</span></div>
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This whole experience took over 5 hours and I was seriously having the time of my life the entire time.</div>
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So, remember children. Don't go exploring alone, make sure you have a shovel and make sure your truck is a 4x4!</div>WaldoGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12059751035163482707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-462519116599084283.post-53637646841274527512012-04-14T14:23:00.001-07:002012-04-14T22:13:34.507-07:00DIYHello fellow DIY'ers! Welcome to the first installment of how to do things. If you are a man, you are expected to know how to do things and do them well. If you are a lady, great!<br />
<br />
Men, I am here to help you in your quest to achieve your full potential and how to avoid the classic, "I dunno" look when asked if you can do something. As a true man, you must always know how to fix, install, troubleshoot and probably remove anything and at anytime. As a man, you are to have the know-how to charge into any situation headfirst and come up with the solution and therefore, live up to your proud heritage, manliness.<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Textbook "I dunno" look</span></div>
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So, in order to avoid the embarrising situation where you have to admit, "I don't know", here's the first installment of How to do Stuff:</div>
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<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">So there's a hole in your fence.</span></h2>
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<h3 style="text-align: left;">
Step 1: Asses the situation.</h3>
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Welp, better start making a list of things needed at Home Depot.</div>
<ul>
<li>Screws. </li>
</ul>
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*If you go to Lowe's, stop reading this How-to guide and buy yourself a dress, Nancy.</div>
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<h3 style="text-align: left;">
Step 2: Measure, measure, measure.</h3>
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<br />
I'm told this is important.<br />
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<h3 style="text-align: left;">
Step 3: Make sure you have the proper tools for the job at hand.</h3>
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While you may be tempted to show off your know-how by using the tools our forefathers used, remember; given the chance, they would've used the power tools too.</div>
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Step 4: Wood is expensive, better find "alternatives"</h3>
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Listen, in this economy, a frugal man is a smart man. If you don't need to spend the money on it, don't. And with so many foreclosures and bankrupt neighborhoods, it sometimes makes sense to just take unused fences.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_BAaaTVkOdvYMHGg0nAGeBVBqXMZ-2kHQu4L2yClHSttvS1T8OQI2L7Vft8cd88kUFWYmjfdmJ__ltwrMNU4R1S6V4T_Ds630FeZEHuX5oCpcXENxgKciKq5h-5HSNpJOPgGAAAmezJ8/s1600/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_BAaaTVkOdvYMHGg0nAGeBVBqXMZ-2kHQu4L2yClHSttvS1T8OQI2L7Vft8cd88kUFWYmjfdmJ__ltwrMNU4R1S6V4T_Ds630FeZEHuX5oCpcXENxgKciKq5h-5HSNpJOPgGAAAmezJ8/s320/4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">When did everyone switch to brick fences?</span></div>
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Step 5: Acquire said fence</h3>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixCEaLj4vlg07-Nd2i5eSaHKaVCFdrSrKY3_FRubFgZUFVhHq5IcR-u3WOylxMLqlfrWTtJoNYXKMlDK5lczhNqEOQY8hscXzYjzUW5OmAKtsAXM89YbmBIYxEg07TUKMDFuJNCiNVKa4/s1600/5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixCEaLj4vlg07-Nd2i5eSaHKaVCFdrSrKY3_FRubFgZUFVhHq5IcR-u3WOylxMLqlfrWTtJoNYXKMlDK5lczhNqEOQY8hscXzYjzUW5OmAKtsAXM89YbmBIYxEg07TUKMDFuJNCiNVKa4/s320/5.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<br />
Once you find what seems to be the one wood fence left in the entire city, take another quick measurement and begin cutting.<br />
<br />
Remember: Don't be greedy, take only what you need.<br />
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Step 6: Load fence.</h3>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI3hl6THrKQ9-gj61yFbew0_dqnKgsHkO7cMpl5WHh4aZCCvb0qpPZReivMrHO2eX0W7fGyqaSNUk7iuJJAV-oIGLyyT8ttE_IbhiyHvbxWuchtaCY12-7YSq54R7NUjlJMds8iFWOx0A/s1600/6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI3hl6THrKQ9-gj61yFbew0_dqnKgsHkO7cMpl5WHh4aZCCvb0qpPZReivMrHO2eX0W7fGyqaSNUk7iuJJAV-oIGLyyT8ttE_IbhiyHvbxWuchtaCY12-7YSq54R7NUjlJMds8iFWOx0A/s320/6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Local laws and regulations may vary, but normally, the rule of thumb is, if it doesn't stick out farther than your mirrors or a foot farther back than your vehicle, you don't need any "extra wide notices". Make sure to secure whatever it is you're carrying if it looks like it'll move around. And, it's best to drive a short distance to make sure that your load has settled and re-tighten if necessary.</div>
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Step 7: Make a getaway.</h3>
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Step 8: Make sure you aren't being followed.</h3>
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Nothing worse than being caught, amiright?<br />
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Step 9: Install fence.</h3>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHIeVIIBuYNkBzI83_6wc1rrfc6Eu5zT4PCATucs4SJYus4n_7bNcO56-tp1AqK1TUM4C1wVKSPzUyyGnA_5Cn79DWrSO7gOt63FDbh9kwUNXU9FFbM8DVpnbNHNHcKf6nQh1yPJz_Bas/s1600/9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHIeVIIBuYNkBzI83_6wc1rrfc6Eu5zT4PCATucs4SJYus4n_7bNcO56-tp1AqK1TUM4C1wVKSPzUyyGnA_5Cn79DWrSO7gOt63FDbh9kwUNXU9FFbM8DVpnbNHNHcKf6nQh1yPJz_Bas/s320/9.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Using the screws you bought from Home Depot, secure the 'new' fence to the old one.<br />
You may be wondering why I used screws, 1.) They don't come loose with time. 2.) They're harder to take off (just in case some other user of this guide found your fence suitable for their project).<br />
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Final step: Marvel that it actually fit.</h3>
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Seriously, you only took one measurement and when you made the cut for the new one, you were off by at least 2 inches.<br />
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Congratulations! You have successfully completed this guide.</h2>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ8QHpVJYnrp5GKlfvHaUsrIQNDzsKBQoFqls-7CCxZHbXtZFIVSK7U1DM_Hl29cy8IBHqQDKd3p6z9O4PCMbUlWzQygGvYQxDYdqRL20hKxgEiu769cINvHy3At2Sd7mSJFUItqylGbE/s1600/11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ8QHpVJYnrp5GKlfvHaUsrIQNDzsKBQoFqls-7CCxZHbXtZFIVSK7U1DM_Hl29cy8IBHqQDKd3p6z9O4PCMbUlWzQygGvYQxDYdqRL20hKxgEiu769cINvHy3At2Sd7mSJFUItqylGbE/s320/11.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>WaldoGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12059751035163482707noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-462519116599084283.post-27902868206681536882012-02-22T15:48:00.000-08:002012-02-22T20:20:28.911-08:00Croak<span style="font-family: inherit;">Well, I gave a talk last Sunday, people liked it and said that I did a good job. Someone even offered me their daughter because of it (long, awkward, funny story, all of it true.)</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Truth be told, talking in public is something that scares the absolute crap out of me. And to prove it, here, for your memory's pleasure is the talk that I had prepared. And if your weren't there, I'm putting it on display so you can see it. This is what I had prepared and what I took to the podium:</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I was given a difficult topic. One of which I truly was at a
loss at how to put together. There was a lot of prayer and wrestling with the
Holy Ghost. As a result, I came to tackle this the same way I do everything
else in life; head first and without an idea of how it’s going to turn out. So
here goes.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="Standard" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p> </o:p>I hope I’m not breaking new ground when I say this, but,
sooner or later, we’re all going to die. I know! Yes, it’s incredible, even I,
will kick the bucket too. I can’t believe it either. There will be a time when
we must put down this mortal body and do our part to help the flower business.
But what is it about death that has us talking about it in hushed voices?
Personally, I narrowed it down to two things:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></span>I haven’t done it before.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></span>I’m scared of things I haven’t done before.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="Standard" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">But then, there are two things that give me hope. One is that
our spirits are eternal. By definition, if something is eternal, then it cannot
have a beginning or end. Going to the Mormon string theory, if I have a piece
of rope stretching from eternity to eternity, and life is represented by a
string somewhere along that line, then death is truly only a small part. Yes,
it can be sad when it happens to someone we know, but I have found incredible
peace and even joy from those experiences.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I’ll start off by referring to D&C 42:45-46.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
“Thou shalt live together in love, insomuch that thou shalt
weep for the loss of them that die….And… those that die in me shall not taste
of death, for it shall be sweet unto them;”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="Standard" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">What a wonderful promise! If we live in the manner that is
pleasing unto God, then he promises us that death will not be something that we
will not be afraid of.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="Standard" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">So, what about after we buy the farm? What then? I offer
these words from President Hinckley.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
“Of all the victories in human history, none is so great,
none so universal in its effect, none so everlasting in its consequences as the
victory of the crucified Lord who came forth in the Resurrection that first
Easter morning.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
We laud the captains and the kings, we praise the nations
that are victorious against oppressors. We appropriately build monuments to
remember their sacrifices and their triumphs over the forces of oppression. But
great and important as are these achievements, none can compare with the
victory of the lonely, pain-racked figure on Calvary’s cross who triumphed over
death and brought the gift of eternal life to all mankind.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
He it was who answered Job’s desperate question, “If a man
die, shall he live again?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="Standard" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I offer my testimony that our Savior lived and then died on
the cross for us. I offer my testimony that he did break the bonds of death and
He himself, resurrected and lives in eternal glory today. I testify that which
he did he offers to us. I have family members waiting on the other side of the veil
who wait for me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">This brings me to the second thing that brings me hope. We can live with our
Heavenly Father again. If we live according to His gospel, we can live with
Him. Ever growing, ever learning. I believe that the life after this one will
be even more exciting than the one we have here, without the things that weigh
us down in this life. To have immortality is a guarantee that we have thanks to
our Lord Jesus Christ. To have eternal life is what we have to work at while
we’re here. And we’re promised that if we follow Him, we’ll receive His
greatest gift, eternal life. But all this is when we go and bite the dust. So
don’t go rushing things.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="Standard" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">As it is, there is still a lot of life to live! Sure, there’s
a lot of things wrong in the world, but when hasn’t there been? Find someone
who’s lived long enough and they’ll tell you first-hand experiences of when
it’s been worse or that it’s happened before. We are here to live and learn.<br />
<br />
And learn we do. During the course of this incredible experience that is life,
we have or will stumble in a way that we cannot overcome. Again, this is where
the tender mercies of our Savior reach for us. I know that the Atonement is for
us and is to be used for us. One of the greatest moments of human history was
when Jesus drank of the bitter cup. He did it out of love, knowing that all of
us have fallen short. I invite any that need it to repent. It may or may not
have to involve talking to the Bishopric, but they are there as you need them
to help you along. They love you, I have seen their love expressed towards this
ward and its members during my time that I have served with them.<br />
<br />
Speaking of the Bishopric and love, I will say this in passing. We’re supposed
to get married sooner or later. Preferably sooner.<span style="color: black;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="Standard" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">But, if marriage isn’t on the horizon, there are many other
aspects of life that don’t involve it. This is a magnificent world where
opportunities abound and experiences are to be had. If you’re in school, be the
best you can be at it. If you already have a career, keep expanding yourself.
There are people that you’ll meet, places that you’ll go to. There are good
moments, bad ones. Up, down! This life, to me, is exciting. But, it can feel
overwhelming at times.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="Standard" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">This is where the gospel comes in.</span></div>
<div class="Standard" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
-Helps us setup priorities.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
-Example of Lili.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
<span style="font-family: OpenSymbol; mso-bidi-font-family: OpenSymbol; mso-fareast-font-family: OpenSymbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">–<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></span>student father. 5 kids and time consuming
callings.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
<span style="font-family: OpenSymbol; mso-bidi-font-family: OpenSymbol; mso-fareast-font-family: OpenSymbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">–<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></span>I respect look up to them for what they have
done. Have a successfully family.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
They live the personification of stress and yet, they make it
seem easy.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="Standard" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Life is hard, it's meant<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>to be that way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
This is the time we have to use to prepare to meet God. And
he does this so we can learn.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
This is meant to be a time of joy.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have
peace</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">.
In the world</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
ye shall have tribulation</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">:
but be of good cheer</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">;
I have overcome</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
the world.</span> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">If you read it, and were there, you'd notice that there are some things in there that I didn't say. Most noticeably the quote at the end. I decided quite literally at the last second against the <em>ladies</em> line because it just didn't feel right. And the "be of good cheer" scripture? I simply freaked out and forgot to say it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Also, you'd notice that at the end, I stopped writing the whole thing. This is where I ran out of gas. I had some ideas, but nothing that I could flesh out into a complete sentence that would still flow with the rest of my talk. I had to trust in God and hope my ad-libbing skills were up to the challenge.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So, there it is, if you think that writing a talk is hard, it is. But, I hope you can take some comfort knowing that the rest of us are just as worked up about it as you are.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Just hope you don't have to talk about death to a bunch of 20 year old's who only think about it whenever they go to a funeral.</span></div>WaldoGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12059751035163482707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-462519116599084283.post-84175585007186465372012-02-03T19:41:00.000-08:002012-02-03T19:41:50.332-08:00I think they're fine.My brother Wil, who I love, and I, have a lifelong history of getting even. We're not fighting, but we make sure to settle our scores. There are no winners, just one-upmanships. As an example, he once, after we had finished playing racquetball and were driving towards his house, wiped his hand all over my face with a body odor which is best not described. I settled the score by making his arm limp for a week. This has been going on for <em>years</em>.<br />
<br />
Yesterday was no different.<br />
<br />
So my brother, Wil, had gotten involved in the world's saddest accident a couple of weeks ago. He is now looking for another car because his old car is considered totaled.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSD6D0i5QYAmRkq_7CCd8pS34Vc2pQKfggfHR42rsVnAff_L_3x0RJ5vDXwfeTpe8f_hWY7VagGSJca6hcNV4xNQoPMW4ChuplDWzNW6ZStrNkYix8TO0dgNg2U43AqJkHlQeX5POy57Y/s1600/IMAG0154.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSD6D0i5QYAmRkq_7CCd8pS34Vc2pQKfggfHR42rsVnAff_L_3x0RJ5vDXwfeTpe8f_hWY7VagGSJca6hcNV4xNQoPMW4ChuplDWzNW6ZStrNkYix8TO0dgNg2U43AqJkHlQeX5POy57Y/s320/IMAG0154.jpg" width="320" /></a><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">Fixing this love tap cost more than what the car was worth.</span></div>
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So yesterday, I get a phone call from him asking if I want to go with him to look at cars he found on craigslist. I say yes, because I'm a good brother who is single and doesn't have much of a life. So he, his wife Jessica, their baby and I hop into their rented Kia and go to an address that's off the I-17 and south of Buckeye.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The 'hood.</span></div>
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We're going to look at a 2003 Camry. We find this thing, and red flags start going off everywhere. This car literally just got out of the repair shop (it was in their parking lot). And nothing says sketchy like a ghetto repair shop. We were going to drive away except the 'owner' caught us. We decided that we should at least drive the car to be nice. The owner even let us drive the car without him!</div>
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Wil and I left Jessica and the baby to watch the Kia. Again, we're at sketchy repair shop in south Phoenix.</div>
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So we take off without putting on our seat belts. During the courtesy test drive, my brother, who is driving, tells me, "Hey, the brakes feel a little low." To prove his point, he steps on the brakes, hard, and without warning. We were only going about 25mph so I only had the small discomfort of being flung forward.<br /><br />I thought to myself, "Alright... so that's how it is."</div>
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He then <em>offers</em> the wheel to me. Telling me, "Here, you check it out. What do you think?"</div>
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So, still feeling the slight twinge in my neck from the mild whiplash, I take the wheel. He doesn't put on his seat belt. I then proceed to do two things.</div>
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One: I floor the gas pedal and very quickly reach 40mph.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOvqhQXiRKPi1iRAXU7C9Gp0lFsLX1r1RZboy4eouJWa8AIqeA6UXcekxwo2tDx1CMRvoVXsBsb6uACG8aeXiQTtNOtUhFb_DmHm-JYt92S7cKh8zXobLJAHfRtIFK0ITG_b2iq3XyB-M/s1600/4409daac669cbb674bf538f9699b15293a896ba6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOvqhQXiRKPi1iRAXU7C9Gp0lFsLX1r1RZboy4eouJWa8AIqeA6UXcekxwo2tDx1CMRvoVXsBsb6uACG8aeXiQTtNOtUhFb_DmHm-JYt92S7cKh8zXobLJAHfRtIFK0ITG_b2iq3XyB-M/s320/4409daac669cbb674bf538f9699b15293a896ba6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Yes, this is faster than what old people let on.</span></div>
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Two: I <strong>stomp<em> </em></strong>on the brakes.</div>
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Imagine this, the tires have locked up, they're screaming, and they're smoking. I stopped that car in about 20 feet.</div>
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The only thing I see out of the corner of my eye is my brother doubling over and trying his hardest to do a full face plant on the windshield. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF_5aIxOc-mtCsvnlBfvT5sdErPaoU7j-HmKJ5vNf7PdNOHnaaouT3Cr3khSFsEKak2Zqp9JOIl-6uzMsM6qe_cM0OWYn1FhpuvtLCmjWaPk5bDL3WjXtiUlPUDwwmKUh-WMGxFjtZqps/s1600/face-against-glass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF_5aIxOc-mtCsvnlBfvT5sdErPaoU7j-HmKJ5vNf7PdNOHnaaouT3Cr3khSFsEKak2Zqp9JOIl-6uzMsM6qe_cM0OWYn1FhpuvtLCmjWaPk5bDL3WjXtiUlPUDwwmKUh-WMGxFjtZqps/s320/face-against-glass.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">He did a pretty good job, though.</span></div>
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Personally, I think those brakes were pretty good.</div>WaldoGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12059751035163482707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-462519116599084283.post-64164290023470505902011-10-17T12:38:00.000-07:002011-10-17T12:38:46.048-07:00Dude, I need your help.Do you ever wonder what's it like to be woken up in the dead of night? I didn't, but it happened to me anyways.<br />
<br />
So, last night I went to sleep at 12:30-ish, only to be woken up by a phone call made by my roommate, Scott, at 2:30-ish. Here follows the conversation of the evening(morning?), as I recall it. None of this is made up.<br />
<br />
By the way, I learned that my brain has a voice of its own that early in the morning.<br />
<br />
*RING! RING! RING!<br />
<br />
<br />
*RING! RING! RING!<br />
<br />
Me: Hello?<br />
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Scott: Hey Waldo, this is Scott. Sorry to wake you up, but I need your help.<br />
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Brain: Who's Scott?<br />
<br />
Scott: I'm over at the storage unit but I locked my keys in the work van. I'm asking you if you could help me. By the fridge in the cupboard, there are the spare keys, next to them is the car alarm fob for my truck, if you could bring them to me, please? I have a spare key, but it's missing the chip and it won't start the truck.<br />
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Brain: What? How? When? Huh?<br />
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Me: OK, let me check downstairs before I hang up.<br />
<br />
- As I walk downstairs.<br />
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Brain: There's a disconnect between me and your legs. You're on your own.<br />
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- Soon after.<br />
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Me: OK, Scott, got it! I'll be over soon.<br />
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Scott: Thanks.<br />
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- I walked outside and noticed that Nick, my other roommate had parked behind me.<br />
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Brain: You know, you could take his car.<br />
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Me: .......<br />
<br />
(Three minute pause)<br />
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Me: It's not my car, I should just move it.<br />
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- I drive down to 63rd and Union Hills on cruise control and meet Scott, who I should point out, is shoeless.<br />
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Scott: Waldo, thanks man, I really appreciate this.<br />
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Me: Here's the key fob.<br />
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Scott: Did you get my spare keys?<br />
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Brain: No.<br />
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Me: Uhhh..<br />
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Scott: Dude, I asked you to get my spare keys!<br />
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Me: It's 3am in the MORNING! My English comprehension skills are lacking. Hahaha!<br />
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Brain: What are you doing out here?<br />
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Scott: Hahaha! Man, OK, let's see if I can remote start it and if the key will work. I'm sorry, I couldn't sleep after playing Xbox, I was just laying awake on my bed when I remembered that I have to turn in my time sheet at 8 this morning and I figured that I should just get down here real quick and get it. You know, there aren't enough Waldo's in the world.<br />
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Brain: Moron. You're missing your shoes. It's a miracle you didn't lock your head in the van too.<br />
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Me: No problem dude. I understand.<br />
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Scott: Well, let's see if she'll start up.<br />
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- The truck did start and we got home no problem.<br />
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Scott: Thank Waldo, I hope you can go back to sleep.<br />
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Brain: HAHAHAHAHAHA! I don't think he's woken up!<br />
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Me: I think I can.WaldoGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12059751035163482707noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-462519116599084283.post-49408759105068873292011-08-01T22:33:00.000-07:002011-08-01T22:33:05.757-07:00Thank you for choosing Wendy's, how can I take your order?I've done heard from some people that they hated their first job but I didn't, I kinda enjoyed mine. Sure, if I could, I'd say I'd never work for such a low wage again. But for a high-schooler working for some disposable income, it was a good job. I wish I could say that I got it on my own merit, but life is funny that way.<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Anyways, after a while, this guy started coming either on Wednesdays or Thursdays at around 7:30 to 8:00 at night. Let me tell you about this guy, he was big. I mean big. He would always come with what looked like a fresh food stain. And to this day, I still remember what he would ALWAYS order.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">A number three (triple combo), biggie sized, with fresh fries. Normally, on a triple burger, we would put the cheese on the bottom and the top, this guy wanted meat, cheese, meat, cheese, meat (he would return it if it wasn't). A freshly baked potato without chives, only cheese and sour cream (he would return the potato too if it was even 15 minutes old, he didn't mind waiting). A small bowl of chili without the onions. A five piece chicken nugget. Every once in a while, a small frosty. And to top it all off, his biggie drink....</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">was a Diet Coke.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
Now, this was a 2,600+ calorie meal. And he was a regular, so he was given a name.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Anyways, Steve, as he shall be known for the sake of this article, would always sit in the back for about 45+ minutes reading comic books. These weren't your everyday monthly issue comic books, these were the novel versions that had a hard cover. And, he would hit on one of my teammates on a regular basis, by saying he was a scout and wanted to her to be a model.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">To put this into perspective, my teammate, who I respected because she was working her way through ASU and was trying to make a better life for herself, once confided in me that she knew that she wasn't the prettiest girl around.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Now, I don't know if he really was a scout, but he must have made some good money because he would tell us that he lived in Tucson and traveled a lot. The car he drove was nice and I never saw him with the same greasy shirt.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I wish I knew what happened to Steve, so that this story would have a story line, but he dropped off the face of the earth and I got a different job. He was never heard of again.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">So what can we learn off of Steve?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Never order a diet coke when you eat at a fast-food restaurant, you're not fooling anyone.</div>WaldoGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12059751035163482707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-462519116599084283.post-59470448213334909112011-07-25T22:57:00.000-07:002011-07-25T22:57:27.015-07:00Where'd the cat go?I've always believed that missionaries in the U.S. were a little spoiled. Maybe not spoiled, but they have less things to worry about. Like, where to live. I'm not complaining or anything, but I may have a point. Hear me out on this.<br />
<br />
First! A little bit of explanation. Normally, where a missionary lives, the rent is controlled by the mission itself, somebody else looks at contracts, decides where the best deals are, tells the missionaries where to live, etc, etc. In Mexico, this is not the case. The missionaries themselves have to decide where to live, the contracts are in their names etc, etc. The things we have going for us is that, no matter what, we always paid on time and the houses didn't get abused (we were out most of the day, and most of the time indoors we were sleeping.). Now, this is where it gets interesting.<br />
<br />
While on my mission, in Tultitlan, Mexico, still with Elder Campbell, we lived in this nice little townhouse. It was a nice place, the landlords treated us well and it had everything we needed, except closets (apparently, those are optional). Anyways, one day, out of the blue, the landlady says that we have to move, ASAP.<br />
<br />
We didn't make the contract but we knew that we still had about 2 months to go on our lease. Obviously, we asked why. Something about she can't handle the pressure of having us as tenants, her daughter ran away; her husband got a job out of state; her brother, the owner wanted the house back(which he came and told us that he loved having us. We paid on time, 'member?)<br />
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Now, I'm not bitter, but we got kicked out because some other guy was willing to pay like $15 extra a month.<br />
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So anyways, here we are, homeless.<br />
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Fortunately, there was light at the end of the tunnel. And it came from the Medina family. This family quite literally took us into their arms and home.<br />
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You see, they had an extra house 5 houses down from theirs. It was abandoned, but it was somewhere to sleep. So naturally, we took it. There's something funny about abandoned houses though, there's a reason why they're abandoned.<br />
<br />
Ours was haunted by a bruja(witch)<br />
<br />
Maybe not, but it was creepy as all get out. This was a HUGE house that was a one story in the front that turned into a two story in the back that had a patio on the roof. There was a incredibly thick layer of dirt everywhere. There were broken windows, graffiti in the bathroom, and porn laid out everywhere. Oh, and no electricity or running water. Needless to say, for the first couple of nights, we barricaded ourselves in the room closest to the street hoping that the bruja would save us from the alcoholics and/or druggies.<br />
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Home sweet home.<br />
<br />
Anyways, after about two days, we noticed that a cat had died on the second floor. It looked like it had been dead for about a week. The thing was started to smell, rats were soon to find it and the thing looked like it had died of a disease or something. So we did the nicest thing we could think of.<br />
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We chucked as hard as we could into a field behind the house.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0z_yrJzbxOPE3ljpAnnuwiNBXXBrpr0rMz_hCT1JEamNRV8C4aXvfwDcOgpftANqJUcwnq7m3narWbo5CXoX41o-c8SNJaYhHq6RJPp2Y4TAMDsYc_m1WKsRxEU0Gd-eaRy616-RdaXU/s1600/imagesCA9WU313.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0z_yrJzbxOPE3ljpAnnuwiNBXXBrpr0rMz_hCT1JEamNRV8C4aXvfwDcOgpftANqJUcwnq7m3narWbo5CXoX41o-c8SNJaYhHq6RJPp2Y4TAMDsYc_m1WKsRxEU0Gd-eaRy616-RdaXU/s1600/imagesCA9WU313.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Something like this except funny and the cat is dead.</span></div><br />
So the next day, we felt bad and decided to check up on the cat.<br />
<br />
The cat? Nowhere to be found.<br />
<br />
But there were some dogs looking straight at us as if they were expecting something, though.WaldoGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12059751035163482707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-462519116599084283.post-27833982630454100592011-07-18T22:21:00.000-07:002011-07-18T22:21:38.357-07:00The Death MobileIt's pretty much a given here in the U.S. of A. that once you become of age, you get a car. Now, circumstance vary, but most will get a job and with the help of your parents, buy a car. And for some moronic reason, you think that your first car will be <em>awesome</em>.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcHq9zw2trQMLik6uQSC6bOS8gz_0fdJdQfWekv6TRkHEfvF34wjGvlUHzUqdb1JUpK3f1y0-ff3DIx8gn2qF_fvMoqnQN_yH2rL6DRvXahwZzoIYxC6oFZZ7ltTVODAr5fmn5920Ab_o/s320/2002-Dodge-Viper-ACR-2.jpg" width="320" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I can totally can afford this car working at Wendy's</span></div><br />
Anyways, reality comes along and does its little thing and destroys your childlike dreams. Almost all have to settle for a used car. Some are lucky and drive off a dealer's lot. But most, get whatever is sold on the street.<br />
<br />
EVEN THEN! I'd say most are lucky and get something good, reputable and for more than $1,000. Such as a Honda Accord, a Toyota, even a Chevy Cavalier, something that was taken care of by its previous owner. Something loved.<br />
<br />
I was not so lucky.<br />
<br />
My first car...... was an 1987 Dodge Lancer. Let me start off with that <strong>MY CAR COST $400.</strong> And I went 50/50 with my parents! And I still think I got ripped off!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidM6G1J2KIJyTQpeZgE-uUnjXpO-jxYP34U2P1O6S2fKbnSAJjgDgEwUSIPx6al-yHzh4ShZNU709T77VMc7tHghR9nmAXWWmfXXZFDL2T6qU6PHXvdRMTGpcjvARjk2YhGDBYBsjlO74/s1600/22495060018_medium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidM6G1J2KIJyTQpeZgE-uUnjXpO-jxYP34U2P1O6S2fKbnSAJjgDgEwUSIPx6al-yHzh4ShZNU709T77VMc7tHghR9nmAXWWmfXXZFDL2T6qU6PHXvdRMTGpcjvARjk2YhGDBYBsjlO74/s1600/22495060018_medium.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">A car that only existed to make other cars look good.</span><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Follow me on this.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My car had a terminal case of the 80's. When I got it, it had about three or four shades of brown. The original color, faded, rust and dirt. The interior was dried blood red. That wouldn't be so bad if the interior was in good shape. But, the interior looked like Big Bird had exploded in there. The seats were ripped apart and the yellow foam was everywhere! Let that sink in. Also, there was a slight funk to that car that to this day, I can't figure out what it was or where it came from.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">When the car was bought, the radio didn't work. So I went to the junkyard to buy another one. The "new" radio took forever to turn on, but I had my jams. That wasn't so bad except that my horn had a mind of its own. Driving down Thunderbird? HONK! Making a right hand turn on 67th Ave? HU-HOOOONK! Trying to get your friend's attention? <strong>Nothing!</strong></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">One thing though, the A/C worked AWESOME! It was SOOOO awesome that I couldn't turn it off. EVER. And, it was set to high on max cold. Winters sucked.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Whatever, my car is utilitarian. I can still fit 5 people. That would be nice if the doors worked like they were supposed to. My driver's door didn't open from the outside. That was annoying. Not a problem, I can get around that. I'll just go to the rear driver's door. Oh no, wait, it doesn't open AT ALL. Let's hop to the other side. Passenger rear? Didn't open from the inside. Front passenger, window's broken.... yay! RAIN! So let's say that I never had more than one passenger. And the trunk? Useless, it was filled with spare and old parts.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So the car was ugly, but mama says that beauty is only skin deep. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><strong>Even</strong> if that were true, this car still sucked. Literally. This car had so many vacuum leaks that you could hear them over the engine. Which, by the way, was a feat on its own. Because of the vacuum leaks, the engine revved incredibly high. Mix that with a magical hole in the muffler, and whole car sounded like some sort of pissed off racecar. Which was funny because as soon as you stepped on the gas, there was a possibility that the car would stall out.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Moving on.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Or at least I tried to. It wasn't like I could ever get anywhere fast. This car, could go 0-40mph in about a half mile. Which I had to guess because the spedometer didn't work. Along with the fuel guage. Not going anywhere fast was a good thing because the brakes were pretty...well, they sucked too. I COULD STOP FASTER BY DOWNSHIFTING.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And it's not like I didn't try to fix the thing. I spent about $500 dollars trying to fix the power steering. Which by the way didn't work. And I said tried fixing it, because I changed <em>every, single, freaking, part</em>, and for some reason, it didn't work. Have you ever tried parking without power steering? Let's just say that the gym lost all necessity for me while I owned this car.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">With all this, I only took this car on the freeway, <strong>once.</strong> I made it all the way up to traffic speed(the spedometer didn't work), and it felt like every panel, every bolt was trying to mutiny against this abomination that still somehow managed to move on its own power.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I tried to fix this car, I really did. In the end, I spent over 1,200 dollars trying to make it "cool", or to you lawyers, "safe".</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">What made me give up? Why am I driving a truck now instead of this little diamond in the rough?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A gas line decided to start leaking all over my exhaust.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXVHQ1CHs8pcLIBK8HeRbqTQHiwig9wxbzDhd3hh4GtqDJTQkNpzETdhUx5qC-zWd4XgSW56R5v8yd6s39I57VvcnhQrj7L6VXGAmHWvt1xKlsqjG0f45iUr2JoqVOBB48poGYjxZkRec/s1600/Car_fire_6_24_2004-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXVHQ1CHs8pcLIBK8HeRbqTQHiwig9wxbzDhd3hh4GtqDJTQkNpzETdhUx5qC-zWd4XgSW56R5v8yd6s39I57VvcnhQrj7L6VXGAmHWvt1xKlsqjG0f45iUr2JoqVOBB48poGYjxZkRec/s320/Car_fire_6_24_2004-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Waldo; cooked medium rare.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">No, not really, but that's when I decided that I needed something that wasn't actively trying to kill me.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">What's the whole point to this?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Even though this car was menace to all things living and some that weren't. I loved this car. The two years that I drove it, I enjoyed every minute of it...except for the freeway.</div>WaldoGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12059751035163482707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-462519116599084283.post-38671060577202154442011-07-11T22:10:00.000-07:002011-07-12T17:59:12.046-07:00I don't think I'm supposed to be here. So, we all go through weird situations. Let me tell you about the earliest one I can remember.<br />
<br />
I had just moved from El Paso, Texas to Phoenix, AZ. I was nine and was to start the 4th grade at Sahuaro Elementary. I was nervous about my first day.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
"Nine year old kid at a new school. What's so weird about that?", you may say.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Well, that's where the normalcy ends, dear reader.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
First off, I noticed that EVERY kid was bigger than me. "Fine", my little ego said, "I'm the little guy, I can still make friends. Nothing wrong about this, I'm cool."<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
But, I started noticing that these kids had WAY different tastes than I did. I was still digging the Power Rangers while most of the other kids were into COPS and The Simpsons.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNTmIOYdLbuCAcrW5bXYofjWFvIYufvL72QmXo3sbMu1CJofVvHnQblK-THNipnneq3eg40emz1G_8u6jlAnCRfL_rjjqhYQ2GBtmQ002rWLCvw_9w8jdVkJMlZ2cfbFCiOpiSHaV5shw/s1600/pink.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNTmIOYdLbuCAcrW5bXYofjWFvIYufvL72QmXo3sbMu1CJofVvHnQblK-THNipnneq3eg40emz1G_8u6jlAnCRfL_rjjqhYQ2GBtmQ002rWLCvw_9w8jdVkJMlZ2cfbFCiOpiSHaV5shw/s400/pink.jpg" width="258" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Don't deny it, Kimberly was the one you paid most attention to.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><o:p>Then things started to get strange.</o:p><br />
<br />
As classes started, I noticed that I had absolutely NO IDEA what was going on. Especially math.<br />
In third grade, I had just finished learning how to multiply and divide. Now I was learning some kajigger about little two's that were all powerful.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDU-bKSRPLe_f4Xt0pF90ColHp_wcaAUCdkE2sgLnr-2cxbBktwuOxXO1HND9QVk6N_h61qdAq3BXCll-DruIQqWthjQ0egg7EW1RuuAFwHZyul6ltrMR3MBBH0BPVZovmYpUpwZRqOQk/s1600/10417385.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDU-bKSRPLe_f4Xt0pF90ColHp_wcaAUCdkE2sgLnr-2cxbBktwuOxXO1HND9QVk6N_h61qdAq3BXCll-DruIQqWthjQ0egg7EW1RuuAFwHZyul6ltrMR3MBBH0BPVZovmYpUpwZRqOQk/s320/10417385.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Exponents: OBEY</span></div>As dumb as I was when I was nine, I knew something was wrong. But I was still dumb.... and curious. So I stuck with it.<br />
<br />
Anyways, apparently some teacher noticed the short, dumbfounded 9 yr old walking around and let the Principal know.<br />
<br />
Short time later, the principal walked up to me and told me, "Soooo... ummm... there's was a misunderstanding. Turns out that we were supposed to put you in the 4th grade."<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcdHi9apN44JxLoS9KZ2o8fvzrdIszXMrRptjZoo9bxZFcy7NWJ3I3RXwl7pnWCBLOh-YU1BH8eVfnJKoK7hFmdTILMZlne6u0_Bl9YMlYNaRqVxZoAxaCO3cTgB1yfUL-DkAWPL7RmmE/s1600/thumbnailCAMC29Z1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcdHi9apN44JxLoS9KZ2o8fvzrdIszXMrRptjZoo9bxZFcy7NWJ3I3RXwl7pnWCBLOh-YU1BH8eVfnJKoK7hFmdTILMZlne6u0_Bl9YMlYNaRqVxZoAxaCO3cTgB1yfUL-DkAWPL7RmmE/s1600/thumbnailCAMC29Z1.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">"Huh?"</span></div><br />
<br />
"You see, you were just in the 6th grade. That's why nothing made sense."<br />
<br />
AH!<br />
<br />
Moral of the story?<br />
Roll with the punches! You'll learn sooner or later!WaldoGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12059751035163482707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-462519116599084283.post-31470720536734592802011-07-02T22:31:00.000-07:002011-07-02T22:31:52.371-07:00Utah, or the place I'd rather not go back to.Apparently, I have somewhat of a reputation of being a "troublemaker". This reputation precedes me. I don't know how this gets around and not, "Hey, I'm looking for date", but I digress. I say I'm not a troublemaker, but I must agree to a certain extent because the evidence is overwhelmingly against me.......<br />
<br />
...so let me tell you how I had an arrest warrant out for me.<br />
<br />
But first! Another story that somehow relates!<br />
<br />
It's April 2006 and I'm traveling to Provo, Utah to report to the MTC so I can go on my mission. All is well. With me, is my family. ALL of them, parents included. I'm driving this Franken-van past Beaver City, Utah.... and I get pulled over, because cops there don't have anything else to do.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNld0L2Xz7i-wM6T_tcoSLad-h1Z1igVGAv_L3owAGTcM0bVD1YMhgXR5UqxSnNDivXtFg4sTfgyeCQAq57goQrubOdBK8zSWoxblDwOdBi9tIuMne152C4g4RNmhNsgxqCCBKEYFRhY0/s1600/2006_chevrolet_uplander_lt_fwd_ext_wheelbase_3lt-pic-44360.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNld0L2Xz7i-wM6T_tcoSLad-h1Z1igVGAv_L3owAGTcM0bVD1YMhgXR5UqxSnNDivXtFg4sTfgyeCQAq57goQrubOdBK8zSWoxblDwOdBi9tIuMne152C4g4RNmhNsgxqCCBKEYFRhY0/s320/2006_chevrolet_uplander_lt_fwd_ext_wheelbase_3lt-pic-44360.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Speed demon.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="left" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I get pulled over for going 90 MPH in a 75 MPH zone. The one non-Mormon cop in all of UTAH isn't moved by my brother's sob story of how I have to be in Provo. But, he's nice enough to drop the ticket to 84 MPH so my speeding isn't a criminal offense. Nothing too bad or exceptionally embarrassing about this except for my sister-in-law dropping the question, "Weren't you using cruise-control?"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Which I was, at 90 MPH.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Anyways, two months and an unrelated one-car accident that I was involved in later(different story), I'm serving as a missionary waiting for my Mexico visa in Logan, Utah. And I'm running around trying to get some investigators to go to an activity that was apparently important at the time.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">As it turns out, cops up there don't have much to do there either.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Imagine this, my companion, Elder Ulman and I, in full missionary attire, are pulled over in front of a church building with a female cop. I was driving. Said cop walks up to me and the first words out of her mouth are, "Hello Elder, do you know how fast you were going?" Apparently, being a missionary isn't a "get out of a ticket" card. I was going 40 MPH in a 25 MPH zone. She was nice enough to drop it to 34 MPH so it wasn't a criminal offense.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMXtLJrJPYXUSYnj2NNAo5fFD4pSr6yQ0vvk_o125i9j0I_-Ezp5wIvF0GfBx6m78UOKbD-YVTZdxzl1MWkeXkV3KWsMmPPZEjyVsbbsrgITbDqJXobaUWGCohIG3wvLpGJQsyFKIl7BU/s1600/MAMA0407.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMXtLJrJPYXUSYnj2NNAo5fFD4pSr6yQ0vvk_o125i9j0I_-Ezp5wIvF0GfBx6m78UOKbD-YVTZdxzl1MWkeXkV3KWsMmPPZEjyVsbbsrgITbDqJXobaUWGCohIG3wvLpGJQsyFKIl7BU/s320/MAMA0407.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Zoom, zoom!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Fine, my bad, I'll just pay the ticket, I'll just have to wait a week because of paperwork or what-have-you.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Turns out that the visa that I had been waiting for comes in the day BEFORE I can pay the ticket. I am to leave immediately. What follows is the worst/funniest phone call I've ever made to my parents.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Hi dad, how are you? Good? Good. Me? Good, good. Yeah, I'm at the airport on my way to Mexico. Oh, my mom's there too? Good, good. Listen, I need a favor, can you guys pay a speeding ticket for me? Yes, I know it's my second one..... I love you?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Turns out that Utah doesn't like it when you don't pay tickets within two weeks and run away to a foreign country. So, they issued a bench warrant for my arrest. I was a fugitive for about 2 weeks or so.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">According to my dad, it's all been taken care of. But I'm not willing to find out.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Moral of the story? Don't go to Utah.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlritiz6gKkNsJlQOCpNA8tp5vbrTaMvfY0oi2atjTbIfixgzyHS0phHSWj7FQMo75VJzTF3IfKsRukNz90a33imSdF7qCQ2tVupFD8gqPZZSmQW1TVXqf4F-EyL3zGTZD4WQbaA_k52w/s1600/102_102.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlritiz6gKkNsJlQOCpNA8tp5vbrTaMvfY0oi2atjTbIfixgzyHS0phHSWj7FQMo75VJzTF3IfKsRukNz90a33imSdF7qCQ2tVupFD8gqPZZSmQW1TVXqf4F-EyL3zGTZD4WQbaA_k52w/s320/102_102.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">There</span><span style="font-size: x-small;"> are worse things out there though.</span></div>WaldoGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12059751035163482707noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-462519116599084283.post-88224075795229343912011-06-28T00:17:00.000-07:002011-06-28T00:18:56.495-07:00Dog Vs. EldersSo this one requires a little back story. In my first area down in Mexico, Tultitlan, there was this giant field between where Elder Campbell and I lived and part of our area where there were some apartments. The only way that we knew how to get there was to basically go around this big field, taking the city roads(civilization) which took about 20 minutes to go around. We wanted something better. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8DWnLCqpGk_WXq1HbrL0OO2XhMc1BnsU5C9vC7_C-VHy9c_SFChFn-f8wuYYL4tA7WoHmd3f7Fpss-VQ_YyLPDiVWYgBczhIGdEgoPdFekyh6wxXqa2sybc01hiqUyXrlWLLVbw7z52I/s1600/E+Gonz+010.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8DWnLCqpGk_WXq1HbrL0OO2XhMc1BnsU5C9vC7_C-VHy9c_SFChFn-f8wuYYL4tA7WoHmd3f7Fpss-VQ_YyLPDiVWYgBczhIGdEgoPdFekyh6wxXqa2sybc01hiqUyXrlWLLVbw7z52I/s320/E+Gonz+010.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Because walking Sucks</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">So one day, we scope out the other side of the field to flesh out our "genius plan". Everything is looking PRETTY good for the next day. We felt smart...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">So picture this, the next day, Elder Campbell and I, with our confidence, are starting to cross this field when we hear:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">"A nnnn ero y mu re" (Thh uh dug und ee ite)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">So naturally we look around and wonder what that noise was. All we see is a tree behind us, some sheep ahead of us and a lovely field in the middle of the City of Mexico.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">We hear it a second time.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">"Hay un perro y muerde!" (There's a dog and he bites!)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">This phrase doesn't register in our brains. So we still look for the guy who's talking.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-iKCSH2R_yXMbXf-FnlbZULR6GO1WnRZhiw92rsrxX02v84kXCV4ET_SDJtg_zRSTCNNnznhxDcnYJFhK5noz_gip0XSRceG6Riwry7e_53lxfWc2DKi8nfnFNEjabWl-_jsFeIR6rDo/s1600/088_88.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-iKCSH2R_yXMbXf-FnlbZULR6GO1WnRZhiw92rsrxX02v84kXCV4ET_SDJtg_zRSTCNNnznhxDcnYJFhK5noz_gip0XSRceG6Riwry7e_53lxfWc2DKi8nfnFNEjabWl-_jsFeIR6rDo/s320/088_88.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Where IS this guy?</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">There he is! He's standing next to another tree ahead of us with the sheep!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">We hear the cryptic message again.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">"Hay un perro y muerde!"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">It kinda registers this time. So I look around and see a house maybe 50, 60 yards away. With a poof of dust coming around the corner.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Is that a dog? About half a second later, I confirm that is, in fact, a dog. And he's coming straight at me.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQdW-aHLkAlqKx5y3_D6yCKJhe3gZrZFAfbuVTR2VPJOPEEExm6q4v171FqTVwL_-62HkxoThxZGAkCZ9tCwFHS-3TxS3YhpxB0mZC0zAJgBxZbKc8d2oI_4wdvOuDuG6-aOhG0K5K-3E/s1600/rottweiler-snarling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQdW-aHLkAlqKx5y3_D6yCKJhe3gZrZFAfbuVTR2VPJOPEEExm6q4v171FqTVwL_-62HkxoThxZGAkCZ9tCwFHS-3TxS3YhpxB0mZC0zAJgBxZbKc8d2oI_4wdvOuDuG6-aOhG0K5K-3E/s1600/rottweiler-snarling.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Who's a good boy?!?!?! Yes you are!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">So here's the situation. There's only one rule that comes to being chased by a dog. "You don't have to run faster than the dog, only faster than your companion" My companion has a good 80 foot head start. Oh, and he's a cross country runner.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I, on the other hand, am not considered athletic. I "ran" a mile in 13 minutes, 5 years ago as a freshman in high school. I'm wearing a shoulder(man) bag, Sunday clothes and a dog on my face.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I run away anyways. And as I'm running for my now precious life, I can feel this dog grabbing my pant leg. I don't want to look back because I know EXACTLY where it is. I may have screamed like a little girl.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">In my mad dash to safety, with dog in tow, I miraculously catch up to my companion....... and leave him in the dust.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGtzbizynObNyBBPNq1ExozjHw9llRztYel3BiF3Eylz3WXMAJR3EUIiOaLgz5eQLS9BN2ZaqJchP4AnR3ZsTwHZr8-DKPJxKJN8GRvh-4Ct7PafpxDTsCup-4FFofIO6os9MqW_a1kQQ/s1600/speedy-gonzalez.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGtzbizynObNyBBPNq1ExozjHw9llRztYel3BiF3Eylz3WXMAJR3EUIiOaLgz5eQLS9BN2ZaqJchP4AnR3ZsTwHZr8-DKPJxKJN8GRvh-4Ct7PafpxDTsCup-4FFofIO6os9MqW_a1kQQ/s320/speedy-gonzalez.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Arriba arriba! Epa, epa!</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">After we reach relative safety, and are catching our breath and manhood without a bite or even torn pants. My companion asks me, "Elder, where did you get so much speed?"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">My response?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">"....I was motivated"</div>WaldoGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12059751035163482707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-462519116599084283.post-35317729120372484972011-06-19T08:49:00.000-07:002011-06-19T08:49:46.712-07:00Tire problems.Sooooooo, yesterday. I had some truck problems. Apparently, other parts of my truck are jealous because everyone else is getting replaced.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUiLDU7hGx5SZbMa0jdt-H-VTnr3e4dRIbEyP7Ee2prDrWfo9UDvAJUuSeuT6Obq06PUBSADGXtAAUKn0q9FcrUsW1dYbDWssY-EcPOY_UpI5lc_z1Qgt8lf7avEUabj2L7o29-iTsueM/s1600/IMAG0003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUiLDU7hGx5SZbMa0jdt-H-VTnr3e4dRIbEyP7Ee2prDrWfo9UDvAJUuSeuT6Obq06PUBSADGXtAAUKn0q9FcrUsW1dYbDWssY-EcPOY_UpI5lc_z1Qgt8lf7avEUabj2L7o29-iTsueM/s320/IMAG0003.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Drama queen</span></div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="left">So, yesterday. I had been running around a lot yesterday, errands, hanging out with family, installing a stereo that I bought two months ago. I even helped someone move, I even had a party to go to that night. It was a good day, What could go wrong?( You know what happens. Don't act surprised )</div><div align="left">So I go home, clean up, and make my way to the party.</div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="left">I'm not even 2 miles from my house when I hear a pop! MY TIRE HAD BEEN SLASHED BY THE WOLVERINE!</div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="left">This is my situation. With my whole, "engine swap" adventure, I had lost the metal bar that lifts up my car jack. That doesn't matter because I don't have a spare tire.</div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ2R09MFEm6yD4KQR7FpNojbdYyeM9Ct679JNqCj7jAAQFpUnKrLP0aDNW3pFTaMHDTxKuub0i6Fc0DMxoCSc3ZUrcqX-JgxidEnAnrxd9XWFNsFg4J9HBtxHO5essVJjeHYd4tc3qZOA/s1600/simpsons_nelson_haha-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ2R09MFEm6yD4KQR7FpNojbdYyeM9Ct679JNqCj7jAAQFpUnKrLP0aDNW3pFTaMHDTxKuub0i6Fc0DMxoCSc3ZUrcqX-JgxidEnAnrxd9XWFNsFg4J9HBtxHO5essVJjeHYd4tc3qZOA/s320/simpsons_nelson_haha-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div align="center"></div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="left">That's because the oversize tires don't fit in the spare tire place under my truck. I don't remember if I bought tow-truck insurance, that doesn't matter because it's 7:00 pm on a Saturday, so there's no tire shop open. I'm also about 1.5 miles from home, so paying $50+ to get it towed there will be like getting a punch to the nuts by a 2 year old, painful and humiliating.</div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="left">AND no one is picking up their phone, the only person who does is getting a pedicure.</div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="left">So I look at my options.</div><ol><li><div align="left">I can ditch the truck and walk home.</div></li>
<li><div align="left">I can curl up into a little ball and cry.</div></li>
<li><div align="left">I can drive the beast home.</div></li>
</ol><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="left">Option #2 is looking really good at this point, but it's not manly. So guess which remaining option I took?</div><div align="left"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAt3r20pcMLEr1c7JqbK3nCoZGpnr6IUwNaH9G9ec_4yf8N2EGNqlJdgtyeAcolE5Wf8Kkhe8JbDzWH4ncha9UpNjfh5c9vIEzRxSfSnWGLOUy1EXiMlbRFciAZh0wS365FJ38cwe4HYY/s1600/IMAG0006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAt3r20pcMLEr1c7JqbK3nCoZGpnr6IUwNaH9G9ec_4yf8N2EGNqlJdgtyeAcolE5Wf8Kkhe8JbDzWH4ncha9UpNjfh5c9vIEzRxSfSnWGLOUy1EXiMlbRFciAZh0wS365FJ38cwe4HYY/s320/IMAG0006.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span><div align="center" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I'll give you a hint</span></div><div align="center" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">With my evening ruined and now hungry. I decide to celebrate my adventure with some Pizza Hut...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">...because they deliver.</div>WaldoGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12059751035163482707noreply@blogger.com1