Birthday Tea from Me (part 2)

Everyone was to dress in formal attire. Everyone did. And we all looked fabulous in that old boxy house. There were at least 2 girls and 6 guys in attendance.

I had to make sure that each guest ate a scone and that nobody ate 2. I announced that everybody had to at least try the scones because I made them myself for the party, and it was my first attempt at baking scones. There were 2 flavors, just in case someone didn’t like one. One was orange and honey and the other was cinnamon raisin.

No one suspected the scones.

Everyone at least tried a scone and most of them ate the whole thing. I ate one too. After about maybe 15-30 minutes people started feeling weird. Some looked curious, but most were beginning to furrow their brows in confusion. I had decided to keep my cool for as long as possible before I let everybody know what happened, or better said–what I had done to them all.

I went upstairs to the restroom. My good friend Jordan followed me up there to inquire privately about what the crap was going on. Josh came as well. They inquired along the lines of,

Hey man, what’s going on here? Because something obviously is.

I told them what I did and they were relieved to realize that they weren’t going crazy. Although they had incorrectly assumed, still, that I had put something in the tea.

“Not so my friends,” I said “nobody suspected the scones.”

Jeremiah came up at that point and saw our smiling faces.

He looked right at me.

“You son of a b***h”

We busted up laughing

“This is awesome, but… you son of a b***h.”

Continued in Part 3

Birthday Tea from Me (part 3)

As the evening went on I was pretty proud that no one had a bad trip and that I pretty much kept track of everybody. Jordan was arranging tea sets and taking pictures, I carved a jack-o-lantern to look like it was puking out its pumpkin guts…

That was of course until Scott threw open our front door and it slammed against the living room wall.  

“What is happening to me?” He shouted, slurring. “I can’t get drunk!”

Oh no. Scott.

Apparently I had not noticed that soon after eating the scones Scott had left and went to a couple keggers around the neighborhood. I guess he had been drinking all night and in his heightened or elevated mental state he became under the impression that alcohol was having no effect on him. Obviously I felt bad. I still do. As he stood in the front doorway Jordan and I quickly explained that there were mushrooms in the scones. As soon as the information sunk in he leaned back against the corner of the wall, slid down until he was sitting, and promptly fell asleep or passed out.

Other than what happened to Scott, and that this weasel kid sneaked in and stole the rest of the scones, the party was a success.

The Closet and the 300 lb Dog Part 1

I once lived in a room that was a closet.


It was about 8 feet long 4 feet wide and 10 feet tall. Even though it was technically a closet, the door locked from the inside, there was a window, a lightbulb, a light switch, and three shelves under the window.


There were 3 other roommates in the house: Derek, JC, and Alex. Derek was a punk rocker in a local band, JC liked classic rock like Led Zeppelin but wasn’t in a band, and Alex had a girlfriend so he didn’t need to be in a band.


They were already living together and I was looking for a place to stay. They had previously mentioned that the hall closet wasn’t being used for anything and that I could live there. I think they were joking but I took them up on the offer anyway. We decided I would live in the closet and just pay the utilities bill, which was about 90 bucks a month. It was a pretty sweet deal.


People liked to hang out in my room more than the rest of the house even though It was real small and you had to sit on a mattress. But it had a space heater in there. Plus, any time there was more than 1 person inside it would heat up pretty quick. It was really cold that winter in WI and nobody wanted to sit around our cold living room for very long, even if they were drinking booze.


In other words, after acclimating to the temperature in my room guests didn’t like to leave. Or maybe people wanted to hang out in my closet room because I was the coolest roommate. Probably both.


One time when Derek and Alex came home they found the house empty, except for me and 8 friends crammed in my closet room, drinking and having our own little party in there. It was odd to feel their slight envy of my situation, since they were the ones doing me a favor in letting me live there.


One night we finally all got drunk together outside of the closet my roommates included. They had some sort of principle against hanging out in their rented closet of their own house. However, my closet parties helped my housemates realize that we should have more people over and needed turn up the heat a little bit. They must have supposed that if people were willing to party in the closet, they would be willing to party in the house itself as well.


Continued in part 2…

The Closet and the 300 lb Dog Part 2

After a bunch of beers, Alex, JC, and I decided that it was time to steal some lawn decorations. I had recently seen some concrete wolves that would make a good addition to our living room; so, we went in search of them.  


We found way more than wolves at that abode. The house was across the street from a full service Citgo station. It had eight foot tall evergreens fencing in the garden of statues. It was like the ice Queen’s statue garden from Narnia. Luckily the wolves looked light enough to swipe. We took two. Unfortunately we weren’t done yet.


Further down that country road was a quaint house with a statue of a german shephard. This statue was much bigger than the wolf statues but we figured that the three of us could handle it. Unlike the hollow wolves, this statue was solid concrete, with a solid concrete base, and was probably about four and a half feet tall. I’m not great with guessing weight, but i’d wager that that dog was at least 300 lbs. It was obviously not meant to be moved without the help of a jack or dolly of some sort. (And even when I was able to use a dolly later on, it bent the dolly.)


If we hadn’t been intoxicated we would have thought better of our plan after we trying the initial lift. But we did no further thinking. We were able to lift it enough to drag the a corner of the base across the lawn. While lifting I felt like my belt had somehow stabbed into the side of my belly, According to my doctor I most likely weakened a spot in my abdomen and will maybe have a hernia there some day. But we managed to get it into the trunk of JC’s car and head back to the homestead.


Once there, Derrick and somebody else helped us get it up the stairs. It was not as bad carrying it when there were five people–but the same could be said for a piano. The next day I started to feel pretty bad about what we did. Especially because the dog had a hand print, signature, and (I think) the dog’s name on the bottom (we didn’t see that till later). So, it was likely made special for the owner, by someone they knew, in remembrance of a family dog that had died. That really made me feel like a douche. I knew I had a bad habit of stealing weird things when I was drunk. The sign from a chiropractic center, lawn chairs and paintings of fish from a retirement home, a Hardee’s sign. They all tended to be large and mostly useless items. I don’t drink anymore by the way and that’s a good thing for everybody.


Anyhow, I started feeling pretty bad about the whole thing. But there was no way I was going to be able to return it myself. I had to convince my roommates to help me. I was able to recruit my good friend and drummer of the band I was in to help me return the wolves. Scott was a good guy and understood that I did stupid things when I was drunk. Together we got those wolves back where they belong. But they obviously weren’t a personal as the dog. That’s the one I really felt bad about taking. And Scott and I were not going to be able to move that without at least 2 more people.


For the next couple nights my roommates were busy or just weren’t up to the arduous task. Then one night they got some beers and watched “The Warriors”. It’s a classic gang film. This got them pretty pumped about, well nothing really, and by the time I got home they had spray painted warriors graffiti on 2 of our doors and on the german shepherd. They put mardi gras beads around the dog’s neck as well.


The dog wasn’t a solid color statue like the wolves were. It had been painted with great detail and the hairs were carved into the concrete as well. Basically, I couldn’t imagine a way to get that red paint out or paint over it well enough. And that is when my last glimmer of hope to return the world’s heaviest german shepherd died.


When we moved out of the house the roommates did help move the dog, but only to the attic. It was only 5 stairs to get there and we just slid it as far as we could to the back and just left it there. Most likely it would eventually fall through the ceiling on a humid day and kill a family. But that’s not the end of the story.


The Closet and the 300 lb Dog Part 3

A few years later, upon realizing that my life sucked, I decided to repent and make restitution of all the things that I had done wrong in my life–as much as I was able. I remembered the dog that I had stolen. I wondered if it was still in that attic. I borrowed my dad’s dolly and drove my recently purchased minivan ($75) to that old house.


I tried the door. It was open. It looked like no one had lived there since we left. I let myself in and looked around. Oh the memories. Up in the dingy attic, almost all the way in the back stood the silhouette of a proud german shepherd just waiting to cause injury.


I got him on the dolly and tied him down. I’m not sure why I let myself do this by myself. My habit of not thinking things through didn’t go away when I quit drinking. But, I got him down the stairs and out the back door of the house without disaster, although I could see that the dolly has bent. I opened the sliding door of the van and I figured that I could tilt the dog against the van and just hoist and slide it in there on its side. Which I did. But as I did there was that knife in the belly again. This time real sharp. And with my limited medical knowledge I figured that I had given myself a hernia. (I hadn’t)


So I returned the dog and everything was great.

Not really. Not yet anyway.

The dog still had red spray paint with warriors tagged all over it. Back at my parent’s house my brother Ben helped me get it out of the van.

“You moved this by yourself? What were you thinking?”

I thought about the knife in my belly.

“Whenever you need to move this again you call me ok?”

I agreed.


Now I just needed to get the red paint off and finally get this dog out of my life. I didn’t want to use any chemicals because I figured that would remove the original paint as well. At first I tried to scrape it off with a flathead screwdriver. I’m not sure why I thought that was a good idea. But I ended up chipping part of the nose. I figured that I would spackle that part later or something like that.


I decided that chipping wasn’t the best idea. So, I got my dad’s pressure washer out of the garage and started spraying. I assumed that the red paint would come off easier than the real paint and I was right. Although, I had to be really careful so as to not take off too much. I started on and around the nose that I had chipped. I watched as the pressurized water caught the lip of the chip I had created earlier, and caused the majority of the nose and snout to pop off and fall to the ground.


The noseless shepherd was hoisted back into by minivan and remained there for several months while I procrastinated finding a solution. Fast forward to me seeing a place from the highway that had hundreds of lawn decorations next to a barn.  On the side/ roof of that barn was painted in all capital letters: HEAVY CRITTERS. I called them up and asked if they could fix the dog and how much it would cost. They said they could fix it and that it would probably be $90. (They actually ended up doing it for free. They never said why. Probably because they are awesome.) But before they could start they needed a picture of the dog so they could make sure to get the repaint job correct. I didn’t want to tell them that I stole it so I just found a picture of a german shepherd on the internet that looked close, printed it out, and brought it there with the statue. I came back a week later (maybe, I don’t remember how long it took, this was like 12 years ago) and picked it up. It looked great. The nose was back, the paint was correct. And the time had now come to get that 300lb albatross out of my $75 dollar minivan.


I wrote a note to the owners. I don’t remember what it said. Probably stuff about being sorry for being an ass. We, Ben and I, put the dog in the owner’s front yard by the door. I put the note partially under the statue so there was no way it could blow away. My mom had advised me not to apologize in person. I think that was a good decision. I drove by the house the next day and the dog wasn’t there. I assume they brought it inside so safe keeping. Otherwise some other dumb drunk teenager and his roommates have stolen it and have started their own weird stupid journey with that heavy dog.


Here is some info from the webpage of HEAVY CRITTERS, the people that made the restitution part of my repentance process more possible.


Our Products and Services

HEAVY CRITTERS specializes in unique, exciting, and unusual items. Designed for both indoor and outdoor use, our statuary is of the highest quality. HEAVY CRITTERS is known for its life-like wildlife items and its gorgeous airbrushed stepping-stones. Our products have been featured in Better Homes & Gardens, Country Women, Plow & Hearth, Country Sampler, and McCall’s magazines.


Business Hours

Always by appointment, always by chance, always with YOU in mind.

Year round by appointment – (920) 235-2864


Open April 1 – December 23

11:00 AM – 5:00 PM Monday – Friday

10:00 AM – 3:00 PM Saturday

12:00 PM – 2:00 PM Sunday


Call for EXTENDED SEASONAL HOURS – (920) 235-2864


Catholic Funeral + Mexican Restaurant = Placebo Effect

I was 26 at the time, and I was getting migraines.

(I didn’t realize until later but I also had pretty strong social and general anxiety.)


An Indian doctor that worked in my dad’s building gave me some samples of Lexapro to deal with my migraines. My dad has a physical therapy practice, and there are some other specialists like him who use offices in the same building.


I didn’t know that this medicine is usually for treating depression and anxiety. Probably because I couldn’t understand everything the indian doctor said to me. I didn’t want to be rude and make it look like english wasn’t his first language, so I didn’t ask him to repeat anything. He seemed to think that 2 handfuls of free samples would do the trick. Not handfuls of pills. Handfuls of pill boxes.


I was at a Catholic funeral when I got my next migraine. We were going to a mexican restaurant after the funeral and I took the Lexapro on the way there.


By the time our waiter came with fresh guac and chips my anxiety was so low I had become downright annoying. I had no worries about any social qualms or whatever other people might think of me. Not like when someone is drunk and has no inhibition. This was different. I felt like the shackles of social expectations had fallen off me.


By the time I next visited a doctor I was in Utah for the college semester. The doctor there informed me that what I had felt wasn’t possible, because SSRIs take a month to build up in one’s system. He attributed my experience to the placebo effect. I asked him how that could be since if I wasn’t aware that the medicine was for depression and anxiety. He didn’t have an answer for that.


Since then I have been taking Citalopram (the generic for Lexapro). It has been 7 years. It never had the same degree of effect as the first time I took the medicine, but social and general anxiety levels have lowered in my life. While in college I was getting migraines on a daily basis. But the citalopram has brought that down as well. One to five a month I’d say.


Peeing in a Spoon

I once dated a girl named Liz. She had beautiful wavy auburn hair, and would never wear white socks. She didn’t shave her armpits, and had a little bit of her cute auburn hair there too. She was quite short and worked as a waitress. Being so short and carrying trays of food might be why she had such a nice round butt.


I met her through a mutual friend named Mary. Mary, Liz, and I were gonna all move to California together after Mary’s last semester (which was the current semester). Until then, Liz and I had some time to get to know each other better (since we had met about a week earlier). We decided to go camping in northern Wisconsin.


I brought a pony keg of Heineken and she brought the food. It took us a while to pick a lake to camp by, and it was dark by the time we set up our tent. So, we did our drinking after dark while sitting by the campfire. I didn’t realize how drunk I was because I hadn’t gotten up most of the evening. When I drunkenly tried to get romantic she politely declined. But, we did fall asleep spooning in the tent.


When we woke up the next morning Liz’s back was soaking wet.

I said, “well, maybe you just sweated a lot.”

“But I smell like urine and your crotch is all wet” she responded.

It was apparent that I had wet the Liz.


No, we did not have other clothes to change into. But we dried out eventually. Our romantic getaway weekend was off to a great start.


Liz had brought us artichoke heart sandwiches and cantaloupe for lunch; she’s a vegetarian. While scaling a pine tree together, I realized I needed to stop climbing and get down because my protein-deprived arms were shaking. Life pro tip: vegetarians need protein and B12.   


I was standing on the beach while she was straddling a tree stretching over the lake,

when she asked me:

“Do you ever feel like you are having sex with nature?

I couldn’t think of anything to say.

She continued, “Like you’re giving something and getting something back?”

I wasn’t sure. But probably not.


A few weeks later she made the move to California. I didn’t go. I felt that she would eventually break my heart. Also, I didn’t have a job or a place to live lined up.  Last I heard she is still living out there in a homemade mud houses community.


Not moving with her was one of the few times that I made a logical decision in that period of my life. But since then I haven’t been able to find Mary. She still has my “Code of the Woosters” book by P.G. Wodehouse and I miss it dearly. If you read this Mary, I will give you back your 60’s Dance Party, and Motown Classics CDs for that book. Please, its one of my prize possessions. It’s that really old orange hardcover.

Ice Hole Whisky


My friend Scott thought it would be a great idea to hide a bottle of Kessler’s (cheap whisky) in an ice hole on lake Winnebago. His thinking was, it would be cool to pull a bottle of whisky out of the frozen lake and drink it.

People drill ice holes out there in the wintertime for ice fishing, and Scott had put the bottle in one of these holes a couple days before. This kept it cold and for some reason it didn’t get stuck.

We drove out to the lake and he walked out onto the ice to get it. I had brought some Pepsi’s, root beers, and fast food cups. I taught Scott that you need to pour the soda in first because the whiskey will start to eat away the bottom of the fast-food cup and it gets all soggy.

We just sat there in the parking lot by the lake and drank. That would pretty much be the end of the story, but as we were sitting there, a bus from a casino showed up and dropped off a horde very drunk, very old people. After being dropped off they proceeded to stumble and meander to their cars so as to drive themselves home.

It was a portrait of a capitalistic America at its finest. Multiple geriatric​ drunks drinking, gambling, and then driving their way home. This is America. Where a casino on an indian reservation will provide a free bus ride for most of the trip in order to get your grandparents’ retirement monies. And it looked like those geezers had a great time.

Cotton Colon

Just so you know I have Crohn’s disease.

That means that there’s inflammation in my intestines and a lot of stuff happens because of that. Basically it’s super easy to shat or crap my pants. I almost always have to wear a pad or a diaper when things are really bad. At this point in my life I hadn’t gotten to diapers yet and was just using pads.

I had been working as a Wilderness therapy Trail guide. And obviously had a pretty active lifestyle with that job. So I’ve been bringing in a couple dozen pads with me because we are on trail seven to eight days at a time.

And this had been working pretty well. One day while I was off trail (at home) I thought to myself; These pads have been working pretty well but women also use tampons instead of pads, that may work even better.

Being the scientist- minded person that I am, I decided that I should try it out. So I went ahead and got one of my wife’s tampons has opposed to her pads, and proceeded to stick it in my butt hole.

I figured that if it worked for vaginas I figured it would work for butts too right?

So I got it in there,  and as soon as I did my sphincter clenched it was pretty uncomfortable and a bit painful. This problem compounded. When I felt the pain my sphincter, it clenched more which created more pain  which caused more clenching and even more pain. So my discomfort was multiplied by 3 before I got that tampon out of my butt. Turns out, vaginas and butts are totally different.

Later as I related my findings to friends, the reaction that I always got was along of lines of “what the crap were you thinking” or “of course that wouldn’t work”. That’s easy for them to say now.  I mean it made sense at the time, sort of. I think that logic was sound, just not the common sense. .

People also asked;

Why didn’t you figure that it would it just pop out when you pooped?  I admit that I hadn’t considered that. So now we know.

Waiting on a River

My mom had told me a couple times that I would probably be a great waiter.

One day I finally decided to go for it.

There’s this restaurant in my hometown called Fratellos. It’s like one of the best restaurants in town. It’s not super fancy compared to bigger city standards but in a town of like 62,000 people it counts as a fancypants restaurant.

I went there, applied, and went through all that stuff. Eventually they called me for an interview.  It was unlikely for me to get an interview since I had no waiting experience. However, the river still had plenty of ice chunks flowing through it, and therefore they must have been real low on staff . They were likely scraping the barrel of my medium-sized hometown. But they happened to scrape out just what they were looking for. I knew that I would make a great waiter. I was good at memorizing things and I was real friendly with people. I’m also good at catching things that fall.

Here’s a little background about the place: Fratellos was a restaurant that you could get to by car or by boat. (I guess by foot has well, obviously.) So they had docks and you could park your boat and come up to the restaurant or have them serve you on your boat. Pretty fancy.

During the interview things were going pretty well. We were sitting at a table with a view of the river. She was dressed real nice and professional-like. The kind of person you don’t want to ask stupid questions to.

At the end of the interview the interviewer asked me if I had any questions. Now, I have been told that it’s always good to have questions for an interview. However she already answered everything that I was wondering about so I didn’t have any questions left.

But, I assumed that it was  better to ask any question then no questions at all. I had been gazing at the chunks of ice flowing down the river while the lady was talking, and I began to wonder.

I asked, does this river ever change direction in flow?

She looked up at me.

Because I think I remember it flowing a different direction another time that I saw it.

She looked back at my resume’

I was beginning to realize that my question was irrelevant. But I did want to know.

“So I’m just wondering if the flow of the river ever changes directions like with the seasons or something?”

She stared out the window for a few seconds, and said she didn’t know. And asked if I had any other questions.

I didn’t.

And I did not get that job.

I still wonder though, about that river. And I bet she does too. Actually, I don’t think rivers ever change direction. Why would that even happen?