Do you believe in ghosts?

That seems like a legitimate question right? The world is full of ghost stories and people honestly believe in hauntings and all that. So I'll repeat my question. Do you believe in ghosts?

I've had some interesting encounters in my life, which cause me not to rule out ghosts and creepy stuff like that.

Once I saw a ghost rummaging around in my underwear drawer. I've seen a woman hanging clothes on a clothesline in my bedroom and an old man trying to shove a pillow on my brother's face. And don't get me started on the Wallknocker who, by the way, has returned with a vengeance. Yes, I hear you. You've made yourself known. Please stop knocking! And what's with it always happening right when I'm about to fall asleep?

Don't ghosts have any sense of time?

Granted, you could probably pin the blame on too much soda before bed. Too much stress. Too many creepy books and movies. That stuff plays with your mind. The Wallknocker's probably not a ghost either. I'm betting it could be a goblin or maybe a litter of baby Sasquatches just eager for some affection.

Next question:

What the heck are ghosts made of?

Dust?

Air?

Gas? (Not that kind of gas...)

Hmmm....

That kind of gas?

Call it a writing project if you will, but I'm curious. I've seen the Sixth Sense (creepy) and according to that "true" story, ghosts make the temperature drop until you can see your breath. I don't know how I feel about that. When that one ghost was sifting through my tighty whities, it didn't feel cold in my room. Of course, I was in Alabama.

Do ghosts just hang around in the places where they've died. Can they roam free? And how is it the ghosts everyone claims to have seen are all wearing clothes? Wouldn't they be naked? Or did their clothes have spirits too that decided to come back from the dead?

If that's the case... How do you know if your clothes are capable of coming back from the dead?

Man, I think I'd want to know that.

Maybe its just me, but seeing floating clothes would be just as freaky as seeing a ghost. Now I know why there are so many hand-me-downs in the world. So many donations. You really never hear of people just burning their clothes or burying them or throwing them away. Am I the last person to realize the paranormal nature of polyester?

What about the different classifications of ghosts. You've got:

Poltergeist

...uh...

the...

... uussshh...

I'm drawing a blank. What other ghost classifications are there? I know Tolkien had a whole bunch in The Lord of the Rings, but for the life of me...

Again, for science, I need to know. Your opinions on any of my ghost related questions will be greatly appreciated.

Stress... How do you handle it?

I think that's a legitimate question. Stress. We all have it at some point in our lives. Some of us have it more often than others. The clincher for me is how to handle stress. I don't do this well. Ask my wife. She'll tell you I'm intolerable when I'm stressed.

Some of my stress symptoms:

Prone to angry outbursts and since I've never been really good at speaking clearly, stress causes me to stutter something awful especially when I'm angry.

Exhaustion.

Excessive wandering. I don't even know where I'm wandering to. I just end up moving in and out of each of the rooms searching for something and than growing more and more irritated when I don't find it.

Cold feet. No, this isn't nervousness. I get cold (temperature) feet. Maybe this doesn't have anything to do with stress, but when I am stressed, cold feet really bug me. There aren't enough socks in the world!

And of course, night terrors. They're particularly bad when I'm stressed. Its hazardous to my health. I'm not that agile anymore and when my dream suddenly calls for gymnastic moves to avoid Anderson Cooper sneaking in through a doggy door, someone's bound to get hurt. Don't be worrying about Heidi. She can handle herself. It's me you've got to be concerned about. Heidi likes to throw punches.

Right now I'm stressed about a lot of things. Work (I work in retail and we've just entered the holiday season. Ouch.) My writing. My release party. My book sales. Whether or not my lego action figures are selling well on Ebay. There's no end to it.

My problem is I just don't know how to handle it. I've heard eating over-the-top milkshakes are a good start, but Heidi denies this. What can be done about this stress?

Oh, and we're one week away from my release party. Yep, you can expect more night terror stories in the immediate future.  But, on a side note, I may have a couple of ARCs (Advanced Reading Copies) of my new book due out in the spring. How's that for enticement? I plan on giving them away at the release party!!!

Also, I just need 2 more followers and I'll give away a signed copy of Hashbrown Winters and the Phantom of Pordunce. 2 more! That's it. And just think, 2 more followers may reduce my stress level just a bit.

A Dream Come True

Have you ever had a reoccurring dream? You know the ones where the same things happen over and over again in your sleep. I've heard these dreams are supposed to symbolize something important for the dreamer, but since I'm no expert in the field of dreamology (whatever) I wonder if anyone has any ideas. I've had three reoccurring dreams I can remember:

1. I'm laying in a meadow and I'm very relaxed. In the distance I can see a white horse galloping back and forth across the horizon. It's all very serene and peaceful like the opening credits of a movie (I can't remember the production company) where the white Pegasus gallops over some title. This is all fine and dandy until the horse gets closer and closer and closer. Pretty soon it's right on top of me and before I can move, WHAM! It gallops right across my face. Then I wake up, sweating and not too happy. Any ideas what this dream could mean? I'm really curious.

2. I'm usually dreaming about something else when this one happens. But there I am... dreaming when all of a sudden I start to wake up (for reals) and in my room there's a creepy old man hunched over and staring at me. At that point in the dream I've always sat up in bed quickly and chucked my pillow at him and of course, he disappears. I've seen him multiple times and he's always doing something a little different. I actually posted about one of these encounters a while ago when my brother, Michael, and I were on a road trip and I saw the old man trying to suffocate Michael with a pillow. Is my subconscious trying to tell me something? Am I missing the bigger picture?

3. The last one is similar to number 2, only instead of a creepy old man, my dream transforms and I see an elderly woman (grey hair pulled back in a bun, wearing some sort of pioneer attire) hanging clothing on a clothes line in the corner of my bedroom. Again, my weapon of choice is a pillow and she always vanishes when I start chucking.

Dreams are weird. But I am excited about the new movie, Inception, which comes out in July. It's all about dreams and other stuff... honestly, I have no idea what it's about, but the special effects look cool and I'm stoked to watch it.

Now, for the good news I said I would tell you. Tricky huh? I purposely started this post about some random topic in order to lure you in so you wouldn't immediately click off my blog at the first sign of me announcing some self-promoting mumbo jumbo. Quick as a cat I am. (Sorry for the Yoda Phraseology). Hey, I just used two different "ology" words in the same post. Neat.

All right, I'll get on with it. Here's the news: I just found out from my publisher that they're planning on printing the Guardians of the Tebah Stick in...

HARDCOVER!

Isn't that just a trip? Hardcover! Do you know what this means? Um... uh... it means you can buy my book and feasibly use it as a weapon! It's going to be heavy, both in weight and in the same way Marty Mcfly used the term "heavy" in Back to the Future. Actually, now that I think about it... when Marty said "heavy" I think he was referring to something that wasn't too swell. So scratch that! It'll just weigh more than any of my other books. This seriously is a dream come true! I've always wanted to have a book of mine printed in hardcover and I can't say enough nice things about Cedar Fort. They've really shown their support of me as a writer and this is stinking awesome! Of course things can change in the publishing world and nothing's set in stone. But I made certain to ask for their approval to announce this and they assured me they were 99% positive it will be printed in hardcover and should be out in stores next spring.

So there you go. Great news huh? Now I'm eager to see the cover and I'm not sure when that will show up on the radar. You can bet I'll keep you posted... inconspicuously as always.

Frankie the Phantom strikes again...

Not really, I just wanted to start off this post like that. Okay, I did have a sleep episode the other night, but it was mild. Chased a little man around the bed that some how managed to morph into my desk chair, woke up Heidi with the light, but then couldn't find the words to explain to her why everything I was doing made perfect sense. She's so great. I'm not that patient and I get freaked out really easily in the middle of the night (no duh, right?) Had it been Heidi dancing around the room, I would've taken her out. My weapon of choice? The pillow. I don't know what it is, but I can't throw a baseball straight and I'm the last person picked in a game of dodge ball. Give me a pillow and wake me up in the middle of the night with some bizarre occurrence.... BLAM! I can't miss.

I've been very lucky the past two weeks to be able to visit a couple of amazing elementary schools. Canyon Rim Academy and Sprucewood Elementary. There's something about hundreds of kids truly giggling over something silly you've said. I can't explain it, but it makes me uber-grateful for my chance to write and do something I love (even if I'm on borrowed time.)

That's all I have tonight. I'm really tired and just wanted to log in an entry to keep up with everything. On a side note, I'm hovering around 23,000 words in the third Hashbrown story. If I can just get my act together, I could be finished in no time. There are a couple of key words in that last sentence, but I'm not quite sure what they are. :)

Oh, and here's a quote to brighten your day. It did mine, after I stopped to really think about it.

"I don't know how I feel about Hashbrown Winters. I guess I don't like it. He's just to mischievous. - Sweet old lady at a bookstore

Thanks mam. That's what I was going for...

Nostalgic Moment #26

Okay, so last week's signing at Authorpalooza (Orem Barnes and Noble) was a great success. There were over 30 local authors including James Dashner, Jeff Savage, Lisa Mangum, Aubrey Mace, Jillayne Clements and of course a ton more. So if you missed it you really missed it. The gang at the Orem Barnes and Noble worked some serious magic (Brandi, Melyn, Michelle and all the other tee-shirt wearing crew members were amazing and I owe them a huge thanks for letting me join in the fun.)

Now, I will be doing a couple signings this week as well. So here's the breakdown:

Tuesday afternoon from 2:30-4:30, I will be signing at BYU education week at the BYU bookstore (Wilkinson Student Center). There will be tons of authors there as well, so if you're sick of seeing me (how could that ever be?) then you can visit someone else.

Thursday morning from 10-12, I will be at Cedar Fort's Outlet store in Springville (2373 W. 700 S.) signing books during their blowout clearance sale. Hopefully, they're not blowing out my books for clearance prices, but if they are... hey that would be a good time to show up and buy some.

Friday evening from 6-8 p.m. I will be at the Seagull book in Taylorsville (5720 S. Redwood Road). Lots of opportunities to come see me and chat or throw egg in my face. I could use the protein. If anything, it should be fun to watch me draw customers toward my table. I'm pretty loud and obnoxious and I'm giving away marbles. What more could you ask for in terms of an entertaining afternoon?

Now, back by popular demand (my wife) here's a nostalgic moment to chew on...

It was a cold night in Ogden, Utah and Heidi and I were newlyweds living in a matchbox. Seriously, this apartment was so small you had to turn sideways to enter it in order to squeeze by the refrigerator. For some reason it did have a second floor. The stairs went straight into the only bedroom. Did I mention this apartment was small? Well, let me paint a better picture. On our first night in the apartment we stopped at Merrill's Mattress Emporium (may or may not be the actual name of that establishment) and purchased our first bed. After Merrill crammed the mattress into my in-laws van (scratching the sides to the point that we almost couldn't pry it out) we headed back to our humble abode, giddy with excitement from our first big purchase. Of course the bed wouldn't fit through the door because no one owning anything larger than a twin bed had ever rented the apartment before us, so we had to smash out the second floor window and shove it through. As a side note, we had to smash the window again to remove the bed when we moved, but I was clever enough to disguise the destruction so that our landlord had no idea what had happened until we were long gone (I feel very bad about this... now, ten years removed from the incident.) Wow, talk about rambling on and on. Did I ever veer! I'm like in a completely different neighborhood right now. I don't even recognize any of the road signs. Let me steer us back toward the nostalgic moment I intended to tell.

Like I said, it was a cold night and Heidi and I were snug in our bed (a Merrill special) and snoring. At around 2 a.m. Heidi nudged me awake.

"Frank, did you hear that?" she asked.

"Hear what?" I mumbled, trying to go back to sleep.

"Someone just knocked on our door."

That startled me a little and I sat up in bed to listen. Sure enough, someone was knocking. No, that's not the right term. Someone was banging on our door. I was about to go down stairs to see who it was, when the person (several persons to be exact) started banging again on the door. It seemed clear that whoever it was, they were trying very hard to come in. I was a little baffled by this and I remember looking at Heidi in confusion. Suddenly, the intruders left our porch and headed to the side living room window where they began heaving on the glass trying to open it. What the heck was going on? I pointed to Heidi and told her to call 911 because we were obviously about to be robbed. Heidi grabbed the phone and started dialing, but after a few tries I could tell there was a problem. She just stared at me as tears welled up in her eyes and said,

"The phone's dead!"

The phone's dead?!! Well that meant the criminals outside had somehow cut the phone lines and they were coming in for the kill. I got to my feet and looked around the room for a weapon. We, of course, didn't own a weapon because Heidi didn't trust what I could do with it in my sleep. Outside, the intruders had given up on the window and had returned to the porch. Now they were ramming the front door with their shoulders (I figured there were at least three of them.) You're probably wondering how on earth could our pathetic apartment withstand such abuse especially since it had maybe 300 square feet of real estate and a toilet from the 40's, but I should remind you that it was an Ogden apartment. Everything there is tough.

I needed to do something before it was too late, but what could I do? I'm sure if I went downstairs and answered the door in nothing but my underwear I would only encourage the criminals to attack. I looked at my poor wife who, by now, was sobbing and realized it was time to defend everything I held dear. I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders and shouted at the top of my lungs,

"HEY!" I screamed in a voice my wife would later say was not my own. I like to think it had kind of a rich James Earl Jones sort of tone. Immediately the pounding stopped and I could hear the men stumbling off the porch. Oh make no mistake, my voice carried and it was loud.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Again the same voice, but now it sounded even more evil. I imagine it was a healthy mix of The Chef off Southpark and Satan.

After some mumbling outside, I heard one of the guys say, "We're looking for Joey!"

Without any hesitation I answered, "YOU GOT THE WRONG HOUSE, MAN!"

To which the three intruders bounded off the porch, hopped into their car and sped off. Finally, I was able to breathe a sigh of relief and I looked toward Heidi to see if she was all right. She had a dumbfounded look on her face and she whispered,

"What got into you?"

I didn't know, but I told her to try the phone again. This time it worked, because before Heidi was smashing the numbers too fast and the line couldn't connect. About a half hour later the cops drove by and patrolled the neighborhood, but all was well in our neck of the woods. I didn't sleep much that night, but chose to stay downstairs (now fully clothed) prepared to engage the enemy head on, with my new found talent of demon impersonation.

Turns out, our neighbor's oldest son was a gang member and a drug dealer named Joey and had those criminals succeeded in entering our house, they would've probably done some serious damage to us before they had realized they had the wrong people.

I still do that voice from time to time at parties and whenever I want to scare the daylights out of my children. Ah, I love parenthood...

Nostalgic Moment #25

First let me catch you up in 140 words or less... The 4th was a blast, wave running, need I say more? I've lost some serious weight, but kept the non-serious, fun loving weight so don't worry. Had a kidney stone attack, but I was a gladiator and managed to pull off the whole "there's something in my eye" bit when I cried. I removed some of the blog sites I visit, not because I don't visit them anymore (on the contrary, I could probably be labeled as a stalker for the number of times I frequent your sites), but because I wanted to keep you special people safe and sound (e-mail me if you're concerned.) I still go there via my family blog. Lastly, I'm so stoked about the Harry Potter movie coming out this week that I now randomly conjure Patronus Charms out of thin air. Mine is a dung beetle.

OK, now to the good stuff. Doctor's appointment memories:

#1 - Age 5 ( I think) - After playing tag with the neighbor's rabid dog, I was told I had to go get rabies shots. I handled them very well I think, and instead of screaming and tying myself to the car seat, I opted to reason with the nurse attempting to lead me in for the first of many shots.

Nurse: "OK, Frankie, it's time for your shot."

Frankie: "Um, no, I don't want to."

Nurse: "Oh, you know, it's not that bad."

Frankie: "Let me wait a while."

Nurse: "No, we have to do it now."

Frankie: "I don't feel good."

Nurse: "This will make you feel better."

Frankie: Stuck out my tongue

Nurse: "Do you want a lolly pop?"

Frankie: "Sure."

Nurse: "All right, I'll get you one right after your shot."

Frankie: "Keep your sucker, lady."

OK, that was fabricated a little, but looking back, that's what I should've said.

#2 - Age 18 - After having quite a spell of food poisoning and a few other illnesses, I stood in line at my college's pharmacy outside of the health center. Standing in line with me were almost a dozen very cute college girls, many of which I would've loved to date. After waiting patiently for my turn, I approached the window and handed the lady behind the counter my prescription. She returned with a package of the largest pills I had ever seen. They were foil wrapped and as large as my pinkie finger. Trying to be funny, I flashed the pills in the air and asked, while chuckling and loud enough so everyone in line could hear me, how I was supposed to swallow these massive pills. The lady in turn answered me, equally as loud, and told me that they were suppositories. To which I gulped and realized I had ruined all of my chances of ever dating any of those girls.

#3 - Age 30 - After some bad cholesterol experiences and a possible heart issue, I was sent to a heart specialist to undergo a stress test and an EKG. I was very nervous when the doctor entered and wanted to make sure I did everything precisely as I was told. This was my heart after all and you can never be too careful. The doctor performed a few of the routine tests (stethoscope stuff) and then engaged me in the following conversation:

"All right, I will now need your chest bare." (she had a thick accent)

"My what?" I asked.

"Um, your chest bare," she repeated.

I looked around the room clearly confused. "I'm sorry, what do you want?" I asked again.

She cleared her throat. "I need your chest bare."

For a moment, I thought I had forgotten to bring something with me, but then it dawned on me what she was talking about.

"Do you want me to take my shirt off?" I asked.

"I know no other way for your chest to be bare," she answered smugly.

I'm sure by now she thought I was a complete idiot. Either that or deaf, but I honestly thought she was referring to some sort of stuffed animal. Chest Bear? Oh, I'm sorry I left that at home, next to my blankie.

#4 - Age 28 - I went in to the doctor to get some medication for a sinus infection and I unloaded a slew of issues upon the poor, unsuspecting doctor.

"Doc, can I tell you about a few other problems?"

"Of course," he said.

"Well, I have a stiff neck."

"Did you sleep on it wrong?"

"I hurt my thumb a few years ago and it still hurts when I wiggle it like this." I wiggle it for a few seconds.

"I could prescribe some painkillers or muscle relaxers."

"I think I have asthma."

"Have you been tested before?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"Oh, I tested fine."

"Than why do you think you have asthma?"

"Also, at night, I run around my house and do crazy stuff. Do you have any pills for that?"

"What kind of crazy stuff?"

"I pick up furniture, smack into walls, scream out, spit, giggle, you know, crazy stuff."

"I see..." he scribbles a few notes on my record.

"So? Any pills?" I asked anxiously.

"I'm not sure I understand what you're talking about. Why do you think you do all these things?"

"I don't know, stress maybe."

"You pick up furniture?" More scribbling.

"Yes, and I rearrange it."

"I really don't understand."

"Oh, I'm asleep when this happens."

A relieved look appears on his face. "OK, now I see, you're sleepwalking?"

"Yeah, what did you think?"

"I'll be back in a few minutes." He leaves and I swear I can hear laughter coming from behind the door. Poor guy wasn't my regular doctor, just the on-call guy. I did get some pills, but my thumb still hurts when I wiggle it like this:

Nostalgic Moment #19

So, as I mentioned in times past, I've been busy writing and other stuff associated with writing, but for some reason, I haven't been blogging. To give you an update, I just finished the first draft of my latest novel (there's no title yet) and I'm really excited about it. It's kind of a healthy mix between an Indiana Jones story mixed with the Goonies (of course with far less crude humor.) My mind's been swirling as of late with a lot of crazy things and I had planned to start going through and doing line by line edits, but I haven't been able to focus. Maybe in a couple of weeks things will settle enough for me to clear the cobwebs. I may have something exciting to post about soon, but it is not 100% positive yet, so until then... I'll just pass the time wading in the rivulets of nostalgia.

Here are 2 of my favorite Christmas memories:

1. It was 1989 (I'm not really exactly sure of the year, but I like the sound of that) and we had just finished tearing through all of the wrapping to get to the goods. I could always tell when it was a good Christmas haul by how exhausted I was after opening everything. Generally, if I was found collapsed in the couch cushions staring off at nothing in particular, it was because there were too many options to play with, thus a good haul. I think the entire family was lounging on the couches sharing some "Remember when..." stories. You know the ones: Remember when Frankie dressed up like a girl and knocked on the door pretending he was the baby sitter... Yeah, those kind of stories. Anyways, while we were reminiscing, I noticed something lumpy at the bottom of my stocking. I reached down and discovered it was a piece of chocolate (one of those foil-covered chocolate footballs.) I immediately unveiled the treat and popped it in my mouth. After a few seconds of trying to chew up the little morsel, my dad asked me what I was eating. I told him it was a piece of candy from my stocking, to which he replied,

"We didn't put any candy in your stocking." Come to think of it, there wasn't any candy in our stocking the year before. Basically, I was chomping on something that was at least two or three years old that had been stored in cardboard boxes in the basement and tasted like straw. Luckily, there was foil on it, or it might not have been chocolate at all, if you know what I mean.

2. What's a good Christmas memory without a healthy dose of sleep terrorization (don't think that's a word, but I consider myself a writer and therefore I dub it a word.) It was our second Christmas together and Heidi and I spent it with her family. Late Christmas eve, we all decided to sleep out on the couches downstairs (everyone except for Heidi's parents.) Sometime during the middle of the night, I started dreaming that Heidi and I were trapped on the dock at some warehouse and a giant semi-truck was backing up right for us. Heidi was pregnant (in real life and in my dream) and couldn't move. I knew I needed to get the attention of the driver or we'd be smushed. So I screamed at the top of my lungs. "HEEEEEEYYYYYYYYY!!!!!" Of course, my voice boomed through the house probably sounding like a high-pitched whistle. Everyone jolted awake and my wife tried desperately to calm me down. I still remember hearing Heidi's sister Keri starting to panic.

"What's wrong with him? Why is he doing that?"

To which I answered in my best Golem from Lord of the Rings voice, "My precious!"

I think I was awake by that time, but I'm not completely sure. Keri was completely freaked out and started to cry. Merry Christmas!

Nostalgic Moment #17

Of course I'd have to post on election day. It just seems almost a given. Right now thousands upon thousands of people are filing in line to place their vote while I sit here in my pajamas and contemplate the great big mess we're about to be in. Ultimately, I think the economy will pick up a little bit after this whole painful ordeal is over, but I'm not too sure about the future. Yes, I plan on voting even though I'm not that convinced that who I'm voting for is the right person for the job.

Truthfully, I've considered writing in my pick on the ballot because my candidate dropped out a few months ago. If you must know, I'm referring to Dennis Kucinich. The dude was abducted by aliens! He said so himself! That's the kind of rational thinking we need in the White House for crying out loud! OK, I'm just kidding... not about the aliens bit, just about the part that I'd ever vote for that quack.

I thought to myself, what would be the best way for me to kick-off election day on my blog? The answer came almost instantly... I should blog about camping! I hope you will enjoy reading three of my favorite camping memories:

1. CAMP TEFT - It was at a Fathers and Sons camp out many years ago when the first incident happened. After a fun-filled night of whatever goes on at these camp outs, my dad, my brother and I retired for the evening. As a little side note, I tend to suffer claustrophobia when I get in a tent. Something about waking up pinned against that thin layer of vinyl that reminds me of being inside a large egg. Anyways, sometime in the middle of the night, my dad woke up to see me clawing at the side of the tent. I was trying very hard to rip open the tent and get outside.

"What are you doing son?" my dad asked.

"I need to go to the camp teft," I mumbled.

My dad propped himself up on his elbows and stared at me. "The what?"

"I need to go to the camp teft," I said, clear desperation rising in my throat.

"I don't know what you're saying, Frank," he said.

"The camp teft! I need to go to the camp teft!"

"What is that?"

"Camp Teft! Camp Teft!"

"Spell it." I had my dad really confused by now.

"T.E.F.T. Teft!" I actually spelled it.

Finally my dad realized what most of you probably already realized. I was asleep and making no sense what-so-ever.

"Go back to sleep son," he said, sighing. To which I immediately plopped down on my sleeping bag and went to sleep. We never found out what the Camp Teft was, but for some reason I woke up in a wet sleeping bag. No I didn't! I was at least 11 or 12 years old! Come on people!

2. INJURY - Here's another camping story that occurred during a Fathers and Sons camp out. I honestly can't place what year this happened. For all I know, it was doing the same camp out when incident number 1 happened. We had just arrived at the campgrounds and my dad started pulling out our gear to set up for the evening. I remember him asking for help, but my brother and I ignored him. Instead we decided to grab our gloves and throw a baseball back and forth.

After a few tosses, the contest started to get a little heated. My brother and I fought quite a bit when were kids and it didn't take long for us to get in an argument. My dad continued to set-up, asked us to stop fighting and help out, but we were too involved in shouting at each other. For some reason, I kept making fun of the way Michael was throwing the ball and with each jab he tried to throw the ball harder, hoping to hurt me. Finally, I must have pushed him over the edge and in a fit of rage, Michael wound up, and threw the ball as hard as he could. Unfortunately, the ball left his hand at an angle and screamed through the air right at my dad. I still remember the sound of the ball hitting him in the leg and seeing him drop from view behind the car. I really can't describe to you the horror I felt wondering what sort of punishment my dad was going to dish out. Michael and I fell silent and probably prayed. I could always blame it on my brother, but I knew from experience that this approach wouldn't fly. We were both going to be caned for our actions. My dad, however, after righting himself and getting to his feet, just shook his head and went back to setting up our camp. Michael and I stared at each other, confused, but we didn't protest. We quietly dropped our gloves and went over to help.

3. FRONTIER PIES - So, I guess I don't have another platform for telling these stories. They all happened at a Fathers and Sons camp out when I was young. Without further ado I give you the final installment to this post. I think I might have been 14 or 15 when our stake decided that the best place for our camp out would be in a recently used cow pasture. Needless to say, it was a mine field full of cow patties. Everywhere we looked there were these little place mats of brown goodness. We had no clean spot to set up our tent, and so we set up the stakes in cow patties. They were everywhere! This is not an exaggeration. Throughout the entire camp, everyone could be seen high-stepping around the obstacles. It was completely unfun. We ate our food flanked by feces. (I thought a little alliteration would fit nicely there.)

Towards evening, some of the kids decided to start up a game of capture the flag which is almost a must at any camp. I eagerly joined in and soon the game began. There's something about competition that makes one forget about side-stepping those low-rising, fly-infested hurdles. I was no different. I traipsed through the field trying to help my team until the unthinkable happened. I lost my balance and collapsed head first into a mound of something warm and soft. Since we didn't have any shampoo, I had to settle for water to wash the gunk out of my hair. It really didn't do a good job. That had to be the most miserable camping experience of my life.

Now get out there and vote!

My Sleep Episode

That's right, 2 posts in one day. That's because I'm in a writing funk and I can't get out of it. Lately, I just think my ideas stink. I get this way a lot whenever I send something off in the mail. I decided I needed to blog about a sleep episode I had last night. It was a real doozy. What's funny about it, is I actually told somebody that I hadn't acted up in a long time and the very night I get home to my nice soft bed I go nuts.

Because the weather was warming up, we decided to open up some windows, so this created an even better opportunity to embarrass my family in front of the whole world. If any of you recall hearing screaming in the middle of Sunday night, you can rest easy. It was only me.

Here's how it all went down. Sometime in the middle of the night, we'll say 2:00 a.m. because that's usually when things get wacky in my home, I rolled over in my bed and stared at my wall. Now to clarify, staring at a wall usually implies that I was awake, but not me, not this time. I was out cold... but actively involved. Anyways, as I was staring at my wall, I noticed that for some reason a strange doggy door had appeared in the wall near the floor. This was odd because we don't have a dog and even if we did, why would we need a doggy door in my bedroom wall? In my dream I bent down and stuck my head out the doggy door, so to continue with the illustration, I physically hopped out of my bed, ducked down by the floor boards and was rubbing my head against the wall, dreaming that I was staring through the doggy door. What I saw is a little hard to explain. I was peering out into the backyard (again impossible because the wall didn't face our back yard, but that's irrelevant) and there, charging towards me was Anderson Cooper from CNN or NBC (I'm not sure which, but I'm almost positive the dude was on Channel 1 when I was in High School.) I didn't know it was Anderson Cooper right then, it took me part way through the morning to totally realize who it was. At the time, it was just some young looking, grey-haired guy wielding a knife and racing toward the doggy door to stab me and my family with it. That's when the screaming started. Heidi immediately woke up and tried to reason with me, but I was rather frustrated that she didn't share the same urgency that I had with trying to keep Anderson Cooper out of our bedroom. Imagine if you will, a bewildered thirty-something crouched down by the floor board, trying to keep an imaginary doggy door closed with his hands and screaming about how we were about to get stabbed by someone on the other side of the wall. Finally, my poor wife got through my thick skull and things starting making sense. Of course, because she's had to endure this for over 9 years, Heidi went right back to sleep. My heart was racing too fast. I just lay there, wide-eyed and staring down at where the doggy door used to be wondering if maybe, just maybe, Anderson Cooper was crouching beyond the wall holding a knife and waiting for me to go to sleep.

This is a very good reason as to why I don't do drugs.

Nostalgic Moment #15

Freaking Myself Out

I do this a lot. I suppose it has to do with my nature, but I love Halloween, I love a good scary movie and a scary story. It's probably not the best mix for me seeing how I have such unsettling sleep, but I was raised to embrace the creepiness. I have a pretty open mind. Does that mean I believe in Big Foot? Well... not exactly, I still maintain a little bit of skepticism, but I know there are a lot of things I don't understand. And seeing how one of my most favorite times of the year is just around the corner, I'll share a few humorous anecdotes that deal with strange phenomenon and, to be perfectly frank (because I am a perfect "Frank",) freaked me out quite a bit.

#1 Once, I was driving home and I picked up a hitchhiker. The guy sat in the backseat of my car and stared at me in my rear view mirror. Suddenly, he said "Get your food storage together, boy!" and then he disappeared. All that was left in his seat were some food stamps and a pre-packaged 72-hour kit... I kid you not. Ok, I'm kidding, nothing cool like that has ever happened to me, I just wanted to start things off royally.

The real #1 Psycho Man-Lady - I used to be a Human Resources manager at another retailer a few years ago. It was a pretty good gig. It didn't pay all that great, but my job was mostly stress free and the hours were good. Seeing how I screened all of the interviewees through my office, on occasion I encountered some real whack jobs. One in particular stands out as the most bizarre. It was early afternoon, getting close to quittin' time and I was busy finishing up some paperwork. As I scribbled stuff on paper a dark shadow fell across my desk. There was a figure looming in my doorway. When I looked up, I saw that it was a really large woman standing there. We're talking easily six and a half feet, wearing a black dress with a grey wig on her head.

I was immediately startled by her daunting presence, and my alarm grew as I realized that it wasn't a woman, rather a really large man, probably in his fifties dressed up like a woman. I stumbled over my words as the man started digging in his purse. I strange thought came to my mind... This man was going to shoot me right there in my office for no reason at all. I wanted to scream out as he continued to rummage in his red purse. Turns out, he wasn't going to shoot me, rather he pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. He wrote a mixture of four words and symbols on a piece of paper and handed the message to me. Catalog, Red Gloves, $, ?. I looked back at him and said "I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about." His code was obviously encrypted in some weird language. The man growled and then whispered, "I want to buy the red gloves that are in the catalog. Where are they?" Oh, that's what he wanted.

"Sir... uh... mam, this is the Human Resources Office, let me get someone to help you." I sent him on his way and later discovered that he shopped quite frequently at our store and was actually escorted out once by security for too much revealing in the women's dressing room. I'm not trying to diss on people's preferences, but that really creeped me out. Weird huh?

#2 Limo Ride - When I was in second grade my great grandma Lukikas passed away in New York City. I don't remember much about my great grandma other than she was really short and never stood up. I think I might have cried a lot whenever I saw her too, just because I was a disturbed child. My family decided to take a trip up to New York to attend the funeral. We stayed with my grandparents in Queens and had a great time despite the grim circumstances.

On the day of the funeral, we left the chapel to go to the burial site. I noticed that everyone was climbing into limousines. Everyone, that is, except for the Coles. I was so ticked off that I started wailing because I wanted to be cool and ride in a Limo. Of course, my parents were being practical and besides we had a large black station wagon. It was close enough. I wasn't having it and on and on I yelled until finally the funeral director, a nice lady with a thick accent told my parents that I could ride with her. They didn't object and I was sooo excited. This would be my first limo ride and I was going to enjoy pressing all the neat buttons and drinking stuff from mini-fridges and engaging the eject lever. You know, all the cool stuff that's supposed to be in a limo. Instead, I climbed into the front seat next to the lady and the driver and noted that the interior looked like a crappy station wagon. Where were the cool buttons? Where was the mini fridge? Better yet, where was the radio and the air conditioning? This limo sucked! Also, why was there a strange curtain behind my seat? And what was inside that giant box back there?

Yes, you probably guessed it. I wasn't riding in the limo, I was riding in the hearse. I was a smart second grader and I put 2 and 2 together relatively quickly. I soon came down with an upset stomach, only to worsen when the lady handed me a pack of Rolaids and told me they were candy and that I should share them with my siblings. Share? Yeah right. I ate all the Rolaids and became more sick, so sick that my dad later told me that I had turned green like a frog. To this day, I can't stand the sight of hearses.

#3 The Wall Knocker - We have one of these, if you don't believe me ask my wife. Almost every night, right around the time we put the kids to bed, something knocks rather loudly on my bedroom wall. I'm usually on the computer or reading a book or something in the room and if I'm deep in thought, the knock will literally cause me to jump. Granted it probably has something to do with the house settling or the air conditioning or some faulty wiring in an appliance, but still the knock is a little weird. Heidi is braver than me, because I am a little superstitious. She'll knock back and we all get a good laugh, my laughter is a little forced because I'm alarmed that she would do such a thing, but I laugh none the less.

One night, not too long ago, I was home while Heidi did her scrapbook thing. The kids were all tucked in and I was probably blogging or something along those lines. Suddenly, the wall knocker knocked. I instinctively went to knock back, but stopped myself. The thought dawned on me that what if this was the night that the Wall Knocker wanted to communicate with me. Did I really want that? Was I prepared to carry on a conversation with the thing in my wall? Did I need that sort of disturbance in my life? The answer to all of those questions is no. Instead, I pretended I never heard the knock and decided that we now had cable and I'm sure there was some sort of program I should be watching, maybe even the Biggest Loser... I don't know.

Nostalgic Moment #3

For some reason, this idea is clicking with me. How long that will last is yet to be known, but for now I'm going to ride this wave until it bucks me off my board.

Don't you find it humorous in horror movies when the protagonist is being stalked by some murderer or a monster and they're awoken in the middle of the night by some noise downstairs in their peaceful home. There is a 4 step routine that all of these people take in order to determine whether or not their home safety has been breached.

Step #1 - Make sure everyone in their family, whether it be a spouse, a friend or a parent, stays asleep. I wonder what is truly their thought process at this point: "Don't worry, I'm perfectly capable of doing this by myself and I wouldn't want you to be alarmed because that would mean you were physically able to call the police or scream when my head is tossed back up the stairs."

In all fairness, there have been movies when the main character attempts to awake said members of their family by nudging them softly and whispering, and of course for sake of a better movie, their rousing had no effect because the other person naturally sleeps in a comatose state.

Step #2 - Find a weapon. This kind of reassures me that the main character is not a complete bone head, up until the point they make their weapon selection: a purse, a bat (right, because every American household has fanatic baseball lovers that sleep with sports equipment,) a spiked stiletto heal, maybe some sort of glass vase, and the real winners will open their nightstand drawer and produce a hand gun, good call! But wait, no bullets... Well now you're holding the smallest attack weapon when the psychopathic killer engages you in hand-to-hand combat.

Step #3 - Proceed down the stairs. This is done after of course, our hero dons a loosely fitting bath robe that possesses plenty of dangling appendages like an untied belt or ridiculously long sleeves, so that when the inevitable happens they'll have an excellent escape route. "Oh its grabbed me, but wait I fooled it and it only grabbed my sleeve so now I can easily remove my robe and leave the killer dumbfounded when it is only holding my terry cloth smock.

Next, be sure to leave all the lights off. This is critical, because this will lull the attacker into a false state of security. They will see that the lights are off and assume you're still asleep even when you manage to step on every single loose board that exists in the small area between your bedroom door and the top of the stairs. No one knows your home's hiding places better than you and surely the dark (and your sheer terror) will enhance your ability to check every one of them.

Of course, our hero doesn't want to be blindsided by the killer, you know, shot or stabbed or beat down with a human arm so be sure to round the corners of the hallways carefully. This requires extra stealth, so I suggest jutting your head around first so you can get a better view, and judging by what has happened so far, this is your least valuable body part or least used.

Oh no! Your first inclination was right, there is a killer in the house and now you must defend yourself and your family. A battle engages and despite the poor choice of weapon our hero somehow manages to subdue the attacker. This is probably due to the fact that at some point during the melee, the attacker chose to introduce dialogue into the equation. The serial killer feels the need to inform their prey as to why they were chosen, or in the case of a monster or a psychopath attack, the enemy has to pause frequently to either roar or stare at our hero with bloodshot eyes.

No matter what the case, Judy Trueblue (yep, I just named her) finds an opening and attacks with either her original weapon of choice, or a new found object, such as a steaming pot of hot coffee, conveniently brewing at 2 in the morning or a razor sharp butcher's knife that was lying innocently in a kitchen drawer, probably along with other knick knacks such as crayons, markers and Elmer's glue. Oh, and the drawer didn't have a child safety lock, so who's the real monster here?

Step #4 - Conclusion. She did it, good ole Judy Trueblue, and now she's able to contact the authorities. It's a little unknown fact that whenever you've just overpowered a monster and are in the process of calling 911, you should definitely turn your back from the creature in order to get better phone reception. Oh, and leave all weapons exactly where they're currently laying. Whether they're still on the attacker's person it makes no difference. You wouldn't want to be convicted of tampering with the evidence would you?

That was fun, but now in one or two paragraphs, I'm going to explain to you what I would do in this situation. Now, I have no real movie experience, nor have I recently been attacked by resurrected, hockey mask wearing freaks, so whether you choose to take my advice to heart or not it's up to you.

Step #1 - "DID I JUST HEAR SOMETHING DOWNSTAIRS!" Notice my volume, its loud and I'm saying it directly into my wife's ear.

Step #2 - No time for a weapon, because I already know I don't have one, and no time for clothes either. Naked thirty-somethings with wild hair and unnaturally pale skin scare the crap out of intruders.

Step #3 - "Hey honey, I found out to where that mystery switch goes, that's neat." What I'm saying is, all lights are on, be it bathroom, closet, infant's room, dog kennel, it doesn't matter.

Step #4 - On a typical day when my health is good I can take the stairs two or three at a time. Throw in the possibility that I might be dying tonight and all bets are off. I'm pretty confident that I'll take the entire stairs in one leap, screaming tarzanish as I descend. If I have any luck at all, the attacker will be standing dumbfounded at the base of the stairs when I come off the top ropes.

Step #5 - I call it the whirlwind attack. It is very complex. In one motion I manage to turn on every light downstairs, while swinging my arms and legs in powerful deadly strikes and screaming at the top of my lungs. The result: Well, I guess I can't say that it is entirely effective at bashing in the killer's skull, but it has to make for a bizarre spectacle. Everyone of you has seen a child spin themselves around out of control while looking at the ground and in a fit of giggles. My kids do it all the time, and although I see what will inevitably happen if I don't intervene (tipped over coffee tables, busted teeth, concussions, broken lamps, injured pets, projectile vomiting, brain damage, loss of memory, changes in religious affiliation, freak openings of portals to Narnia) I don't stop my child from their cyclone activity. It's just too dang entertaining. I think killers will undoubtedly feel the same way when they see me, which should buy some valuable time.

Step #6 - Fortunately, even though I have had to do this on a number of occasions, I have never found a killer lurking in the shadows. Plus, if you've read my blog in its entirety you'll have known that I suffer from sleep terrors (gotta love that Clonezapam) so most of the time, the noises I hear in the middle of the night are probably coming from myself. It's amazing what ventriloquist abilities I can possess while I sleep, just ask Elder Batoyung and his little flashlight. But, if by some chance, I actually do encounter some intruder in my home, step #6 is simple... Call the authorities... from the neighbors house.