I know that I used three quotes. I normally try to stick to just one line from one character, but this summed up what I was going to talk about so much better that I decided to use it. 100 bonus points for anyone who can e-mail me with what movie that's from. It's pretty easy.

Before I start I would like to appologize to everyone who was expecting to hear more about Ostra's trip to New Orleans, but didn't because he posted about losing his dog Sprite (great entry by the way). It's all my fault and I take all the blame. Oh, and Ostra, thanks, my friend, for the warm sentiments. They are greatly appreciated. I'm sure if Smokers was here now he'd be wagging his tail in agreement. Now, onto the post in which I talk about my vandalous past. Shyeah...ryeeeeet.

My last year or so in high school, I was, sadly, what you'd call a holy roller. I was in the youth group and was leading prayer meetings at school and all kinds of shit. I say sadly not because I was into religion, but because I had deluded myself of the truth. I carried around a banner of hate and intolerance because that's what I was told was "the christian thing to do". Well, I learned my lesson. By the time I was ½ way through my first year of college, I had lost all sense of religious zealotry due to the fact that my parents were no longer around to force feed it to me and I became more of a cynic and realist. Sort of. I would come home on weekends for visits, but would be hesitant about going to church and participating in church activities. I basically went so that my parents could keep up the subterfuge that they had raised "good christian children". Hell, my sister was a regular church goer, I was the only bad seed. But I wasn't really that bad. Honest. No, really. REALLY DAMMIT!

Anyway, after my first year of college (and the total disaster that it was) and spending the entire following summer drugged out of my skull on anti-depressants, I transferred to a community college to get my AA. No, that's for alcoholics, I'm talking Associate of Arts degree. Besides, I'm a drunk, not an alcoholic...alcoholics go to meetings. During my first two semesters I started hanging out with old high school friends who hadn't moved away for college or were doing the same thing I was. Getting all the general stuff out of the way at SFCC and then transferring on to University after. SFCC was an excellent community college. Really. The professors, except for a chosen few, really cared about the students and worked hard to make sure they learned and got their money's worth from the school. I had the best grades of my college career from there. Basically, I had a 3.85 GPA. Of course, couple that with the grades from my first year at MU and it dropped to 3.0. Damn.

During the summer of '92 (I think...still hazy on dates), one of my buds from high school, Carl, was getting married. A lot of people from our class came back home (or were already there) to attend so it was like a mini reunion. Now, during this summer, me and 4-5 girls from my HS class were hanging out and doing stuff. Guess they felt safe with me because I'd already tried to get some of them and was turned down. Anyway, we'd go canoeing and shit like that. Well, after Carl's wedding, we're all sitting around my house (I lived with my parents...free room and board baybee!) and one of them said "Let's go steal signs". Yes, we decided to do that most redneck of vandalous pranks, steal road signs. I don't know how many times I went to friends houses and on the wall were STOP signs and MEN AT WORK signs and shit. I didn't and still don't see the big deal in it, but I went along. Maybe it's the thrill of getting caught or something. Who knows. We decided on a time to meet and they all left.

I ate supper with my parents and then ran upstairs to get ready. My ex-brother-in-law, who at the time wasn't an ex, had been in the Marines for four years. My Junior year of HS, I went to visit him and my sis in San Diego (Hi Fool!) and he bought me a pair of ginyooowine Marine camo fatigues. I, luckily could still fit into them 4 years later and donned them, along with my big-ass combat boots. I put on a black t-shirt and tied a camo bandana around my head and another around my neck (like the cowboys did) so that I could pull it up over my face. Just as I was coming down stairs, my "partners in crime" were arriving. And we headed out.

It was already getting dark and we were all nervous and no one wanted to talk, for some reason. So, I decided to break the tension. "What are we getting?" I swear all 4 of them jumped when I spoke. Sheeit. Talk about wound up. We decided on our first "victim" and headed out toward the town swimming pool. If there was one sign in all of the sprawling metropolis that was Warsaw (yes, it IS as small as it sounds) that everyone and their brother wanted to steal, it was this one. Just about ¼ to a ½ mile from the swimming pool, the main street was met by a side street called...Lay avenue. Everyone wanted a Lay Ave. sign. In fact, that fuckin' sign got stolen so much that it was replaced by a flimsy cardboard one with "Lay Ave" written on it in Sharpie marker. Well, sadly, the night we were out "hunting", this is what we happened upon. Apparenlty, we were too late and we were greeted with a flimsy white piece of posterboard with "Lay Ave" scrawled on it. A bit downtrodden, we were contemplating our next heist, when the passenger side door flung open and Chris, in the front seat, went tear-assing over to the sign post. After about 3 jumps, she managed to rip the posterboard sign down and headed back to the car. "What the fuck are you doin', woman?" We all just kind of stared at her agog. "Well, I wanted something that said 'Lay Ave' on it." We felt so pathetic. It was sad.

Still fearing being caught by Police and being embarassed in front of our parents, we headed out of town towards the Dam. The biggest claim to fame of my home town is the Harry S. Truman dam. Anyway, as we drove across the top of the dam, the full moon reflecting on Truman Lake, I said, let's go down past the project office (where my MOM worked) and head to the shelter houses. There won't be anyone out there and we could take what we wanted. So, April, who was driving her little red Ford Escort headed down the curvy road. We decided in the car on the way that Deanna and I would get out and snag a stop sign at the first shelter house and April, Chris, and Stephanie would drive on and then come back by after 20 minutes to pick us up. Deanna and I were on the outsides of the back seats with Steph squished between us. As we came to the road, April says "I'm just going to slow down, not stop, so we don't look suspicious." I have no fuckin' clue how we would look suspicious when there's no one to look suspicious to, but I agreed. On the count of three, we opened out doors and jumped out. Well, Deanna jumped out. I tried to step, but as soon as my foot hit the moving pavement, it went right back to the rear tire where I proceeded to get run over. Yes, the goddamn car ran over my fuckin' foot. Didn't hurt anything at all, but slowed the car down to almost a stop. So there we are, the girls are freaking out because they think I've broken my leg or something and I've got an economy car sitting on my foot. "Umm...April?" "Yes?" "Fuckin' Drive!" As the car pulled away, Deanna and I ran into the shadows.

We got to the stop sign and the only tool we had was an adjustable wrench. It's ok, the sign was put on with two large bolts and nuts so I could just loosen them and we'd be done. While Deanna was look-out, I went to work on the nuts. Unfortunately, it was dark and I couldn't see that the damn things were rusted to the bolts. I finally got one off and nearly got my fingers chopped off as the top of the sign comes swinging down, missing my hand by centimeters. The second nut, however, wouldn't come off. I turned and turned and turned but it just kept turning the entire bolt with it. The more I turned, the more I stripped the hole out on the bolt end so that it would never come off. Bummed and aggrivated, Deanna and I headed back to the road to sit in a ditch and wait for April and the gang. About 5 minutes later they showed up, stopped and we hopped in. When they saw we were empty handed, they asked what happened and Deanna gave them a run-down. Crestfallen, we all decided to just head home.

Not being one to give up so quickly, I spotted a sign on a tree on the side of the road so I told April to drop me and Deanna off, to drive to the entrance to the golf course just over the next two hills and then turn around and come back. We bounded out again, me making sure not to get run over a second time, and the car sped on. We dashed over to the trees and dove into the ditch as a couple of other cars drove by. Either they didn't see us or they didn't give two shits because they continued on. When the coast was clear, we stood up and Deanna, this time, went to work on the sign. "Um...'Bear, there's not any bolts or nuts." Great. "What do you mean?" She threw the wrench down in a huff, hitting my other, un-injured foot, and said "It's fuckin' riveted to the tree." "Fuck it!" I said and just grabbed it. We heard a car coming, sounded like April, so we didn't have much time. Squaring my shoulders, bracing my feet, I grabbed the fuckin' sign and yanked and POP! "Holy shit! You just pulled it off!" Deanna was kind of surprised by my show of strength. Of course, my ego went from big to catastrophic in one breath. When April pulled up, we both hopped in and rode off with our booty. Turns out it was a "No Hunting" sign. Well, shit. It was a sign. As we drove home, the girls kept giggling and Deanna and I asked why. "Everytime you two got out, all we could see were Icebear's arms and your legs glowing in the dark." I didn't have any sleeves and Deanna was wering a trench coat, but her legs were uncovered and we were both rather pale. Turns out, we made great reflectors in the full moonlight. Then the girls started cracking up. Thanks for laughing at my expense.

When we got back home, it was after midnight so we all tippy-toed in and sat down. Looking at our booty, we weren't too impressed. "I got run over and hit with a wrench for this shitty sign and piece of cardboard? Damn." After we all relaxed for about 10 minutes, the girls got up and filed out, Chris clutching her posterboard 'Lay Ave' like it was a teddy bear. I couldn't get any of them to take the 'No Hunting' sign I pinched so I stuffed it under my bed. In the end, we didn't come away with anything worth keeping except the memories. Three years later, we all sat around at our class reunion talking and sharing stories and April, between laughs, goes "Remember the night we went out to steal signs and I ran over Icebear with the car?" Oh yes, let's bring that up again. Let's all laugh at my pain. And they did.

Those really were good times though. I wasn't able to make it back for my 10 year reunion and it kind of bummed me out, but at least I have the memories. Stupid things are more fun to remember if you had good friends there being stupid right along with you. I still have that 'No Hunting' sign too. It's buried in the rest of my junk I couldn't bring down to Florida. What's funny is the next weekend after that, I was hanging out with my Uncle who did maintenance stuff at all the park areas and shit and I rode around with him while he fixed electrical outlets and shit. The last stop we made was just over the second hill past the golf course. The job, to put up a new 'No Hunting' sign that had gone missing. I won't tell if you won't.

"Where are we going and why am I in this handbasket?"

Icebear

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