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- a member for 17 years, 5 months and 9 days
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» When were you last really scared?
Took a while to get over this one!
As a general rule I try not to get scared and I'm pretty good at it. Nervous about stuff occasionally sure but not really scared.
Last time I was truly piss-myself-stupid scared was when I was 17, just before my Dad's funeral about 11 years ago. I went to see his body in the chapel before he was cremated. I walked into the room, not really sure what to expect. It was as pleasant as could be under the circumstances; long thin room, tastefully decorated, bible on a table that kind of thing. I walked up the room to my Dad's coffin and started to say my farewells. Leaning over to kiss him on the forehead before I left, my foot caught the leg of the stand that was holding his coffin (it was like an X-shaped keyboard stand and none too steady).
His head duly rocked from side to side and a moaning gasping noise came from his mouth. I have NEVER in my life shat my pants so much. I shot out the room into the arms of the priest who had heard my scream from outside the chapel, shaking like a leaf and crying my eyes out. Verdict of priest and (nurse) mother that gases had escaped from him when I kicked the coffin stand.
I don't give a shit what it was I will never forget that one in my life.
Old sod ALWAYS had to have the last laugh.
(Tue 27th Feb 2007, 17:34, More)
Took a while to get over this one!
As a general rule I try not to get scared and I'm pretty good at it. Nervous about stuff occasionally sure but not really scared.
Last time I was truly piss-myself-stupid scared was when I was 17, just before my Dad's funeral about 11 years ago. I went to see his body in the chapel before he was cremated. I walked into the room, not really sure what to expect. It was as pleasant as could be under the circumstances; long thin room, tastefully decorated, bible on a table that kind of thing. I walked up the room to my Dad's coffin and started to say my farewells. Leaning over to kiss him on the forehead before I left, my foot caught the leg of the stand that was holding his coffin (it was like an X-shaped keyboard stand and none too steady).
His head duly rocked from side to side and a moaning gasping noise came from his mouth. I have NEVER in my life shat my pants so much. I shot out the room into the arms of the priest who had heard my scream from outside the chapel, shaking like a leaf and crying my eyes out. Verdict of priest and (nurse) mother that gases had escaped from him when I kicked the coffin stand.
I don't give a shit what it was I will never forget that one in my life.
Old sod ALWAYS had to have the last laugh.
(Tue 27th Feb 2007, 17:34, More)
» Other people's diaries
When I was 16...
...I had been seeing the girl of my dreams for about a year and was staying the night at her Mum's house. In the morning she had to go to her Dad's, and rather than kick me out we had a nice slow screw and then off she went, leaving me to get up and see myself out. So, of course, I immediately embarked on a mission to see if she had a vibrator (she didn't) - but she did have a diary. In my haste I picked it up and pulled it open, not noticing that I had just broken the crappy lock on the front. After a heady 15mins reading about how great I was and how much she loved me, I put the diary back where I had found it.
Two days later she came round in tears, demanding to know if I had read her diary. Thinking quickly, I vociferously denied all wrong-doing and promptly blamed it on her sister. I went back to her house, sat back, and proceeded to watch one of the most amazing bitch-fights I have ever seen. The fallout lasted months.
I wasn't particularly proud of myself but in hindsight I wish I had blamed more stuff on her sister. She was a weapons-grade bitch.
(Fri 2nd Feb 2007, 19:11, More)
When I was 16...
...I had been seeing the girl of my dreams for about a year and was staying the night at her Mum's house. In the morning she had to go to her Dad's, and rather than kick me out we had a nice slow screw and then off she went, leaving me to get up and see myself out. So, of course, I immediately embarked on a mission to see if she had a vibrator (she didn't) - but she did have a diary. In my haste I picked it up and pulled it open, not noticing that I had just broken the crappy lock on the front. After a heady 15mins reading about how great I was and how much she loved me, I put the diary back where I had found it.
Two days later she came round in tears, demanding to know if I had read her diary. Thinking quickly, I vociferously denied all wrong-doing and promptly blamed it on her sister. I went back to her house, sat back, and proceeded to watch one of the most amazing bitch-fights I have ever seen. The fallout lasted months.
I wasn't particularly proud of myself but in hindsight I wish I had blamed more stuff on her sister. She was a weapons-grade bitch.
(Fri 2nd Feb 2007, 19:11, More)