It's Audience Participation Monday again, and I had the idea that we could work more on our story, seeing as how we haven't actually finished one yet, but it seems that Tammy has taken care of that one for us.
Because I had only about a half hour to come up with a plan, and Monday is a 12 hour day for me, and there are nachos and Guitar Hero waiting for me, today's game is simple.
Put on your PJs and fuzzy slippers 'cause this is a whole hellava lot like a slumber party game. No, we're not going to wait until someone falls asleep, freeze her underwear, and try to make her pee by putting one hand in warm water and one in cold. This game is called
IT SOUNDED LIKE A GOOD IDEA AT THE TIME...
and it is, like, the easiest APM yet. What have you done in the last 10 or so years that, in retrospect, may not have been the wisest decision you have made, even though it really, really seemed like an okay thing to do? If in the next few hours I (with your help, even) come up with some variation on it, I'll let you know. In the meantime, take it away, participants!
39 comments:
OK, mine's a no-brainer.
"it seemed like a good idea at the time"
... reading the 1st comment for this week's AP Monday, in its entirety.
had 2 dogs. named one Mistress Mandy. named the other Mister Shmandy.
had to put one down to eliminate the confusion.
long live Mister Shmandy (wherever you are).
God, I miss that dog, Brannon. I always thought you made the wrong choice.
Godspeed, Mister Shmandy. Godspeed.
Well this is the bizarrest thing. I didn't read it all... though I did visit the blog. Okie-dokie.
So here is mine...
When Devyn was little, we were trying all sorts of things to see what was causing his trouble since doctors were clueless. We did a diet alteration -- major change. No sugar, no gluten, no dairy, and so on. There wasn't much to eat, and less to snack on. I took some organic sugar free puffed rice and decided it would taste better toasted and salted. I put it on a pan, and knowing how dry the stuff was, I sprayed it with cooking oil so it wouldn't burn (that should have been a clue). Well... dry combustible material + oil + broil = FIRE. I am sure Einstein would agree with my analysis. Seemed like a good idea at the time.
And you dare give me a hard time about burning cookies, Elaine? Mon dieu!
he he... just because I like to cook, doesn't mean I haven't had a catastrophe or two. I burn lots of shit, for lots of reasons.
I thought of you the other night. I was surfing all the blogs intensely looking for something to entertain me. "What is that incessant beep?" I thought. "It will stop in a minute, maybe it's B's watch alarm... "God, what is that noise? I can't even think..." "Did Devyn bring some little game gadget thingy from school that he earned..." "what the hell... "OH! Dinner. Shit."
All was well, I have learned to set the timer to go off early. :)
bmHoly Crap...don't know which was longer...that first post or the actual Bible itself.
Regret's in the last 10 years? I must live a charmed life, because I really can't think of any. Unless setting myself on fire three times counts. Problem is, those did not seem like a good idea at the time and I did them anyway.
(Laughing hysterically) I SO remember ALL THREE stories on how you set yourself on fire, Fish...listening to you tell them was vastly entertaining. Ah, good times, good times.
You haven't lived a charmed life, by the way -- just a cautious one.
Which is why, I think, you sometimes feel the need to just set yourself on fire...
I can remember a time when Brannon, Tim and I went camping in the Massive/Frying Pan Wilderness in Colorado (Yes, that is really what it is called!) We were each lugging packs that were around 50 lbs. We got to a nice little spot above timberline where we pitched our camp. That evening, a freezing rain came on hard, and though Brannon and I were fine (but cold!) in our tent, Tim pitched his right in the middle of the depression where all the run-off from the little cirque we were in ran. He literally had a stream of water running through his tent, soaking his bag, all his stuff, and him. Just before sun-up, he let us know what was up, and we decided to break camp (it was still raining) and head for the car before Tim wound up hypothermic. In our rush to break camp, I put my fav pair Raybans in a bag of food with some bread and peanut butter.
Brannon was carrying the food bag, and in our rush, decided to ditch it... In the Wilderness...
So, now that I think about it, this was a trip fraught with "IT SOUNDED LIKE A GOOD IDEA AT THE TIME..." at nearly every turn, as were nearly all my trips back then were.
I still miss those shades, man. ;)
Somewhere, deep in the Massive/Frying Pan Wilderness, a bear is sporting a stylin pair of Raybans and getting laid by all the hottest bear-babes.
It did seem like a good idea at the time. However, I have lived with the guilt of leaving that bag in the designated wilderness area for quite some time.
Sunglasses were made for losing, but there are better places to loose them. Sometimes I think I might be able to forget it, if I were allowed to.
I can't believe I'm about to tell this story...
In April 2005 my sister Angela, our friend Jeremy, and I took a trip to San Antonio for a one-night glee-fest around the Riverwalk during the annual "Fiesta San Antonio".
The three of us bar-hopped all night, danced in the streets, had a fantastic time, until...
...having had too much to drink, my sister wrongly interpreted an off-color remark that I made and, quite unjustifiably, accused me of being "racist".
I was absolutely livid. I said some really horrible things back to her, and stormed out of the bar. She chased me down into the street where we proceeded to scream at eachother like deranged banchees. Poor Jeremy had no idea what to do.
We made a huge scene -- it was pretty shameful -- which culminated in Angela throwing up her hands and screaming, "I'm through with you!"
As she turned her back toward me and began to march up the street, I was filled with the most intense rage...seriously, I have NEVER been that angry at my sister before, not even when we were kids.
"Oh no you're not, BITCH!" I screamed back at her while chasing her down like a lunatic. Determined to keep her from walking any further away from me, I did what any stupid, enraged, liquored-up girl would do -- I grabbed her by the hair.
Seemed like a good idea at the time.
She cold-cocked me straight to the head and laid me out in the street.
At which time we were swarmed upon by a veritable SWAT Team of "San Antonio's Finest" -- who put my sister in handcuffs, charged her with Drunk and Disorderly, and hauled her off to jail.
They let me go.
Seriously, they let me go.
I didn't think my sister was EVER going to forgive me. Jeremy and I had to go pick her up at the jail the next morning... I dutifully paid her ticket... it was awful.
Oh that is just too funny.
Something I may live to regret at a later time, but...it seems like a good idea right now.
Dammit Tammy, the word is "BANSHEE" not "banchee"
Let it fly, darlin'!
Tyson, I laughed my ass off at your camping story. Many, if not most "it seemed like a good idea" stories involve camping somehow. Mine goes way back to Scouts, when I decided to save a trip and carry a double load of gear down the church basement stairs after a particularly drenching trip. First step down, both feet went in the air. My ass made contact with all of the rest of the steps, while my double armload of gear raced me down the stairs. A broken tailbone and bruised ego were the result.
It was my first time in Vegas and I was 19. Tyson was out playing cards until about 5 in the morning, the day we were set to leave, and he came back to the hotel room and fell into bed. He woke me up a couple of hours later, gave me a couple of hundred-dollar bills, and mumbled, "I just had a dream we won a whole bunch of money. Go down to the office and pay for this room for one more night."
I did, and then I put a hundred bucks into a quarter slot machine. It was a Wheel of Fortune machine, and when I got the wheel bonus, I just had this feeling it was going to stop on the max payout, and it did.
I won a thousand quarters, but when I took them to the change cage, the cashier wanted to see my ID.
Of course I had and ID, but it also proved I was underage, and in my panic and desire to please those in charge, I actually left the 300 dollars in quarters at the change cage.
Fortunately, when I returned, armed not with an ID but a pathetic-sounding, pleading lie, she gave them back.
You put a hundred dollars in a slot machine?! My God, woman, you have balls of steel!
Couldn't help but notice something was missing... nice deletion, Erin.
I am also posting this next one on my blog w/ a few links, since it is one of my favorite stories. :)
I have lots and lots and LOTS of outdoor stories that probably should have ended worse than they did. Like the time I went rock climbing in high school with 2 equally fucked up friends, and we were in the Flatirons just outside Boulder, Co. It was around midnight, our acid had just kicked in, we'd just smoked a fatty, and it was time to climb! We decided to climb up the 3rd one, which in this picture is the left of the big three, because it was the only one whose top we could see against the sky in the moonlight from where we were sitting.
So anyway, we're pretty buzzed, and one of us stayed on the ground because he was a big pussy when it came to climbing.
OK, so we're climbing, and it's only like a 5.6 or 5.7 (easy, for you that don't climb) but it's dark, we're fucked up, and the thing is so massive it seems like vertical.
We have one flashlight, a lighter, and a pack of smokes between the 2 of us.
About 1/2 way up, I start freaking out. Normally I was the solid one, but I was so high I was literally having an out of body experience. One second I was there, 200 ft up the rock, reaching for the next handhold right there above my head, and the next, I was looking down on myself from miles up in the sky. I could see those massive rocks like they were tiny hangnails on the Earth’s skin, and myself just an insignificant parasite attached tenuously to them. Then I was back again, having managed the last handhold without really realizing it, looking a few feet further up for the next one.
I kept bouncing between these two perspectives about every 5 seconds, and I was afraid I was going to fall off the face in my confusion. My friend talked me down (from my panic, not off the rock) and we eventually made it to the top.
As you can see in this pic, the front side is very angled, and an easy climb, but the back side is a straight drop, and at midnight, it looks as though it drops off into oblivion. Fortunately, I was no longer popping in and out like I had been as few minutes earlier, but I was still freaked out. Ryan however, was enjoying our role reversal, and was more bold than usual. At the top he lit a cig, then swung himself over the backside of the cliff and lodged a foot into a crack somewhere below. Then he starts swinging his free arm and leg, making goofy noises, having the time of his life seeing how much he was freaking me out. I was totally convinced he was about to plunge to his death, but no amount of begging or whining was working to get him back safely on my side. I finally convinced him by saying "Dude, I'll show you the coolest thing ever, but you've got to come back first."
"What is it?" he asked, not believing me.
"Just trust me. Here. Take my smokes and if I'm lying, you can keep them."
That convinced him. He crawled back on my side after I handed him my smokes, and then I said, check out THESE trails!" and I threw our flashlight as high as I could off the cliff.
The trails (tracers to you Texas folk) were amazing, and nothing like them had ever been seen before or since.
We watched it fly, leaving a long, purple-green smudge across the sky that lingered on for what seemed like minutes but was probably only about 7 or 8 seconds. Our silent contemplation was soon shattered though, when we heard a painful cry from far below.
“You hit me in the fucking hand!”
Dave, our friend who had been waiting below with an increasing amount of impatience, was not usually someone to be afraid of, but he did often get short-tempered on our occasional climbing trip, because we left him alone while we climbed and teased him mercilessly for his fear of heights.
“I’m going to kick your ass when you get down here,” he yelled up at us, missing, like us, the greater significance of the fact at hand, which was that I had just thrown away our only source of light and we would now have to down-climb nearly completely blind.
We eventually bumbled our way down to the ground without killing ourselves, and when we got to the bottom, Dave had decided not to beat me into a pulpy mush. His hand had an ugly purple welt on it, but he didn’t appear to have broken anything, and amazingly, our flashlight had survived the fall. Dave had picked it up and claimed it as his own, in payment for the accident.
We then smoked a victory/survival/ appeasing-Dave bowl, which kicked off our peak all over again. I nearly left my car keys in the grassy meadow, but fortunately Ryan saw them, so we counted our blessings and started heading home.
Unfortunately, we didn’t make any farther than the Coors brewery in Golden, where we were pulled over by a cop for driving down a one-way street the wrong way… but that is a story for another time.
Okay, Erin. You simply must, MUST I tell you, have an AP Monday where we all tell our funny Tyson stories. I have friends who "know" Tyson... but have never met him, just from the stories I have about him.
YES!!!! WOO HOO!!!! I have a job interview tomorrow! YEE HAH!!!
Tomorrow, 10am, interview with KCBD News Channel 11 for a receptionist/secretary position.
WOO HOO!!! Wish me luck -- I have always, always, always wanted to work with the media. This would be such a great "foot in the door..."
Yes!! Good for you Tammy!! Break a leg...
Damn, you people are in a different league when it comes to bizarre stories. I concede to you. All my years as a young drunkard, a Boy Scout and a proud member of the Corps of Cadets at Texas A&M, cannot produce a story to match Tyson's. Not even kidnapping our Commanding Officer and hauling his ass off to Eureka Springs, Arkansas to dump him with nothing but his boxers and 81 cents to his name comes close. As I have said, I led a charmed life. Generally, only John Barleycorn has contributed to my youthful indiscretions, (even though he continues to insinuate himself to this day).
I cry your pardon Tyson...the title is yours.
So are you fan of the Gunslinger series Billyfish, or is your phrase of choice merely a coincidence? :)
May it please ya, Ka is a wheel...do ye ken?
Yes, Tyson has some wonderful stories... I think we all should spill our guts.
So what is the Gunslinger series?
Stephen King series.
Tyson and Billyfish - both HUGE fans.
My job interview went GREAT this morning, by the way. Yeah! I should know something more regarding a second interview with the station's General Manager within the next week or so.
SO EXCITED! Keep your fingers crossed for me, though... maybe sacrifice a chicken... say a few rosaries... postulate yourselves.
Tammy, don't you mean "prostrate," as in, "get down in a prayer position"? I think I remember postulating in geometry class.
Congratulations, BTW. Maybe there is a malapropism department you can get in on. ;)
That's where I heard postulate. I kept trying to remember what postulate meant... but alack was too lazy even to type it into an online dictionary.
No more try use big words, they confuse Tammy. Tammy say small words from now on -- no more try sound smart.
-----------------------------------
pos·tu·late(psch-lt)
tr.v. pos·tu·lat·ed, pos·tu·lat·ing, pos·tu·lates
1. To make claim for; demand.
2. To assume or assert the truth, reality, or necessity of, especially as a basis of an argument.
3. To assume as a premise or axiom; take for granted. See Synonyms at presume.
n. (psch-lt, -lt)
1. Something assumed without proof as being self-evident or generally accepted, especially when used as a basis for an argument: "the postulate that there is little moral difference between the superpowers" Henry A. Kissinger.
2. A fundamental element; a basic principle.
3. Mathematics An axiom.
4. A requirement; a prerequisite.
Thank you Erin for helping to ease the burden of grammatical correctness. I had grown weary in my advanced years.
BTW, Elaine..."Alack"? Assuredly you meant "Alas".
Damn, I can't stop...
No! I most certainly did not mean alas. YOU, look it up, Billyfish. I thought surely if anyone would know the usage of "alack" it would be you since it is an archaic word. :)
For the record, I knew it wasn't a typo, and I know what it means. ;)
I didn't mean to insult your intellect, Tyson... I was taking a friendly jab at Billyfish's age.
Damn, damn, damn!
a·lack (ə-lăk')
interj.
Used to express sorrow, regret, or alarm: “’Las and fearful alack—nobody can make such high claims for the people then living in Maine” (John Gould).
[On the model of ALAS. See lack.]
Hmmmm...Alack?
I knew my Word Nazi ways would get me busted some day. I guess with age comes "a lack" of learnin'. Better call the New York Times Crossword editor.
Alack, 'tis true. Age is no friend.
Possum and waffles?
now THAT is funny!
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