What a Really Original Thing to do on your 13th birthday. It is a great message to send
- My family is Catholic. like WAY Catholic. Likeif we were in the middle of a nuclear war and trapped in a bunker and starving to death, my dad would be working on plans to get a priest over to our bunker because UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES can we miss Mass.
Now I, in the midst of all this, hate, destest, despise, and abhor Mass. In said bunker, i’d be sitting there gleefully being like, “hell YES nuclear war! that means no Mass!” It’s a colossal waste of time, as far as I’m concerned. It’s an even more colossal waste of time on Holy Days because on Sunday mornings, there’s usually nothing important that needs to be done. Whereas I have homework or dance class or plans on weeknights. And to give this particular Mass the grand colossal waste of time trifecta, it was going to be at my dad’s church and he was reading. My dad’s church is huge and far away, so the drive is long and Mass is longer. So on this particualr night, we were in for about three hours of mind-numbing boredom.
So it was my sister Margaret, her freind Caity, and me. Maggie must have been ten, which makes me twelve. Before Mass, we went down to the basement/bathrooms to pass the time before Mass without disturbing the Rosary people. After about five minutes of sitting down there whining about how much it sucked that we had to go to church all the damn time, Caity (who has always been a bit of a wild child) proposed that, if we don’t want to sit through Mass, we should skip. Go for a walk. Go play outside.
So we formulated an overly complex plan that involved sitting near the back for the opening procession so that my dad and the priest (who were the only ones at that church who would recognize us and be looking for us) would see us. Then we’d make a break for it and return in time for Communion. We’d wait in the back of church and then get in line, dropping our purses in a pew as we passed, etc.
It went off without a hitch. We walked down to the nearest gas station and my sister and Caity got rap snax (I didn’t… in my warped mind, breaking the hour-before-communion fast was more sinful than skipping church) and then returned just in time. My dad, as far as I can tell, was none the wiser.
(and yes, this is rebellious for me. And my parents think I’m a delinquent. pshh.)
- This is the one I’m really surprised I’ve gotten away with for so long.
I have to go for a weigh-in once a week and I’m supposed to stay above a certain weight or there will be consequences. I’m currently about 18 lb under that. Every week when I go in, I drink a ton of water and, using a few other tricks, always make weight. It boggles my mind that people whose job it is to deal with people and their weights haven’t gotten hip to me yet.
Damnit, I hate when people do this, but here I go. I’m not sure how much water you drink, but it can be dangerous of a lot is consumed at once, especilly if you’re using it to gain “pounds.” There was a case recently of a woman who died in a contest just by drinking too much water at once.
Just fyi 
Well, on the one hand, there’s serious medical consequences, but on the other hand, there’s having her own way and laughing up her sleeve at the people who are trying to stop her. No contest! 
:rolleyes:
thanks, but I know I usually only drink ~2 liters of water. The rest I make up with weights strategically placed (two wrapped around my waist, one on each arm & leg, and one in each cup), rolls of quarters strategically placed (pockets, taped into my waistband & sewn if I think about it the night before) coins in my socks, a sandbag in my hair, and the heaviest bracelets and necklaces I can find
So mostly non-deadly measures
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In my youth I would attend all-ages concerts at various clubs in the Chicago area. Typically, you showed an ID at the door and got a hand stamp that made you eligable to purchase alchohol at the bar. Before I turned 21 my trick was to pick up an empty beer bottle from the trash, wave it at a busy bartender, and say “give me another one.” That almost always worked.
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No way in hell am I sharing this one with strangers on a message board.
Four of us, underage, drinking, on the main street of my hometown, after curfew. The entire town has a curfew (10pm) because of all the ridiculous crime that goes on after dark. Well, as teenagers, we were part of the problem at the time (it’s gotten much worse over the years, and drinking teenagers are tame in comparison, for certain). We were all sitting or frolicking on the steps of the post office, a large, imposing building made entirely of granite situated in the centre of town, or dancing around the “town pump”; another central feature of the town, an old water pump set in the middle of the street. This is a particularly sharp corner, so by the time you see anyone coming up on you, it’s very probably too late.
Well, the police showed up. They drove around the corner and turned on their lights (but not the siren) upon seeing us. Eek. We collectively seemed to sober up… and shot off like rockets into the night - down the front side of main street. :smack: Except… we knew where we were going.
Driving along beside us, the police followed us, yelling at us to stop running, until we all reached a familiar alley and tumbled into it. We could hear the cops getting out of the car, and we raced around the building.
The building was a church.
In the back of the church, there was a very small hole in the ground which led under the building. This was our haven, and there were plenty of beer bottles laying around down here. We dove into the hole, one by one, and held our breath.
We watched silently from under the church as the police came around the corner and began to pace, shining their flashlights over the embankment that runs parallel to the church (nay, all of main street; I once flew over it on my skateboard by the bank, which we passed on our way to the church, and got banged up pretty good), and one ran ahead to peer around the corner into the next alley. The light shone along the ground, and we all ducked, hoping our eyes hadn’t glinted in the flashlight beams, knowing damn well he must have seen the beer bottles under there, or heard the ground crumbling the tiniest bit under one of us, or heard a breath, saw a hair, or heard a thought or two.
They consulted each other, confused, angry, and wondering where the hell we could have disappeared to. Eventually, they walked away.
I don’t know how they missed the rabbit-hole. But they did, and we hid out for most of the night down there. I don’t know, and never found out, what the hell that place was for underneath the church. There was a door from the church that led into it, and there was a stone/cement bench under there, too. Above it was a crucifix. Otherwise, it was just a gravel-pit under the church. Lots of room to stand up and walk around.
It wasn’t the first *or * last time we’d hide out down there and not get caught, either. I don’t know if they ever figured it out. They came back there many times, but never seemed to find the hole. Or, perhaps, the joke was on us, and they were just trying to give us a good scare. If that’s the case, then we certainly did get a fright… but we were never scared straight. 
Although in my case, maybe they scared me half-straight? HA!
Ask Cervaise about the plates.
I was driving home drunk off my ass one night in college and got pulled over about a mile from my home. The cop had me out on the street and was getting ready to give me the sobriety test when (I believe I was just getting ready to start moving my fingers to futilely try and touch my nose) a call came thru over his radio. I don’t remember what the call was about, just the cop turning to look at me quickly and then yelling, “Keep it in the road!”, after which he jumped in his car and sped off, presumably to catch some nefarious criminal.
Also, I’ve got a twin brother, and one brother who is ten months older. Once when we were 12 and 13, a friend of my mom and dad died. They went off to the funeral home, and said they would be gone a few hours. So we of course, at the insitigation of my older brother, decided to go for a joy ride around the neighborhood. We cruised about for 15 minutes or so, but much to our chagrin when we showed up back at the house, mom and dad had returned prematurely. Amazingly, after calming down enough to speak coherently, that informed us that they weren’t going to punish us, but “'DON’T EVER DO ANYTHING LIKE THAT AGAIN.”
I’m 17 years old pulling out of McDonalds one night with a car full of buddies, all as giggling high as I am. Immediately as I hit the road, I see the red police lights behind my car, and pull over. I’m already wondering whether it will be worth calling my Grandmother to get me out jail, or whether it would be better to just rot in prison.
I roll the window down, the policeman at blinds us all with his flashlight and asks to see my license. Now, somewhere between the time he asks his question and the time I have my wallet in my hand, I’m so paranoid and high that I’ve forgotten what the cop originally asked for. I’m just going through everything in my wallet, hoping that when I see it, I’ll know it, growing more paranoid each second. After a few hours (seconds), I can’t stand it anymore and grab the first thing I see and hand it to the policeman.
It’s a one-dollar bill.
I look at him and he looks at me, and then I remember. I calmly put the dollar back and hand him my license. Seems like I didn’t have my headlights on. He tells me to be more careful, and lets me go.
I honestly have no idea what he thought when an obviously stoned seventeen-year-old handed him a one-dollar bill. I guess I should be glad I didn’t have a fifty.
My story is rather tame compared to the others here. I was arrested for reckless driving (July 4, 1990). Things were getting tense between my soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend and me. That night she pushed me over the edge and I lost my cool with her and stormed out. In my blind rage I sped away from her house going 60 miles on narrow residential streets with cars parked on each side. When I approached an intersection with a major street a cop had just gone by. I slammed on the brakes and skidded through the intersection. The cop, of course turned around, pulled me over and busted me. To compound the problem, I was on a restricted license at the time due to having accumulated too many points on my driving record. My restricted license only allowed me to drive to work and to scheduled doctor appointments.
Fast forward a couple weeks when I have to make my court appearance (my only court appearance ever, thankfully) on the reckless driving charge. My attorney got the charge reduced to inattentive driving. The part I got away with was the fact that my driving on a restricted license was never even brought up in court. The restricted license had gone into effect the preceding April and was to last for six months, at which time in October I got my full driving privileges reinstated.
Nothing major in high school. Just dumb stuff that our biology professor was too dense to notice. Nice guy, but not very observant. My friend took one of the salamanders out of its tank and dumped it on my textbook. He and I also lifted dead frogs from the container and put their front legs around the rim so it would look like they were trying to climb out. We also rearranged the letters on the corkboards so they would say STUPID TEENS instead of student government, teams, etc.
When I was first teaching at a university, I found that I could mail lots of things on the state’s dime that had nothing to do with my work. This went on for quite a while.
That made me laugh out loud. I love those stories.
When I was a surfie babe of 17 I was living in Margaret River, Western Australia and driving this beat up old shaggin’ wagon, going to uni and working part time in a grocery store, with a boss who really liked a bit of a smoke.
One night after leaving work quite stoned I drove home. This part of Australia is fairly hilly and I thought to myself “I KNOW! I can save petrol if I put the car in neutral going down hills!”
So this poor old car, I’m racing down the hillside, and I put the gear in neutral, and then just as I get to the bottom, I put her back into fourth gear.
I will never forget the sudden lurch the car made or the sound it made as it tried to go into 4th at around 150km / hour.
Incredibly dangerous and dumb I know, but it still makes me laugh.
Had sex about fifteen times with an ex-girlfriend using the pull-out method and never got the girl pregnant. I’m amazed at how foolhardy (and horny) I was /sigh.
Was with a group driving home after an all night rave (Heh. How 90’s.) and got pulled over. We were in a very rickety old van, two people up front, and about 6 of us lounging around in back on old mattresses and pillows and suchlike. All way high or coming down hard and any number of us holding highly illegal substances.
Officer opened the side door of the van, looked around, shut the door, and told us to go right home.
I still get palpitations thinking about it.
Mine is still going to this day. I have a job that I never show up to.
Literally.
Every two weeks, I go turn in a time sheet, and I get a check in the mail a week later. But it’s all lies. Essentially, someone hired me to do a completely pointless job because his company is required to have someone do it. The pay is 9 dollars/hour. I also have no supervisor on site. I’ve only been there 2 or 3 times, when I knew the guy who hired me was gonna stop by.
^ Wow, how long have you been working there for?
Yeah–and how do I get hired there?
Vomiting at the onset of a shroom trip is pretty common. Some people puke every time and then start tripping. Although in those cases I’ve heard there’s nothing unpleasant about the…puking experience, I guess. Believable enough for me–I yakked once after smoking heroin (brief experimentation peroid) and hardly even noticed the whole time. It was a dirty, nasty batch too, cut with God knows what.
Maybe, but that’s what happened to most of my friends who got busted smoking dope back when I was in high school. It’s only been three years, but things have changed in San Diego and the cops are stricter (assuming you don’t have a prescription; in some counties you’re SOL even so, but this one still honors the state law)–it’s only a fine if you have small amounts, and the city needs the money badly.
I hate to poop the party, but maybe you ought to think about why you’re being weighed, and what you’re doing to yourself in the long run by cheating the system. I had an eating problem when I was young too, and the result is I take medicine every day in the hope that maybe I won’t have a heart attack or stroke twenty years from now. (I’m 20, in case you don’t know.)
You have like-minded comrades at my college, but they’re not as clever about keeping it a secret. (They’re using email on the school network. Dumbasses.)
I knew that, and she knew that… before we took the stuff. Unfortunately, however, the normal rules don’t always click in your head when you take enough to shoot you into orbit.
And when the bad feelings start to hit, well, forget about it. I later learned through experience that the higher the dose, the easier it is to slip into a bad trip.