What do you get away with when the regular post writer/boss/partner/family are away? Me, I got nothing (boooring) But if I ever strike it rich, zero fucks given rich, I am going to take naughty to a new height. Hit me with your best “got away with it” stories
*raids the fridge and the alcohol*
oh wait….i paid for all that shit myself…well…shit…that was more fun before
theres very little i do when im all alone..that i dont do when im not….
i also never get away with anything….i mostly live by is whatever im about to do worth the fallout….and usually side with yes
i mean…i got away with a warning for going on a rampage once (which im sure ive told before) bar brawl..beat up a cop car..then made my great escape swimming to england
they arrested me on the other side of the ditch
spent a full day in the local prison..they gave me coffee…and let me into the open air pen for 15 minutes to kick a ball and gave me state provided cigarette
before eventually letting me off with a $1500 bill for damages….the day before i was sposed to emigrate to britain
(believe me…i was shitting bricks thinking i fucked up my travel plans big time the whole time)
Farscy, I also am fond of your “lost my bike but found a can of paint” story.
hahaha….that one was considerably more recent….
i still have that can of paint
Boring for sure, but stinky fish for dinner like sardines, anchovies, fried whiting, smelt, also clams, mussels, oysters, squid. My wife says she like seafood but the truth is that means shrimp cocktail.
I like shellfish and salmon and flounder and sole…the really stinky stuff is an issue, because it permeates the entire poorly insulated house.
I got away with a lot of stuff when I was younger. And paid dearly for plenty of other things. Nowadays I walk the straight and narrow because I learned it’s just easier.
I may resemble that remark…but if I had crazy money my better judgment might slip.
@Elliecoo I have a pretty big self destructive streak so I keep myself on a tight leash. But I’ve often said that when I’m in my 80’s I’m going to be like the grandfather in Little Miss Sunshine.
That’s right @Hannibal, you come hang out with me. Matty can bring his rollator and push us around.
That whole mental image is gold.
THIS IS INCREDIBLY TIMELY.
For the first time in 18 months I am alone in the apartment (well, with The Faithful Hound, of course) for a weekend. Better Half finally went off to Fire Island and I am coping for myself and “single parenting.” So far so good. I made a cold cut meat platter (with cheeses and bread squares) so I’m snacking off that and Ravenous Beast is not going without. For lunch I made sliced salmon roll-ups stuffed with goat cheese and just ate them as I made them, and passed a little salmon to the hound.
We have taken all the daily excursions and are due for the final one in about 1/2 hour. It is an immense relief to have a weekday where calls aren’t coming in and going out from/to all over the globe, some of them with video. I have been watching all the video. In a salute to The Olympic Spirit I dug up this “Call Me Maybe” video featuring the 2012 Olympic swim team. For example. Had I been blaring this while Better Half was on a phone call to London (the host of the 2012 Summer Olympics) I’m sure I would have gotten a stern talking to.
I miss Better Half already though and it’s only been hours. He called. They’re having miserable weather. We are too, it’s chilly and rainy, but Fire Island is a windswept barrier island so it’s always worse out there. It is always like an episode of Real Housewives with that group and combined with the the enforced cooped-up-ness feuds have broken out. “You wouldn’t believe it, Mattie. A is upstairs and won’t leave his bedroom. B is in one corner and C is in another on the living room and they’re not talking to each other. D went out for a walk to get away from all of this and E, his boyfriend, said he hoped he’d get blown out onto the Long Island Sound.”
“Oh, I believe every word of it. HAVE FUN! By the way, the dog and I are doing fine, thanks for not asking.”
The Better Half will be SO VERY GLAD to see you!
The weather out there is supposed to clear up and be sunny so I am expecting a couple more days of solitude. We are big fans of separate vacations, or we used to be, and absence really does make the heart grow fonder, if you’re fond of the absent person in the first place. You (or at least I) see all kinds of stuff in and people, and maybe talk to them, while traveling, and might idly wonder, “What if I had been here and met them 20 or 30 years ago?”
At this point my inner response is “And what if I had gills and could live in an underwater lair in New York Harbor?”
You might want to look further into that growing gills option as the sea level rises.
“Notes From a Traveler: Standing Bull Edition” in 2021 would be a very uninteresting Saskatchewan post.
I should tell you (all) about the time a British friend of mine was shipped off to Winnipeg (I KNOW, Manitoba, very different but adjacent province) and her impressions of the place. She called me from there.
“Matt, I’m in a place called Winnie-PEGG. In Canada. Yes, it’s for work. It’s ghastly. I don’t know how the colonials survive it, they would have been much better staying in Berkshire or somewhere civilized.”
She was joking, but only half-joking.
If I could write, or knew English beyond kindergarten level, I could post some interesting Canadian history stories. Sure Manitoba is cold and meaningless now but its history is a HUGE part of Canada’s “foundation” in an imperial sense.
The province was founded by Louis Riel who started TWO resistance movements to the government of Canada (the crown) and its first prime minister, Sir John A. MacDonald, on behalf of the Metis and aboriginal rights.
The history that is mostly unknown is that the Compte de Challes, who was French but aided the Brits in their war, emigrated to Canada in 1797 and settled in what is now the Greater Toronto Area. His relatives, during trying times, went westward to what is now Manitoba. Louis Riel was a descendant of that family. The family of the Benedict Arnold of France…now we are ripping down statues of Sir John A and changing names of schools. Louis Riel is the truest of Canadian heroes. It’s too bad his movement is only very slowly winning long after his death.
wait…
Isn’t the Long Island Sound on the other side of the island than Fire Island?
or is that the point?
I’m wrong again, sorry, and I’m tired and quoting a misnomer. The north side of Fire Island faces Long Island, so that’s the Bay, and the south side faces the Atlantic. I’ve been myself several times with these people, they’ve been haunting the Pines since the 80s, and I’ve taken that Sayville ferry more times than even I can believe.
ah, makes sense, thanks.
I used to visit Manhattan and Long Island when I was a kid/teen, and spent a couple years in each later on, but that was still a long time ago, so I’m a bit fuzzy on the details…
The people in this house are idiots, all of them, but lovable in their own ways. Sort of. Extremely Manhattan-centric. One was shocked to learn that we got our current dog FROM A SHELTER (not a breeder) ON LONG ISLAND (North Shore, in Port Washington, which I can’t recommend highly enough.) The fact that the dog weighs more than 100 pounds shocks them. I say to them, “If I wanted to get an animal that weighs 10 pounds I’d get a cat. Not some inbred–” “Mattie, stop.”
When I was 8ish I was walking to the park by myself to climb trees and for some stupid reason I still don’t know to this day I picked up a stick from the sidewalk and threw it at a passing van. The driver stopped and rolled down her window to berate me. She ended up asking where I lived so she could report me to my mom so I pointed to my brother’s friend’s house on the other side of the park and said, “I’ll cut through the park and meet you over there.” As soon as she turned the corner as I was walking across the ball diamond in the park I sprinted as fast as I could to the entrance/exit on the opposite side and stopped at the bush surrounding a neighbouring house. As I peeked through the bush I saw the woman with her hand over her eyes to block the sun, standing in the driveway looking for me in the park. I walked around the block to where I actually lived wondering why I did it…disappointed I couldn’t climb trees that day in case she stood there in that driveway for eternity.
It’s a long shot but if you’re reading this Mrs. Driver of the maroon van in 1987, I am sorry for what I did and I still haven’t an excuse or reason for doing it.
That is a lot of years to carry guilt for a childish error. You are forgiven. As penance, write 3 posts and drink 5 beers.
In what order?
I believe elliecoo is referring to The One True Faith. Treat it like a Rosary. One beer, then write a post. One beer, then write the second post. One beer, then write the third post. One beer, and offer the last (fifth) beer up to to God and Jesus and do this in memory of Him.
I really am going to Hell. God our Father, if you’re reading this, I hope you have a sense of humor!!! Of course you must. What else would explain a Trump presidency?
well, at least anyone worth spending time around will be there with you…
I’ll take “The Answer is in the Question” for 1,000$ Alex.
In high school I had a midnight curfew if I had the car, and my mother wanted me to wake her up when I got home. When I was about 30 I finally told her that I used to wait about a half hour until I knew she was back asleep and then I’d leave again. I would roll the car down the driveway and then down the hill a way and pop the clutch so she wouldn’t hear me start it.
Was that in Hawaii? Visiting that cute Thai girl? I did the same thing but w/ Volkswagen bus was harder to get away with it.
Usually it was just going back to the party, but I did that other thing once or twice too.
Genius move, Lemmy. You could have used it as training for a career as a spy!
I also learned exactly when to kill the engine so the car would roll quietly into the carport when I came home the second time.
Would have come in handy at my dream job as a repo man.
Oh, I missed the part where we were supposed to share stuff we got away with. I moved into NYC about a year before The Better Half finally joined me and had an incredibly fun platonic roommate. Our next-door neighbors were two beautiful, rich FIT (Fashion Institute of Technology) students. We were like their older brothers. Through them we got VIP passes to all the clubs. If they were 10s my roommate was a 9 and I was about a 7, so this was very good indeed and saved me a ton of money.
My personal best is The Limelight was hosting an underwear party (this is how long ago this was, VIP passes, underwear parties, the Limelight) so we went. I wore a pair of black Calvin Klein boxer briefs and some kind of footwear, AND THAT WAS IT, from the time we left our building, took a cab over there, hung out, danced that mess around, had a cocktail or seven, observed (or partook, but I didn’t) others enjoying other intoxicants, and took a cab back.
Luckily it was a hot August night and the Limelight used to get kind of stuffy anyway (you used to be able to smoke in there, too, like you could everywhere, and everyone seemingly did) so this was a practical outfit.
Where did I put the money I needed? I didn’t need any. I didn’t even need my VIP pass, because we were with the neighbors. What did I do with my keys? Well, between my roommate and our neighbors I figured one of them would have a key to at least get into the apartment building, but just in case I jerry-rigged this jangly charm bracelet out of them. Because why not? I was in my 20s and in New York. How did we pay for cabs? One of the neighbors had this clever self-designed wallet that, for reasons only he knew, could be strapped onto a calf. I mean the calf of a leg, not a random young cow. So we pitched in to cover this beforehand and he was our bagman.
For all the fun I had I wouldn’t go back.
Dude…Cousin M…you just wasted a total travel post on a comment. Notes From a Traveler: Back in Time to the Limelight.
Oh believe me, I could do a whole club series. The time a friend of mine (a guest) went down the slide at Club USA and I had to take him to the emergency room with a broken ankle? The time I took a wrong turn at the Tunnel and walked out onto a fire escape during a snowstorm and the door locked behind me and froze out there for a few minutes because no one could hear me pounding on the door? The time I went to Jay’s (or maybe it was J’s?) this subterranean bar in the Meatpacking District with a college friend who decided to explore the backroom and reported back, breathlessly, “Guess who I just got a blowjob from? X, do you remember him? He was in my Y class at Z University!”
I should really do a post on this. My Junior Year Abroad in New York.”
I am looking forward to this “Club” series. What category should we create for them?
“Clubbed to Death”
Too dark?
…well, seals weren’t involved…so…you might be the right side of the line?
You’re assuming an awful lot, @SplinterRIP.
Remember, I only had one year of this, and it was a while ago, so “Just Fold It In” to the Going Places category. I used to think, “If the Better Half only knew half of what I’m blabbering about publicly he’d disown me.” Now I think I’m up to about 75%.
But I have always thought, the secret to a successful…marriage, union, partnership, whatever…is to maintain discretion as necessary.
This is for Meg:
I shot my mother’s best friend’s son in the neck with a BB gun when I was maybe 10 or so. I didn’t feel badly about it because he had pushed me backwards into a bathtub a few years before and I whacked the back of my head against the soap dish. Anyway I convinced him to tell our mothers that he got bitten by a deer fly. Roughly 15 years later I came clean during a gathering and both mothers were horrified and super pissed off that they’d been snookered.
I love living alone
I left a bar one night and realized I had too much to drink and should not be driving. With the windows rolled down it took every ounce of concentration to make it the 10 miles home. Pulled into the driveway with a sigh of relief and smashed into my father’s car. It was a buick skylark tank of a car and sustained no damage. I laughed myself to sleep that night.
Cut to 2021, I won’t even drink in bars/restaurants because of DUI paranoia.