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I once opened the drawer of an antique writing table on display at the Detroit Metropolitan Musuem of Art. I was around 11 at the time and was visiting with my aunt. A guard came around and caught me, and quietly told me not to touch the exhibits. I turned around and saw my aunt, cocking one of her eyebrows at me. I was horrified and traumatized for life. (My brothers didn't call me goody-two-shoes for nothing).

PS: I saved my really bad behavior for when I left home.

We went to visit my wife’s parents during the winter months. As usual, we took Brandy ... "dog" (a westie). They were raising their grandchild at the time and he had moved in since our last visit. We got to the back door and my wife (Deb) let the dog down, we started to say our "hi's" when Brandy came bounding out from the back room - had only been in the house for all of 2-3 min- Deb looks at the dog and says...how did she get all that dirty gray snow on her face ... her mom yells ... "the Bird" ... yup they HAD a gray Cockatiel...end up going out to buy a new one. When we got home, the bird is making noise in the box and the "dog" has a look on her face like ...."great, you brought me something else to play with??" cost … $80

Hahahaha!! Poor bird...

Back when I was flying ultralights, I was on my way to attend "Sun & Fun" (a huge aviation expo) in Lakeland, Florida. The guy I was traveling with had to drop off a couple of ultralight engines to a guy who lived in Ocala or Orlando... (I can't remember which.) Anyway, by the time we pulled up, it was pretty late, so the guy put us up for the night. He warned me that if I went outside to smoke, not to let the egrets in. Apparently, they've become quite accustomed to people, and they'll walk right in the house if you leave the door open.

The next morning, I awoke and went outside for a cigarette. I finished it and was getting ready to go inside, when this egret comes waddling up to me and tries to force his way through the sliding glass door. I sort of nudged it back with my foot, and he got all pi$$y about it and started hissing at me, so I cocked my boot back and kicked him hard enough to send him sailing over the 6' privacy fence dividing the guy's yard from his neighbor's. I didn't realize that the neighbor had a rather large, angry dog, but all I heard was "ROWWWWWRRRR!!!!! RUFF RUFF RUFF!!!!" (sound of bird making horrible noises of distress, and more growling and snarling...)

And then there was silence.

Oops...


I can only imagine what that dog must have thought. He was probably napping when seven pounds of discombobulated bird landed on his head. "Whoa!! Snack time!!"

bunches and bunches of interesting stories on here!!! this is the only one i will tell as it was when i was 2 maybe 3 years old. my mom put me down for a nap but i didnt want a nap so she laid down with me so I would goto sleep only SHE fell asleep not me. i was bored so i thought well let me get my sisters barbie and cut off her hair next to my mom so when she wakes up she will think it hers. so i picked a barbie with the same color hair and when she woke up she had a fit and i was laughing hysterically!!!! she did not think it so funny---i still find it hilarious!!! i brought this up to my mom as i got older and she said you remember that??? i was like yeah, i remember what i was thinking too!!! For the record she finds it funny now!!!

Barbies really seem to fare quite poorly around here, huh?

Haha.... Don't wake me up, don't make me angry, and don't inpinge my reputation, and I'm the most easygoing person in the world. LOL

Frank--you are much too funny, and i must admit you need a post all to yourself:) your stories are very entertaining!!!!

LOL! Thanks, Funburger. I've led a colorful life.

Frank- i can read that---i think its cool. i like the story with the neighbor then he got a new car....i got such a laugh out of that one!!!!

Haha... Me too!

I was working at Safeway supermarket one summer, as a stockboy. I was up on a ladder with the price gun, wearing my red vest, black bowtie, and white shirt, pricing cans of stuff on the top shelf. Middle-aged woman comes trundling her cart down the aisle, rollers in her hair, Virginia Slim hanging out of one side of her mouth, lime-green polyester stretch pants... Anyway, you get the picture. She stops, looks up at me and asks in a nasally voice: "DO YOU WORK HERE?!"

I looked down at her for a long moment and then smiled and said, "NOPE! SURE DON'T!"

She shuffled off down the aisle, looking confused.

I was working part-time in a bookstore, as a young man. A woman came in and asked for a book on the Kama Sutra. She looked like someone's Sunday School teacher: Long skirt, muted colors, sensible shoes, permed and coifed silver hair, squarish glasses...

Who am I to question peoples' tastes in reading though, right? But I asked her, "The Kama Sutra?" She nodded.

Hoooo-kay.... So, I led her to the rear of the bookstore and on the top shelf, I pulled down the volume and handed it to her. She opened it and began to peruse the pages, the color rising in her cheeks.

She suddenly exploded, "WHAT IS THIS SMUT!?!? This has NOTHING on plants and furniture and fountains and painting walls!!"

With that, she crammed the book into my hands, turned on her heel and began striding for the exit. I called after her, "Ma'am, you are looking for a book on Feng Shui!!"

She was having NONE OF IT and left in an angry huff.

I had to sit down for a moment because I was gasping with laughter and tears were pouring down my face...

"The Art Of Placement." INDEED!!

Well heck, I can't compete with some of these stories but I'll contribute this one. I was brought up in Queens and lived in an apartment. One day my brother and I brought a bowling ball up to the roof (three floors). The plan was to wait until no body was around and drop it to the bushes below and ...well see what would happen. Problem was we neglected to note the air conditioners sticking out of the windows. Ever see an air conditioner ripped out of a window by a bowling ball? Ain't a pretty sight.

Oh...and this one is good. I used to shoot off Estes rockets. For those familiar with those kinds of rockets you will know that the solid fuel engines have a final charge that shoots out the front for the purpose of ejecting the parachute. Well sometimes when a rocket had seen better days I would put a cherry bomb in the parachute section and glue the nose cone down. The rocket would reach it's apogee and explode in a magnificent shower of debris.

As mentioned I lived in Queens...in fact very close to Laguardia airport...in fact right under the area that the helicopters would fly from the PanAm building in Manhattan to Laguardia. (These were those big twin motor jolly green giant type choppers). Well one time I shot off one of my arial demolition rockets and neglected to check for oncoming aircraft. The thing must have gone up just a bit too close and exploded because within ten minutes port authority police were driving up and down my neighborhood as I quivered in fear down in a basement. That was my last rocket for quite a while.

A story, eh?

On December 28, 2005 I awoke at about 5:30AM with heartburn. Went downstairs and got drink of water and took one of those acid pills. Went back to bed and all seemed well for about 30 minutes. The heartburn returned, except this time it felt like acid reflux, so I went down and drank a cup of warm, mild tea. I felt a little better and went back upstairs and showered, shaved and dressed for work. The slight pain dead center of my chest would not go away, but it wasn't sharp or anything like that. I sat in front of the TV for a while and ate a small breakfast. It's now 7:30 and the pain is about as it was 2 hours ago. Well it finally dawned on me that something might be wrong. I called my doctor and luckily he returned my call almost immediately. I explained my situation and he directed me to call 911 and tell them I was having a heart attack. I was floored by the news. I've been on cholesterol drugs for a while, but there has been no hint of any other trouble. And up until a couple of years ago, I was a 25 to 40 miles a week runner. Anyway, I called 911, unlocked my front door and sat there waiting. They arrived in no time; popped two nitro pills under my tongue, phoned in my vitals and off we went with sirens blazing. Luckily, one of northern Virginia's best cardiologists was on duty in the ER. He did a quick workup, put me on a helicopter to our local heart center and at 11:30AM I awoke in my hospital room with three stints in my ticker. My right carotid artery was 95% blocked and the left one was 80% blocked. I spent a month at home under the care of my angel girlfriend and then went back to work for two weeks before I took off for a 4 day golf vacation to Orlando. Played 18 holes on Thursday, 36 on Friday, and 36 more on Saturday before flying home on Sunday. The irony of all this is that my golf game has improved markedly. Go figure.

My advice to you: if your are over 50, have a thallium stress test performed. It could save you a lot of trouble later on.

I feel very lucky.

Yikes!!! Did you ever have any warning before? Just out of the blue?

Rosso: you are one lucky fella! It must have been a scary experience for you. You should count your blessings
Frank: you are one heck of a storyteller! You should write sit-coms!

Here's another narrow escape story...

2 years ago yesterday, July 9th, 2004 (my mother's birthday BTW), I had a motorcycle accident. I was a beginning rider, although I had taken lots of performance driving instruction on real race courses, I was still a novice rider. I'd been practicing in a local parking lot, and tooling around my neighborhood - nothing very adventurous.

While practicing in the elementary school parking lot (with no cars around at all), I was practicing figure 8's, S-turns and slow speed turns. I was also practicing stops. I would accelerate the bike, then go hard on the clutch and brake to practice harder stops, since that was one of the things that they would do in the MSF course.

I had only planned to be out for about 15 minutes of practicing, and I had full gear on - full face helmet, armored jacket, kevlar gloves, riding boots and riding pants....but that didn't help what happened next.

I took off, and when I got ready to hit the clutch/brakes, I slipped on some sand in the parking lot - and because of my hand position, I accidentally pulled back on the throttle, while my fingers slipped off of the clutch....and the bike shot forward. Before I could react fast enough, I hit a curb. If it were a normal curb, I would have hopped over it, and might have gone over the handlebars into the grass...but it wasn't a normal curb. Instead, it was a drain ,where the pavement sloped down 3-4 inches from the rest of the lot. Because of that higher ledge, the bike stopped suddenly (from 25 MPH or so), tossing me off the back of the bike, and my back hit the sharp edge of the curb. I knew I was hurt. Bad. Fortunately, someone saw it happen, and called 911. When the paramedics got there, they asked if I could stand, so I attempted to move, and suddenly, I felt a HUGE amount of pain, and couldn't feel my right leg, so I stopped, and told them I couldn't move.

They put me on a back board, and transported me to the emergency room, where they found that I had fractured ('exploded' as my doctor said) my L2 vertebrae, compressing my spinal cord by 60%. If I had tried to stand, I'd be in a wheelchair today. For whatever reason, I didn't. After 2 days of being heavily sedated, they operated, fusing 4 vertebrae and adding 2 metal rods, along with a bone graft from my hip.

After a week of recovery (and 2 failed attempts at standing (with a LOT of help), I went to a rehab hospital, where I spent the next month learning to stand, to walk with a walker, a cane, and eventually unassisted for 2 steps, then 4, then 10, 20, 100, etc. I had to learn to walk up and down stairs, to go to the bathroom unassisted, LOTS of things that we all take for granted. When I went home, I took a walker, a TLSO brace (armpit to hips), and a set of toilet seat rails....the prognosis was that I'd learn to walk relatively normally, but more than that was a big question mark.

Well, 2 years later, here's where I am. Through a LOT of hard work, some excellent doctors and rehab pros, a supportive wife, and a bit of luck, here's where I am:

I can walk...a lot. I've walked as many as 10 miles in one day. I can run. Right now, I alternate between using an elliptical trainer and a treadmill for 45 minutes, 6 days a week. On Saturdays, I ride my bike (weather willing). This last Saturday, I rode 27 miles round trip.

When I left the hospital, I could lift 5 lbs over my head. I started lifting weights as I felt better, and although I mostly stick to machines (to protect my back), I do 90 lbs on the bicep/tricep machine, 100 lbs on the military press, 155 on the chest press, lat pull and upright row and 260 on the squat machine. There are lots of people who can lift a lot more, but most of them aren't held together by titanium rods and screws.....

What can't I do? I don't know...but I'm not getting on a motorcycle again. I know that I'm not even close to where I can eventually get, if I keep working...and that brings me to what's happened in the last year or so.

After getting signed off by my orthopaedic surgeon, I went back to being 'normal.', and wanted to take on something new - I had played 'at' the piano for years. Even though I can read music (as a long-time guitar player and former trombone player), I usually didn't do it when playing piano. I just read the chord charts and comped along. I decided that I wanted to be a 'real' piano player. So, I bought a decent digital, and my daughter and I started taking lessons. After about 6 months, I decided I wanted a 'real' piano, which brought me to PianoWorld, where I learned a lot from the helpful folks here. I bought the Piano Book, and learned even more. With the supplement, I learned about pricing, and by playing lots of pianos, I eventually found what I liked enough to buy. Again, through a lot of hard work, a supportive wife (and a bit of luck), I ran into Cathy Harl, who had THE piano, which is sitting in my living room as we speak.

Long story short, I'm a lucky guy.

Yikes, kokomo61, what a harrowing story! And one that could have so easily turned out to have a really really bad ending. I'm very happy for you that you have recovered so well.

I'm leery of motorcycles. My mom was a passenger on a motorcycle when she was about 20. The driver (her boyfriend at the time) wiped out and she was thrown off. She was wearing a helmet, which saved her life, but her left leg was shattered. She was taken to a teaching hospital where the doctors decided to try to save her leg rather than amputate. She ended up being in the hospital for over a year, much of it immobilized with her leg in traction (this was back in the late 50s when rehab hospitals weren't around much). She never fully recovered.

I've never had the slightest desire to own a motorcycle after hearing her talk about the experience.

p.s. The boyfriend felt so guilty about the accident and injuring her so badly he couldn't deal with it and never even visited her. But she met my dad there (he was working as an orderly), so I guess it wasn't a totally bad thing.

If the piano is divinely inspired, the motorcycle is an instrument from heck.

Years ago I worked in a Little League Dugout, passing out snowcones and selling coffee and listening to the other parents chatter. heck, I chattered a little myself. Everybody wanted to ride a bike. Over and out. This was, well, the Greek system. We were all cool, and the coolest had done that. . .

Then this woman, an ER doc, ended a testosterone driven (okay, the guys were in their 30s and the sap wasn't rising quite so much) conversation by sharing with us what they called motorcyles in her emergency room.

The technical term, if you are interested, is 'donor-mobile'. This is pretty rough. Is there ice in the cooler, we've got a liver. Do we have a pulse?--we've got a heart donor. The corneas are good if the corpse isn't stiff. And so on . . .

We did good selling coffee and bagels. Our children had a great time winning, and losers had the free snowcone to console them.

But . . .

I don't like,
The Bike.