I like to live life on the edge.
Now this may be because I'm a high-octane adrenaline junkie, or it may be because I'm extremely, extremely stupid. Who's to say? Either way, I've had a couple near death experiences.
maybe by climbing an ancient oak tree
My second brush with death involved a(n apparently drunk) teenage driver who drove a car that I was in the backseat of into a large pile of rocks and mud. The pile acted as a ramp and launched the car through the air and into a harbor. It was very Dukes of Hazzard. As water rushed into the car, we all scrambled to unbuckle our seat belts and the boys helped us climb up through the driver's side window because the car was lying sideways in the muddy water. It was terrifying, and it took a long time before I could comfortably ride in a car (with a drunk person) again. (Side note: In my defense I was only 15 at the time, surrounded by friends that I "trusted," and since we were all caravaning less than a mile down the road, no one thought that he would destroy the car and endanger all of our lives so quickly and efficiently.)
I include this as a near-death experience because the car hit a boat on it's way into the water, and everyone speculated that if it hadn't, it may have flipped on it's roof-drowning us all.
The third near-death experience was nearly as idiotic. This time, I was in Spain with the boyfriend of the time, and two travel buddies we had met in Napoli a few weeks prior. After meeting up in Liverno, and splitting a ferry cabin across the Mediterranean, we all decided to rent an apartment together in Barcelona. One sunny Spanish day, we borrowed a couple 150 cc scooters and drove all around the city and up a mountain.
we also almost died from being so cool
Despite being in constant terror as the boyfriend wove through the crazy city traffic of a major European city on a vehicle he had no experience with, the day went pretty well until we decided to stop for lunch. All of us had downed a few pints the previous evening and we agreed on some greasy pub food. So, stopping in a nearby Irish Pub, I innocently ordered some fried mushrooms. And, being extremely hungry from a long day of hard scooting, I tried to eat one as soon as the basket was delivered. Except that the mushroom was really, really hot. Probably because it had emerged from a vat of bubbling-hot grease mere seconds before I decided to stuff my face with it. Instead of rudely spitting it out in front my new friends, I tried to just swallow it. This didn't work. The mushroom firmly lodged in my throat, I got the boyfriend's attention by waving at my face and looking panicky (he asked "are you choking?" and when I nodded exasperatedly, yelled at a waitress "she's choking!"), and the poor guy had to quickly learn the Heimlich in front of the entire pub. Thankfully, he figured it out before I died, and, other than the horrified looks on our friend's faces, the rest of the day went relatively smoothly. The shell-shocked waitress mentioned in broken English as we left that she's glad someone helped me because she had no idea what to do. I told her I was glad, too.
plus, we left our travel buddies with something to remember forever
Safely home from my trip to Europe and newly single (this had nothing to do with the mushroom incident, I promise), I spent the next summer on the coast of North Carolina, in the area I grew up. I even met a boy, at my favorite place in the world, The Backstreet Pub. One day, this boy and I decided to drive out to his parent's beach house. We took a quick dip in the Atlantic that instantly turned into us getting sucked out to open ocean by the rip tide. Now, I'm not a strong swimmer. Nowhere near it, in fact. So when the rip current came to get me, I tried to fight valiantly, but pretty much immediately lost my mind and started to panic. That is, until the boy yelled at me to shut up, and scooped me up, Baywatch style, to dispose of me on the shore. He then casually mentioned that he was a lifeguard for 6 years. No big deal.
All in all, it was an okay first date.
the sea was angry that day, my friends
Besides flinging myself in terror off a 265 ft bridge in Costa Rica, which doesn't count anyway, my most recent near run in with death happened just a few days ago.
You see, I happen to drive a very sexy red Yamaha C3. I named it Colin Firth, for what I think are obvious reasons.
So while this means I get to zip all over town looking awesome and spending less than $2 a week on gas, it also means that I need to drive a lot more carefully than everyone else on the road since I am not surrounded by a cushioned metal cage. Except that it's me. I mean, come on. Did you really read this whole post and not figure out that I don't have the ability to keep myself out of harm's way? So of course, a few days ago, and less than a half mile from my apartment, I took a turn too sharp, Colin flew out from underneath me, and I landed on my face. Hard. How hard? Like, knocked-three-teeth-out hard. Broke-my-nose-and-gave-me-a-black-eye hard. Have-to-miss-work-for-a-week-maybe-longer hard.
So, I'm currently on bed rest, waiting for a dentist to give me some new teeth, and for the skin on my face and body to grow back.
I was told that there's supposed to be more tooth there
Thankfully, there is the entire Harry Potter series, a lot of chocolate, and ibuprofen PM to help with pain management. Oh, and vicodin helps too.
So, what's the consensus? Stupid or just accident prone? Have any of you (my billions of loyal followers) ever had a brush with death?