How Old Were You When....

[Chris_H_2]

Holy cow I did not know eating peanuts shell and all was a thing. I also do not know what spoonerism is or what it's referring to.

It’s not a thing. Doug’s just trying to validate his weird habit.

[spike]

I was middle aged before i knew what spoonerism was

lol I get this reference

http://forums.theskyiscrape.com/viewtop ... 0#p2165070

[spike]

Holy cow I did not know eating peanuts shell and all was a thing. I also do not know what spoonerism is or what it's referring to.

It’s not a thing. Doug’s just trying to validate his weird habit.

I’ve done it. Usually at a ball game when I’m tired of shelling my 30th peanut in a row.

[daft twat]

I was middle aged before i knew what spoonerism was

lol I get this reference

lol at recognizing Strands or lol at Ruddo thinking he’s middle aged?

[daft twat]

I was 23 or 24 when I found out jackalopes weren’t real. I drove through South Dakota twice and was actively looking. The friend who realized I thought they were real laughed so hard he could hardly breathe.

[tree_]

Sounds like a bad friend

[E.H. Ruddock]

I was middle aged before i knew what spoonerism was

lol I get this reference

lol at recognizing Strands or lol at Ruddo thinking he’s middle aged?

I still feel young

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[daft twat]

I love this for us. We belong together.

Every morning at 6:15 after I’ve walked the dog and walked on the treadmill, my wife and I convene in the porch to competitively play Wordle, Connections, Strands, and the Mini (always in that order) before I shower and she leaves for work.

We both start with Adieu for Wordle and are pretty even. She’s generally better at Connections. We’re pretty even at Strands as well. I dominate the Mini, and I make sure my volume is high enough so she can hear when I finish. The other day she beat me, and when I finished and the song played, she remarked that it was kind of sad. She was right. I felt pathetic.

[Jorge]

I was maybe 10 or 11 the first time I sipped alcohol. It was whiskey, at some grown-up get-together at my house. Either my dad or my uncle let me have a sip. I hated it!

I was 14 the first time I went to a concert. It was Illya Kuryaki and the Valderramas.

I was 15 the first time I got drunk. It was at my friend Carlos's birthday party. Screwdrivers!!!

I was also 15 when I lost my virginity, in a situation that I can now identify as inappropriate (but it didn't feel that way at the time -- and still doesn't, truth be told)

[Higgs]

How is it inappropriate to lose your virginity at 15? I don't understand.

Edit - oh, I missed you said the situation was inappropriate. Sorry, reading's hard today.

[spike]

Jorge was it a dude and you hired an Asian girl to sit in the corner so you could stare at her… and pretend to be her?

[Jorge]

No, she was an adult and I was a minor. I understand now why it shouldn't have happened but it didn't feel wrong at the time and when I think back on the situation today I don't feel hurt or victimized by it

[spike]

Like, 18 or like 25? Or like 35?

[Peeps]

23 when i first had alcohol
23.5 when i first got drunk

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[tree_]

great post, trag

[Jorge]

Like, 18 or like 25? Or like 35?

She was 23

[Anders]

great post, trag

Seconded. Excellent post.

[Anders]

Also thank you to Jorge and others for sharing.