» When were you last really scared?

I still shiver when I think about this.
My parents gave me a horse about two years ago. His name is Cinch--he's a Quarter horse gelding, about 15 hands high (1 hand = 4 inches, for you non-horse people, and 4 inches = 10.16 cm for you metric-system users). Absolutely beautiful sorrel (rich mahogany-brownish-red)... anyways, the people we bought him from failed to tell us that he'd never been out on a trail ride in his entire life.
My parents bought him for me in July, and after working with him for a few months, I felt that by October I'd be ready to go trail riding on him.
So, we went out behind the barn at the place I board at--it's got like 100 acres or something ginormous like that, so it goes on forever--and went on the "bunny" trail, just to try it out.
This trail is about 5 miles (8 km, more or less), and it just goes in a straight line right on past the cornfields.
So I hop on, and Cinch is doing fantastic. We're going along at a walk at first, then a trot, then a walk. We're about a quarter of the way through the trail when the cornstalks on my left begin to rustle.
Now, it's October, so by this point, the cornstalks are VERY dry and thus make A LOT of noise when shaken, even slightly.
Cinch begins to trot a little faster. I calm him down somewhat, and then he's okay again.
More rustling.
Cinch's ears begin to flatten against his head in fear, and he starts gnawing at the bit like crazy, the whites of his eyes visible from way up in the saddle (remember, I'm about 60 inches, or 152 cm, above the cold, hard ground). I grip the reins a little tighter.
The corn rustles yet again, this time practically right under us.
Cinch turns around, neighs, rears up onto his back legs, and bolts--completely forgetting that I'm on him.
[Sidenote: quarter horses were developed to be the fastest horses in a quarter-mile (.4-km) race--they can gallop that distance at a rate of up to 30 - 35 mph, easily.]
Cinch is galloping as fast as he can. I turn around--I was expecting a coyote or something to be following us, but there was nothing there--then face forward again, heart pumping, sweating bullets, knuckles white from gripping the reins.
I don't have a clue as to what I should do.
Do I stay on as long as I can and just ride it out?
Do I jump off now, hoping he doesn't trample me?
WHAT THE CRAP DO I DO NOW?
Then, oh crap.
Crap.
Crap.
CRAP.
About 300 yards (274 m) in front of me is a rusty barbed-wire fence. And I can feel Cinch getting ready to jump.
We're rapidly coming up to this fence--and by "rapidly", I mean still at a 25 mph, flat-out, panick-induced gallop--and the only thing I know for sure is that I don't want to be skewered on a rusty barbed-wire fence.
Ever.
I'm losing my grip on the reins (my palms are sweating like crazy at this point, and my voice is hoarse [no pun intended :/] from yelling, "WHOA! WHOA! WHOA, BOY! WHOA!").
Just before slipping off, I squeeze his neck one last time.
I close my eyes and roll off.
I just did the equivalent of shoulder-rolling out of an SUV going 25 mph.
I roll off Cinch's right side, yet when I land, I'm on his left.
I ROLLED UNDER MY HORSE.
UNDER MY 1200-LB (544-KG) HORSE.
My head smacks the hard, almost-frozen ground one, two, three, four times--I count as I feel it coming in contact with the earth. I roll over my own left elbow (and yes, I'm left-handed, too, so this left me in a lot of pain and not being able to write after the incident) and I hear--and feel--something crack in my left arm.
My back about folds in half, in the wrong direction, and I roll for a few feet until I stop in the dry, hard stubble of the harvested portion of a cornfield.
Oh, my God.
Oh, my God.
Can I move?
Am I dead?
Where is my horse?
The amazing thing is, is that my brother (who was just around at the other end of the trail) reached out and fricking CAUGHT MY HORSE BY THE REINS. Just like John Wayne would've done.

I wound up with a chipped humerus, severe bruising all over my body, and multiple cuts and scrapes from rolling into the corn stubble.
My horse was fine.

A month later, I was back on him again.

I still ride--I love to--and am honestly not afraid of him or the trail (which I went back out on and conquered the next time I rode, by the way). But every now and again, I'll have a nightmare of my accident... the last time I was really scared.
(Fri 23rd Feb 2007, 1:18, More)

» Other people's diaries

Oh noes.
I felt just awful when I read my sis's diary. Then I LOLed because it was so funny.

Jan. 3rd, 2007:
"I like this boy in my class. He sits next to me in art, too. One time, in art class, he farted really loud and I thought it was funny. He is cute."

Flatulence--the tie that binds. Or whatever.
**insert guilt at reading little sis's diary here**
(Sun 4th Feb 2007, 19:01, More)

» * PFFT *

I was at a museum one time...
yes, a museum--DEADLY quiet--when this old man of about 75 walks up to the same display I'm looking at. Okay, fine, whatever.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him get this intense look of concentration and concern. With his brow furrowed, lips pressed tightly together, and (I swear) beads of sweat forming on his wrinkly old forehead, he suddenly stops. His eyes grow wide and his mouth falls slack.
"BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRT!" says his butt. His high-waisted flannel pants do nothing to muffle the sound now echoing through the otherwise silent exhibit hall, nor the smell that could only be described as egg salad that has been forgotten in the backseat of a car that was parked outside in the sunshine in August and left for two weeks. Yes, it was that bad.
He turns to me, beaming, his eyes almost squeezed shut because he's smiling so big.
Never in my life have I sprinted to a women's bathroom so fast.
Too bad my gag reflex beat me, though.
(Fri 13th Jul 2007, 15:56, More)

» Strict Parents

Sweet mother of God.
::NOTE:: My apologies in advance for length, but then again, my parents were really weird...

My mother was a dental hygienist for 18 years before going back to school to get her teaching degree (IDK why either). She's a teacher now, but some dental hygienist-type bullcrap stayed with her when I was young [in her defense, none of us kids--there were 3 of us--ever got a cavity, but still and all...]:

* only sugar-free candy (tastes like ~naughty~ and has sorbitol and/or xylitol in it, which is the same stuff that they put in Ex-Lax--so if you've got a sweet tooth, you'll wind up doubled up in pain on the toilet all night ~naughty~ing your guts out)
* take a travel toothbrush and toothpaste to school with you (I was the only kid EVER to have to get up from the lunch table and say, "Sorry, guys; be right back--gotta go brush my teeth!")
* floss twice a day (this was pretty strictly enforced, too)

As a "special treat", we got to pick out our own toothpaste! Woo!
However, it had to be mint toothpaste. Why not the cool, fun, awesome kiddie bubblegum-flavored ones that all my friends used, you ask?
My mother replied: "It's like brushing your teeth with Froot Loops, and your father and I [it was always "your father and I" when it was a serious issue, such as toothpaste] won't have that garbage in this house."

Also, my parents are excessively prudish when it comes to privileges and entertainment. A sampling of "The Best Of Mom & Dad LOLerskates & Co.'s Rules" follows:
* no caffeinated anything ("you'll twitch like a weirdo, and it'll probably mess with your fertility")
*absolutely no alcohol, ever (when I brought up the fact that Jesus Himself made water into WINE, my parents replied, "Well, it was DIFFERENT back then"); I don't drink anyways, so whatever
* no watching of certain programs
- Are You Afraid of the Dark? ("Satanic, obviously, and it'll give you nightmares for weeks")
- anything on MTV or VH1
- certain things on the Discovery or History Channels about Jesus ("probably biblically inaccurate; they'll just fill you with New-Age, Wiccan 'filth' and 'lies'"--yeah, mom and dad; they probably will... again, whatever)
- anything having to do with witchcraft/sorcery/magic, sex, obscene language/profanity, etc. (you can't even BEGIN to imagine how many shows, movies, etc. THIS ruled out)
* hella-strict curfews
- during the schoolyear, curfew was 10:00 p.m. Sunday thru Thursday and Saturday nights ("can't have you staying out late on Saturday night, 'cause there's CHURCH on Sunday morning, and you can bet your bottom dollar you and your brother and sister'll be there at 10:30 a.m. on the dot, young lady")
- during the schoolyear, curfew was 10:30 p.m. on Friday nights (the 'rents always sighed and said, "I guess you can stay out 'til 10:30... it is the weekend, after all...")
- during the summer, curfew was 11:00 p.m. Sunday thru Friday nights
- during the summer, curfew was 10:00 p.m. on Saturday nights (church again)
* no cursing, ever (they consistently broke, and still break, this rule at home)
* no calling boys (..."unless you want them to think you're some little harlot" said my mother; my father would nod assent)
* no "promiscuous activity" or drugs (I didn't anyways, but they way they went about saying it made "the act" sound so naughty and that nobody ever did it or talked about it)
* no going off to the mall on your own, ever ("some perverted old man is just waiting to get his hands on you--he'll 'take advantage' of you; that's for sure")

I'll spare you the rest (and, to be honest, there are too many to remember).
You can imagine how cool Mom & Dad LOLerskates seemed to all my friends.

I love them both dearly. I just wished that the rules hadn't been so strict... I probably missed a lot of good shows.
(Fri 9th Mar 2007, 0:37, More)

» Work Experience

::cringes at memory of first bad work experience::
[Apologies in advance for post length. Also, I have decided to use the people's real first names, but not their last names, to protect their privacy.]
I work at a daycare part-time. DCFS (that's Department of Child & Family Services, for you Brits who weren't aware) states that there must be 1 adult per 8 children. Well, my boss wanted to pick up a bit more income, so she decided to hire me and thus be able to have more clients.
So there was this family--we'll call them the Richardsons. The Richardsons had just welcomed home their new baby, Ava, who was baby number five (NOTE: they just had their sixth child, a boy named Becklin, on April 16th). [YES, I KNOW THEY HAVE A LOT OF KIDS.]
Anyway, so their oldest, a girl named Tatum, had her umbilical cord wrapped around her neck at birth and therefore experienced oxygen deprivation. As a result, she's always been a bit... oddly-behaved (not trying to be rude or anything; her parents would tell you the same thing). Well, because Ava had just been born, everyone--including Mr. and Mrs. Richardson--was paying lots of attention to Ava and not as much to Tatum.
So Tatum decided to get attention anyways (nevermind it was the negative kind). She was 10 years old and in the third grade, but I've seriously seen better-behaved two-year-olds. HONEST. If something didn't go Tatum's way--even if it was just something like, "Tatum, let's not hug your brother [Weston] that tight; he doesn't like that"--Tatum would proceed to choke/scratch/tease/slap/spit at one or more of her brothers (Weston, Karch, and Jaxon all go to my same daycare too, as does Ava and now Becklin). Since DCFS states that childcare providers can in no way physically punish a child, we had to only put her in time-out for red-tape reasons. We (my boss and I) tried EVERYTHING else--ignoring her (making sure her brothers were safe, though), taking away her outside-playtime priviliges, moving the brothers to a different room--until finally one day Tatum was going to attack my boss, who was 5 months pregnant at the time (she had a lovely baby girl named Taylor, who's now just turned 1 :D).
I did what came to mind first: I jumped in front of my boss, grabbed Tatum's ankles and wrists, and leaned on her, physically restraining her, until her parents came to pick the children up.
In the process, she scratched my arms and hands, tried to pinch my skin, and tried to spit in my face (I pinned her down before she could do anything).
Needless to say, Tatum didn't stay very long at the daycare, and that was pretty much the worst work experience ever.
(Thu 10th May 2007, 23:32, More)