Pajiba

If I could change anything about my life, so far it would be the time I sublexed my knee in a football accident, if I changed that by just moving a little bit in another direction. I would have had a much better year last year, got better grades, and not have to have worked so hard this year. This story will be much more interesting in several years, though.

I used to walk home almost everyday when I was in high school. One day, the small town "bad boy" (see: pothead, sex-fiend, all around chach for further reference) asked if he could drive me home because it was raining. I stood there, almost said no, until he told me to just get in the fucking car it was raining. The rest is probably the longest 7 years of torment, involving me chasing him around, falling for him, have him tell me he loved me, not admitting my feelings for him, partying with him, and seeing him get married. If only it hadn't rained.

I've had many of these, including me joining the military on a whim (which certainly changed the entire course of my life). No matter which one I choose, good or bad I wouldn't have changed a thing.

I guess I'd go with my move from CT to NYC. On a lark I applied for a job, never really thinking I'd get it. The interview process all went almost too easily, and they gave me the job knowing I had to find a place to live and needed time to do so. All along the way, I felt somehow pushed (internally) to just pick up and move, even though I'd never had any overwhelming desire to live in the city. Things fell into place, I got an incredible apartment share and roommate in Chelsea, I could walk to my job in Greenwich Village, my roommate introduced me to great friends, etc. The years I lived there were some of the best of my life. And at just the moment I felt glorious with being single forever, a man walked into my department to rescue our computer system and I literally felt my heart start pounding. To make a long story short he ended up marrying me. If I hadn't (without any real thought) answered that job ad, my life would be very different.

If I hadn't been too cheap to buy a fan at the beginning of the summer, I wouldn't have ended up naked last night in view of strangers and potentially my landlady.

There may be one or two details I'm leaving out of this causal chain.

i was in a pretty smooth and happy relationship. no real clashing. recently, he did something mildly hurtful, so i let him know. well, the explosion and resulting roller coaster of anger, resentment, backtracking, and eventual breaking up that burst forth makes me wonder , how long would i have been in that relationship with everything unknowingly festering underneath, if i had just let that incident slide?

To recycle the exact same comment from the same thread:

My story isn't quite as earth shattering but here it goes: In my last year of high school, we were given the opportunity to pick our own extra classes. I decided to go with Computer Graphics, Asian Studies and Media. While I landed Media, my other two choices ended up getting nixed due to a lack of interest, and I ended up getting saddled with Computer Programming and Psychology. Awesome.

I dreaded Psychology because I thought the teacher, for various reasons I won't go into, hated me. After a while, I realized that not only was the man a fucking genius, he was also several kinds of kickass too, and I ended up getting an A in the course.

Computer Programming, on the other hand, was so mind-numbingly boring that I ended up slacking off on the computer during class and coasting through the course on a C+ average. But that's not the important part. During my time slacking off, I ended up happening upon Pajiba. So basically, if the two courses I originally chose hadn't been nixed, I never would have found this place.

Age 12: After making out for a few minutes behind the fire station, Lisa, the girl around the block, asks me, "do you want to go back to my place?," and I say "no." I am haunted by this memory.

Age 17: As I stand talking to a group of girls outside of our Catholic School gym, Timmy Schofield yanks my pants down to my ankles. This, too, haunts me.

Age 20: Having been accepted into West Virginia University, I join a fraternity simply because it has Rolling Rock on tap 24 hours a day. One night, I do a pair of five beer funnels. Hijinks ensue. I'd like to take back that second funnel.

Age 22: Wasted, and on a motorboat with friends, I decide to jump off while we're cruising. It is not pretty. You see, a 200 lbs body isn't supposed to hit the water at high speeds, and that is true whether or not you are drunk.

Age 35: Bored with NYC, I decide to apply for a job in Indiana and get it. I give up a very different kind of job, with less pay and much less lifestyle flexibility, but it would have been in the Village. (Maybe near Cindy).

Is it sad that every one of the pivotal moments as yet in my life revolve around men?

(the answer is yes, i think)

Ok i've thought of one: At marine world in San Francisco there were three holes in a wall you could stick your hand into to feel the foods walrus' enjoy. But you couldn't see it before you touched it. Mussels, something else, and worms. I couldn't bring my 8 year old self to reach in and touch the worms, and now marine world is closed. Who knows how my adventurous side would have been explored had I seen it was only spaggetti?

I turned out OK anyway, I’m very happy with Mrs. , and we’ve been married for 27 years.

That long? Really?

Sorry SORRY!

If I could back in time, I would rent a car and take some deodorant, time released, maybe Degree.

Yeah, Degree.

Woah, woah, woah, Barbado--it was bucdaddy that said that, not Rowles. Rowles was just quoting the guy. Geez.

Posted by: Sapphiar at August 18, 2009 10:13 PM

-----------------------------------------------

OH well, then excuse the hell out of me, then BUC is a douche and so are YOU for kissing Rowles' ass.

Rowles is an even bigger douche.

I'll always wonder what would have happened had my friend chosen something, even if it wasn't me, other than going back on meth. It's a long, complicated story and it dredges up some serious crap I'm not in the mood for this evening.

I wish that the crap that made my parents so jacked up would not have happened to them.

I wish that my cousin would not have found his friend who committed suicide a few months ago.

Lesson: Rent a car when you go to Europe.

The one time I rented a car (Italy), the key broke in half.

From the original thread:

Mine isn't sad. Because I couldn't think of one at this moment. Nor is it happy. I'm single.

My parents moved me in the middle of my junior year from Texas to Georgia, so naturally I knew no one my senior year of high school. I finally met another guy who seemed to have similar interests and he quickly became my best friend. I graduated high school with a 3.9 GPA and scored around a 1300 on my SAT. I was accepted to Kennesaw State University, Georgia State, University of Georgia, Texas A&M, and Emory University. Well my first semester of college (I chose KSU because it was the only one I could afford) I was still hanging out with said friend, who decided to experiment with drugs, naturally I did, and ended up failing every class my first two years of college. Thus resulting in my GPA going to complete shit which eventually led to me being permanently expelled from school with two classes left to graduate.

I don't regret the drugs so much because they were an important part in shaping who I am today.

I do regret not going to a different university. KSU was close to home and thus around said friend. Any of the others would have put me too far away from him to get his claws in me. I wonder if I would have done better at a harder college (Emory's annual tuition is $37,500). I wonder where I would be now.

OK. 2 stories I can think of that come to mind...and they both happened in a 2 month period.

First. How I finished college.

Late Spring of 2000. I was a full time student at the University of Delaware. I was enrolled in summer sessions, taking a couple english classes to get the rest of my pre-requisits out of the way before fall so I could focus on my major. Now, as anyone who knows me can affirm, I have always been into doing special make-up effects and straight make-up. In late May, I had just gotten settled into my new place and was spending the afternoon buying books, supplies, etc. I stopped in to a local Borders Books for a snack and a beverage. Naturally, I wanted something to read. So I went to the magezines.

Standing there, wondering what to read, I noticed the 'Film/Cinema' flag. Something funny struck me. I saw Fangoria sitting there on the shelf, but there were 2 issues. One had an American Psycho cover. The other, Pitch Black. I remember having loved the magezine for a good part of my life, so I picked them both up. I made it through both of them in relatively short order and was getting ready to leave the store...until i saw the back, inside cover of the A.P. issue. "Tom Savini's School for Special make-Up Effects...the world's first and only college accredited special effects program." The rest is history. Within 3 weeks, I had visited the school, dropped out of Delaware, secured new housing in Monnessen, secured new student loans, taken their entrance exam, and (THANKFULLY!!) put in my notice at the Thomas Kinkade gallery, where I was employed. The first semester of the program was to begin October 6th. And I was going to be in the first class through the program. But that almost never happened....

Second. How I almost never finished college.

Working at the Kinkade Gallery until I was ready to leave for the Savini program, I got put on a lot of 'closing' shifts. It was cool. The store was slow. And there was an interesting woman I worked with named Gwen. She was this tiny, slightly older lady. She said she used to be a professional figure skater. Was an alternate for the Olympics in the 80's some time. But her best story was that she apparently had a few weeks of unadulterated passion with one Johnny motherfucking Depp. I called bullshit immediately.

The story went that one day she was in Manhattan at her agent's offices when none-other than a recently discovered Johnny Depp walked in the door, fresh off of A nightmare on Elm Street. They struck up a conversation while their agent was on the phone and ended up going out to lunch. Lunch turned to dinner. Dinner turned to drinks. Then dinner came back....for her. She became violently ill with some sort of flu, and for the next 4 days she was confined to her bed at a local hotel. Johnny took care of her the whole time. Brought her food. Rented movies and stayed in with her watching them. She got better. They banged. They dated for a few weeks. Then, she went on tour with some ice skating show around the world and they drifted apart. She met her future husband on the tour, he became Johnny Depp. But they stayed friends and still communicated regularly.

Anyhoo...she told me this and I was half in awe, half thinking she was full of shit. Well...one night, we're closing the store, relaxing in the back shooting the shit. The bell rings meaning someone came in the store. "I'll get it," she says, and walks up front. Ten seconds later I hear "OHMYGODICAN'TBELIEVEIT!!!" and a whole bunch of laughter. I walk out to see the commution and see some dude's back to me and she in his warm embrace near the front door. I walk forward...looking to my left into the "viewing room" where we would hang individual pictures for people to stare at when they were deciding to buy. There was this lanky dude, scraggly dark hair, sunglasses, black jeans, and this ugly motherfucking shirt covered in chili peppers. he looked very familiar.

"Hey John...I'd like you to meet someone."

And I turned around to see Johnny standing there. My jaw hit the floor. Then I realized the dude behind me was another one of my idols...none other than Tim Burton. They were in the area because Johnny was shooting some print work in Philly. Tim was with him because they were flying out together the following morning to go to France. They were in the early stages of development for some sort of "biopic" about Liberace. This was right before Tim signed on to do Planet of the Apes. So we hang out until 3 in the morning at this local coffee shop called the Ranch House. We talked movies and shop all night. Opinions on special effect and the overusage of CGI. (Johnny Depp used to be a cutter...he was prodding his arm a lot of the time with a fork.) Anyhow...like any good make-up artist, I had my book with me. Tim liked it. Johnny liked it. Greatest night ever.

A week later, Gwen brought me a package. It was an autographed copy of The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy... and a signed copy of The Art of Sleepy Hollow. Slipped inside of the Sleepy Hollow book was a glossy 8 X 10 of Johnny. A headshot from Ed Wood where he says "I've got another idea for ya...it's called the Ghoul Goes Wesssssst." Signed "To Jonh Espirit Forte. Johnny." Tacked on to that was a note on the back with Johnny' phone number, Tim's number, and Tim's agent's number. Below it said "Give us a call. You need to work."

I never called...
I still have the note and everything...

I have no idea why I didn't call. Why didn't I latch on? I could have won my make-up Oscar and fulfilled my dream of being younger than Rick Baker when he won his first. I could have worked with Tim Burton.

But then I would have never finished college and be struggling like I am today to try and make my make-up relevant. The only thing I can say is that when I finally break...even if it's only locally, I'll appreciate it more. And I like where I am right now in every aspect of my life (mostly) and wouldn't have met half the people I love today. And they're some of the best people in the world.

Janey, I don't know if this will provide comfort or not, but I have a coworker who was married at 17. She got separated at 18, then she found out she was pregnant and got back together with her husband. After some trials and tribulations, she's happily divorced and has three gorgeous and happy children. She's dating someone else and completely at peace with her decisions.

Anyway, I don't know what you are going through or where you are in your situation. I just want you to feel like you are not trapped. I have known many people who got into the wrong relationship, but were able to get out and be happy. Anyway, even if you think I'm an asshole that has no idea what you feel, I'm still here hoping that everything works out for you.

It seems to me like there are two different interpretations...one is "What moment do you wish you could change?" and the other is "What moment has shaped where you are today?" I guess sometimes they can be the same thing. Like when you're in high school and your cousin (who is only in grad school) dies on a hiking trip, and his parents come stay with your family because they're from a different country and that realization of the non-immortality of youth that forces itself upon everyone who deals with a young person dying fucks with your head until the scariest thing in the world is the thought of your parents crying as hard as his parents. And while this might not lead down a path of drugs and rampant sex in a need to reassert some sort of vitality, it shapes who you are because it makes you more afraid than is necessary or healthy, especially for a teenager.

Oh, and for the record I do know it wasn't my fault or anything and that knowing what I should have done now doesn't mean I could have known at the time.

Well, my #1 thing is if I hadn't wimped out of waiting for a job offer in San Diego. Now I am in Boston, shoveling my driveway, when weather, um, permits. I'm disappointed because one of my best friends in the world lives there.

See, kids, a long long time ago, there were only 3 places for biotech: boston, SD, and SF. I missed my bestie terribly & hadn't made many (close) friends since college. In the interim, I got married, divorced, employed the help of therapy, had different bf/gf. I know I wouldn't - nay, couldn't - be the same person as I am today. And maybe, just maybe, I like who I am.

That being said, Darth Corleone, I am sorry to hear how a sad event struck so close. It's always awful to know when someone dies so young & you had some relationship to it. I sympathize & empathize.

And BSlim, lay off. If the proverbial "we" want to live in the past a little, let us. I very much live in and appreciate the present, but do indulge a little bit of "what would"... if I knew then what I knew now... it's human nature I think & please don't force me to think you're a zombie after all...

If it weren't for my horse, I wouldn't have spent that year in college.

My junior year my boyfriend of a year, "Noel", and I had a talk and decided to take a break in order to settle into our classes and stuff. Then three days later, our mutual friend, "Sean", (who we also studied abroad with, backpacked with for a month, and had been Noel's roomate while studying abroad) and his housemates threw an "anything but clothes" party (to which I wore a pillowcase...ohhh, college)

After the party (and a lot of drinking) I went back to Sean's house to look for my camera. I couldn't find it downstairs, so I went up to Sean's bedroom to see if he had seen it. He was wasted and half asleep, but we started talking, which somehow led to making out. Then, my very recent ex and Sean's good friend, Noel, burst into to Sean's room to throw water balloons at him or some stupid college boy joke, and saw us, half naked in Sean's bed. It was WAY beyond awkward. I chased Noel down and was sobbing, and was just horrified. Over the next few weeks Noel seemed to forgive me, and we began spending more and more time together. I thought we were about to get back together when one Friday night, about a month after the party Noel showed up at the one bar in our tiny college town with his high school girlfriend, Megan.

Its been a few years now, and Noel and Megan are getting married in two weeks. Sean is also married. I have always wondered what would have happened if I hadn't made out with Sean, or if Noel hadn't walked in right then? I don't think I would have ended up with either one, but maybe Noel and Megan wouldn't be getting married.

I also have another (shorter) one. There was a guy, "Ben", I had dated my senior year. It was love at first sight (I never belived in it before, and haven't experienced it since) We really connected, but he got "last-semester-of-college-and-I-don't-know-what-I'm doing-with-my-life" panic and broke up with me. But we remained close, and continued to flirt. The night of college graduation, everyone I knew was at the same bar. He came up to me, sober as a judge, and told me that breaking up with me was the stupidest thing he'd ever done, and he loved me. Happy, happy moment. Toward the end of the night, though, we got separated and ended up at different after-parties, and I didn't have my phone with me. The next day, I left for a summer in Africa. I've only seen him twice since then, because we only lived in the same city briefly after graduation. Both times have been great, but the second time he told me it was too difficult because I keep leaving. I would never trade my time travelling, but what if I hadn't left for Africa so soon? Or if we had been able to stay together that night? We talked on the phone a few weeks ago, and I felt all lit up inside for days after. So what would have happened if we had just had a little bit more time? Its cheesy, but I wonder about that alot.

Many moons ago when the dot.com bubble burst, I found myself woefully unemployed. It blew. I panicked - blah blah. At the time, I had two distinct choices. My mother looked at me one night and said: "If you don't at least look into [option A] you're not as smart as I thought you were." Game, set, match. I'm not unhappy with the way things went, I just wonder without that push where they might have gone.

I could have had a V-8.

That's the beautiful thing, Ling...we are in no way responsible for the wanton douchebaggery of others. Hold your head up high, and blameless. Karma's a mad bitch with a crowbar, just waiting behind the door to be his skull in.

I wish I hadn't slept with that asshole who (intentionally) gave me Herpes when I was 21. 1 stupid drunken night 15 years ago, and it still haunts me. I am so afraid of the potential rejection if I tell new romantic prospects about it, I have been alone for 5 years. And I mean alone. I did get married (and divorced) in the last decade, and the Herpes had nothing to do with anything (and he never got it from me) but I am completely terrified to move on. I haven't had an outbreak in YEARS, but the stigma and the fear of the heartbreak of being dumped for it is the real effect of the STD. My Ex-Husband is the only person in the world who even knows about it. Luckily, he is a good guy and keeps things to himself.

I really wish I could go back and change that one night.

Smokin, that's absolutely beautiful imagery, and I think I'll have a deranged sadistic smile on my face all night long now.

I just thought of another one... when I was five or six, I was standing on a low monkey bar, minding my own business, when suddenly I slipped and my vagina broke my fall. My poor, tender, innocent five-year-old vagina. Now, I don't believe there was any physical damage, but I wouldn't be surprised if one day some crazy shrink tells me I can blame most or all of my personality quirks on residual cooch protectiveness.

, (the commenter formerly known as bucdaddy)

I love you.
Thanks. :-}

If I hadn't checked myself into rehab 13 1/2 years ago I would probably be dead by now. It was pure dumb luck that I survived long enough in that shit to even get that second chance. Everything I am and have, good and bad, is the result of that one good decision.

15 years ago: my car was at the shop for one thing or another. I had a work meeting, so I took my mom's car, instead, which had an empty tank. Being kind of late, I decided not to stop in the gas station, until after the meeting. Once it was over, I went to the nearest gas station, instead of my regular one. For some reason, I decided to get out of the car, which I never do (yes, in this country we have people to serve us fuel, none of that do-it-yourself nonsense). 10 seconds later, a couple of friends drove by, and yelled at me to meet with them in a nearby bar. I was tired, had a headache and was in a bad meeting-related mood, but I decided to go for JUST ONE BEER (famous last words). 20 minutes later, the most gorgeous man walks into the bar with his friend and they sit in the next table over. He turned out to be not only handsome but a certifiable wonderful guy. We've been married for 12 years and have 3 awesome kids. I often wonder about the chain of events that placed me in that bar that night. What if I had stopped in the gas station before the meeting? What if I had stayed inside the car, where my friends would have never seen me (they would have never known it was me inside my mom's car). What if I had decided to just go home and nurse my bad mood?

When Michael Almereyda said to me, I like you, you're interesting, drop everything and go to Sundance with me and my group of friends, I wouldn't say No, I have to stay here and work this crappy waitress job or I'm going to get fired. Which I did anyway, get fired, not a week later.

If I hadn't slipped on that banana skin in '99, then I wouldn't have got married, and I might have landed that job in a Hollywood studio that I was on my way to interview for.

Hmm. So let me think about real ones. I sometimes wonder about decisions that my parents took for me: I think if they'd let me have growth hormone, then I'd have been a normal size in high school and wouldn't have ended up hanging out with girls so much and perhaps I'd have a whole different sexuality by now and be really into sports.

I think if I'd been picked to live with different people at University, and not the six or seven people who are still a real core of my friendship group, I'd have ended up being a massive asshole who had no taste in music whatsoever.

Oh, and Caspar - you are a massive asshole. Just a massive asshole with good taste in music.

On the first night of carnal knowledge with my boyfriend, I was unimpressed and sorta creeped out. I ended up staying with him. And getting married.

Seventeen years later? That was the beginning of a very bad chain of events.

Always trust your spidey sense.

Mine is very emotional for me. New years eve was me and my younger brothers party tradition. Well in 2002 we ended up not getting together that night. I was supposed to go pick him up earlier that day but i was busy. He then said he would catch a ride to my house later. Well he never got there because he was shot in the neck on a supposed accidental discharge of a pistol while somebody else was holding it. He lingered for 7 days in a coma and me and my mom decided to donate his organs to others. The doctors said he wouldnt recover but sometimes i wonder. If I would have went earlier that day to pick him up he would still be alive.

Mine is massive so bear with me.

I was going to a party with a friend on campus when I was a Sophomore in college. We were planning to drop in for 30 minutes and then head out. Suddenly we heard a loud rumbling and come to find my muffler had partially fallen off. I called my dad and he met us at the auto-repair shop my family owns and was able to jury rig the muffler so it would stay in place. By this point it's about 9:30 at night, the whole thing took about 1.5 hours. My friend and I had to decide if we were still going to the party or not. It was at a frat we never went to, but a friend was there and wanted us to stop by. So after a few minutes we said "the hell with it" and went.

We were hanging out and I went to get a beer and came back to find my friend was dancing with a cute girl. He had to go to the bathroom so he introduced us (we'll call her Susan) and by the time he came back we were making out on the dance floor. 6 months later we were living together. I changed my major to a degree I never would have without her influence. We married 2 years later and moved to Colorado, a state I would never have even considered. We divorced 2 years after that but I stayed out there for 8 more years until the tech industry bottomed out. I moved to IL to live with the same friend that started all this in the first place.

So I can literally trace the cause of all the joy, pain, and nearly all of my memories of the last 16 years of my life to a broken muffler. If it hadn't delayed us, we would have left before Susan got there. I wouldn't have the same degree, the same job history, the same friends, the same girlfriends, and that would spiral out as well since many of my friends met their respective others through me. And if you really want to get fun, one of my good friends would never have been working for the company where he met his girlfriend, because I got him the job. So maybe he wouldn't have killed himself when they broke up.

The rabbit hole can go very, very deep. There comes a point where the "What if?" conjecture becomes so entangled it is just meaningless. I am who I am today because my muffler fell off my car in January of 1993. Not exactly the moment you expect to be universe altering all things considered.

that last one was general, more specifically, there was a kid who was bullied at summer camp (age 12?) and it's always bugged me that i didn't befriend her. lots of kids were "losers", but something about her stuck with me, and i still feel guilty about it sometimes.

I was at Penn State in '96 when Jillian Roberts took her shotgun to the bushes behind the student union building (HUB). I had an 8:00am Spanish class with Melanie Spalla. My next class wasn't until later in the day... I had walked with Melanie to the HUB on my way back to my dorm room a couple of times; we'd stop and get a coffee before she went to her next class and I went to my dorm room. That day, I didn't go with her - I went to the library to do some research for a Spanish class project. Melanie was the only fatality from that day's shooting. I've always wondered what would have happened if I had walked with her that day. Would Melanie have gotten a coffee with me, and been on the lawn a couple of minutes later than she was? Or did she get a coffee anyway, and she was on the lawn at the same time she would have been if I had joined her?

Congrats samantha. Smart husband.

s. pisaster, Continental Almonds, redfeathers, La Femme Nikita - I'm so sorry for the friends and family you lost.

Mine is emotional. Not really a moment, or something within my control, but it is the only situation I can think of at the moment.

When I was in high school, my dream was to go to a very prestigious university with one of the top performing arts programs in the nation. I got in. They didn't give me enough financial aid to go. My parents were much older than normal for my age and both had essentially retired, or were about to, anyway, and couldn't swing the money.

I went to my second choice school. I hated it. It was a beautiful college, had a great program, and yet.... I wasn't ready to be there. I fell into a fairly deep depression. I developed an eating disorder after dieting for a few months. I was miserable. So I dropped out. I went home, spent a semester at the community college in my hometown. I worked on ridding myself of my eating disorder and it was starting to improve.

I always was very cautious about drinking as a teenager. I never liked to drink when I wasn't having fun already, I never liked to drink around a bunch of people I didn't know. That June after my return home, when I was still 18, I went to a party at a friend's house that I had known from my high school years. I decided to drink. It was probably about the fifth time I'd ever been drunk. I made sure I was comfortable with everyone there. It didn't matter. I was raped while I was sleeping on the couch. He took pictures. It was someone who had arrived after I was already drunk. I have still never seen his face.

Then the aftermath of sexual assault--my eating disorder went into overdrive and I began having stomach problems due to lack of eating. I was severely depressed, waking up every night crying and not understanding why. My friends either sided with my rapist or were just too damned weireded out by the whole thing and I lost all but one friend I'd ever had. I couldn't leave the house for months, fearing crowds because he could be anyone--I could be standing next to him and not know it for sure. I had been a virgin at the time, working on overcoming my molestation as a 6 year old, and hadn't ever gone very far with my boyfriend. After this, I couldn't even let him kiss me. I began fantasizing about killing myself. I never actually attempted, but oh my god did I want to. I never understood suicide before that experience. Now I understand it as the only way to make it stop when you are hurting that uncontrollably and that deeply. The only reason that I didn't go through with it was my boyfriend. I simply didn't want to leave him. Thankfully, I was living at home, so I had him and my family to keep me grounded here.

Cut to a year later. I'd come out the worst of my depression, had left all but a few remnants of my eating disorder behind, and was busy transferring to a small, prestigious university with a fairly good performing arts program. I wound up at one of the best possible universities I could imagine. They provided free counseling for their students and with that, over the course of two years there, I was able to move on. I loved every year I spent at that school. I got a great education and became the type of person I'd wanted to be.

So back to the comment diversion. If I had been able to go to my first choice, absurdly prestigious school back as a freshman, I probably wouldn't have ever allowed myself to drop out like I did with my second choice. I still would have been raped since it happened over summer break, and would have had to return immediately that fall to that insanely competitive school, (where 3 students had committed suicide the fall that I was meant to start,) away from my family and boyfriend that kept me (somewhat) sane , and into a program that basically encouraged eating disorders. So....yeah....

Not getting enough financial aid allowed me to still be alive now.

I was stationed in Charleston. I knew a fellow sailor that lived next door. I didn't really like the guy cause he seemed like he didn't pull his weight at power school (when someone fell behind in quals, we all got punished). No one really went of their way to harass the guy...nor help him. It was kind of like a Private Pile kind of thing without the physical abuse. Everyone kind of knew he wasn't cut out for nuclear power but the command was dead set on pushing the guy through no matter what. So the guy is getting further and further behind and the pressure is just building on him. I was at a bar hanging out with some friends and my phone just starts lighting up with calls from him. I figured it was some bullshit I didn't want to get involved with and like I said before, I really didn't like the dude too much.

Next day at work, the dude doesn't show up. Day after, he doesn't show up. Since I lived by him, me and my roommate went over to check up on the cat. He had taken his head off with a shotgun. I spent the next four hours waiting for the fucking cops to show up (we lived in notorious North Charleston which the cops just ignored completely). When they finally did, we got bitch out for putting a sheet over him cause apparently that's messing with a potential crime scene. That was the closest I ever came to slugging a US cop.

I was pretty messed up about it and it seemed to just get worse. His family had not seen him in a while and he had gotten a bunch of tattoo work done on his arms and legs. Since his head was basically gone, I got asked by his mom to go with her to identify his body. It seems the kid would write to her all the time talking about how I was a nice guy and always helped him out...he really thought I was his best friend even though I never wanted to even give him the time of day.

I spent the better part of the next two years in a drunken haze, wishing that I had answered that damn phone call and helped the kid out. I still have fucking nightmares that I'm in the kids living room with his body just sitting there with flies buzzing around. So yeah...I wish I could go back and answer that fucking phone call...in a goddamn heartbeat.

Hey Diablo...Nuclear power huh? Were you ever stationed in Florida?

There are tons of moments in mine (and anyone's) life that if I had made another decision, my entire life would be different. That is why, when I look back, I wouldn't change a thing because neither of my children would be around.

There was one small moment in my past, though, that would not have changed anything in my present, but still haunts me today.

It was the summer before my senior year in high school, and we were doing double-days for football practice. After practice, I swung into an AM/PM to get a Gatorade. While in line, there was a woman and her 6ish year old daughter in front of me. The mother was in a motorized wheelchair, and looked like she had been horribly burned at some point. She was paying for gas, and her daughter had an ice cream bar. With obvious emotion, the mother told her daughter that they didn't have enough money to buy her the ice cream.

Listening to this, a thousand things ran through my head at once. I had the money... I could offer to pay for the ice cream... Should I? Would she be insulted? Should I mind my own business? It was heart-wrenching to watch.

Because of my indecisiveness, the moment slipped by, and the pair wheeled out the door.

They wouldn't remember this episode today, I'm sure. But I do, 16 years later. I vowed that I would never let that chance slip by, should it happen again. In retrospect, maybe it did change me.

Logar - that kind of shit tortures me, too. You've probably never hesitated and gotten mired in self-questioning again, right?

I've got a couple of those. One I wouldn't change and one I would.

The one I'd keep:

In my, oh, 2nd year in college I was walking to the parking lot. I was actually IN the parking lot, about to go home after classes, and I thought: Well, I can go home, or I can go to that play audition that pretty girl asked us to attend. A week or so earlier I'd been hanging out in some club room with friends, and this pretty girl poked her head in and said, this theater group is auditioning actors for a play, on such and such a date, if any of you are interested. I had no interest in theater and was the shyest boy in the world. But I remembered the time and date, and so standing in the parking lot, I said, what the heck. I turned around and went to the place.

Long story short: I did the audition, got in the show, and stayed in the theater group. I worked with them until I transferred schools, and even then, I got involved in THAT school's theater group. I have never had much, er drive or direction: but being an actor gave me the only real career I've ever had, and even now, it's the most consistent thing in my life. Every girlfriend I've ever had (except maybe one) I got from theater. It gave me more than just confidence and direction. My whole life has sprung from being a theater actor. All from that one parking lot coin-toss decision.

And the pretty girl? First girlfriend.

The one I'd change:

You know what, that's a long story too. I'll come back with it, though.

(Funny: almost couldn't load this because I forgot my name and address. Thank Heaven it let me reload though: I could never have typed all that again!)

The thing I'd change: I twisted my ankle (for the umpteenth time) really badly while I was expecting my first. My husband and I were due to go to a party for one of his work friends and I, against my better judgment) went out rather than home to ice/elevate. I have never gotten over this ridiculous injury and wish I'd babied it more. I'm a big runner (not these days, natch) and this injury has really screwed me up on that front.

I have one that comes to mind immediately, because it's something I've thought about before. In high school at a football game on Halloween, I was introduced to a random guy from a nearby school. We barely connected, and it was a brief introduction. I came home from the game, and my mom made me walk the dog. And as I'm walking around a track near my house, who should I see but the exact same guy I have just met. So we stop and talk, and when I find out he doesn't have plans that night in a moment of bravery, I invited him out with my friends that night for Halloween celebrations. And he came, and the rest is history - we've been dating ever since and that was over 10 years ago. I often think about my life if my mom hadn't made me walk the dog, because our first interaction was so non-relavatory that I doubt I would have given him a second thought. And my life would be totally different!

Cute bonus notes: I found out later he lied about not having Halloween plans hoping I would invite him to hang out. After I did, he then had to go home and cancel his own plans.

I think a side question to this thread should be if you had 1 chance to go back in time to a moment, would you relive the moment you were supremely happy or would you go to the moment where you could change the cause of your biggest tragedy?

I was 18 and a freshman in college. I had not been accepted but put on a waitlist, thus I was forced to live in private, off campus housing. This was fucking terrible. I am a huge nerd (play roleplaying games, go to cons, etc.), and suffice to say that in a haven for your typical costies (Upper class students from either of the coasts, wears ugg boots and northface jackets, etc). Needless to say I did not fit in, or really have many friends beyond one or two people I talked to in class.

Fast forward to the end of first semester. Me and my two friends went out to go see a movie at the student union (Garden State). While we were waiting in line I saw/overheard two people sitting in the lobby outside the movie theater talking about some sort of game. Having no friends, I went over to talk to them (Turns out one was helping the other make a character for Mage: The Ascension, if any of you are familiar).

The rest, for me anyway, is history. Because of that night I have met at least 95% of my friends. I met my former roommate there, who introduced me to the social circle where my two serious college girlfriends were from, as well as all of my other friends I still talk to four years later.

Its funny to think that had those two gone somewhere else, or had we gone to a different showing entirely, (or if I had lived in a different dorm) I wouldn't know any of the people I do today.

Well, I can think of one thing. I definitely wouldn't have had those last two drinks at that Christmas party two years ago. No, three drinks. I wish I had stopped there.

If my Dad hadn't started smoking a pipe after he retired, maybe he'd have never gotten the lung cancer that killed him shortly afterward.

Five years ago, I used to work regularly for a catering company and would often work with the same girl. We'd get on brilliantly, she was gorgeous, red hair and full of freckles, she made me laugh, I made her laugh, and she'd been all over the world.

Unfortunately, I was in the last weeks of the longest and most miserable relationship I've ever had and I didn't ask her out then. Eventually, we stopped working at the same events and I thought I'd never see her again.

The week I broke up with the miserable one, I was sent to the most prestigious event yet, the fucking Queen's Garden fucking Party. And, brilliantly so, so was the Girl.

Security was so tight, we weren't allowed to carry anything that wasn't strictly necessary for our respective jobs. So when I asked her for her phone number, all we had to write with was raspberry syrup.

Her shift finished earlier than mine so she wrote her number on my arm in syrup and ran out. I was tripping balls on happiness, having just experienced one of the most romantic moments of my life.

I walk back into the fray of rabid Queen-loving punters and some punk motherfucker shithead asshole-for-elbows kid trips and spills a tray load of Pimm's on my arm. The one with the syrup. The one with the Girl's number. Wiping it off completely.

Later on, I tried contacting the agency she'd been hired through, but nothing came out of it. I've never seen her since.

I've met some lovely girls since, but none were quite like her.

Fucking Pimm's.

I was visiting NYC for convention and had spent the last night flirting with a guy (A), and making out a bit. We all went back to the hotel where most people were staying (I was in a cheaper one a couple blocks away), and I started talking a bit more to a friend of a friend (B) who I'd always thought was cute and interesting. Guy A offers to walk me back to my hotel, so we head down to the lobby via the elevator. Guy B comes bounding down the stairs, runs up to me, and looks deep into my eyes as I stand there with my hand on the arm of Guy A. Honorable me doesn't tell Guy A to take a hike, nor do I ask Guy B what he wants in our shared second language, and I walk out of there after I say that I agreed to let Guy A walk me back.
Guy A turned out to be a bit of a creep, things went nowhere. Guy B, I still see sometimes, he's married and has a kid now.
I'm happy with my life, but every time I think about turning points in my life, I wonder what would have happened if I'd just talked to Guy B a bit more.

Then there's the thank the powers that be turning point where I broke up with my 10 years older fiance when I was 19. My life would have *sucked* if we got married.

I wouldn't have crossed the street....

I would never have tried drugs in college, which brought me into a downward spiral of stealing, whoring, destroying my body, and causing (with justified reason) the love of my life to leave me "until I got clean."

Fast forward almost nine years later. I'm clean, successful and happy. He's married and successful and happy. And the best/worst day of my life was when I was able to give him a big hug in January after not seeing him for eight years and have him say "I'm so proud of you". He admitted later that night that he had never gotten over me, had always loved me, and that if I had never gone down the path I was on we would have been married by now.

And I will have to live with that "butterfly effect" for the rest of my life.

I've lived in my flat since 1988, and until 2006 I had an upstairs neighbour called Jim. He was a handsome old boy, but had a bad speech impediment and few friends. He didn't socialise much. He'd spent most of his adult life looking after his late mother. By the time I moved in he was about 65, alone and jobless. Where he went most days was a mystery, but at least he did go out - always smartly dressed, with his suit and his velvet-collared overcoat.

Jim was obsessed with old film stars (he once made a big deal of showing me his photocopy of a Bette Davis autograph) and male vocalists like Sinatra, Nat King Cole and Matt Monroe. I'd hear him upstairs, singing along with one of their songs, often playing one song over and over. Sometimes we'd meet on the stairs or out shopping. He'd talk sometimes about jobs he'd applied for, but he never got one.
We even went on a couple of 'dates' - he asked. Once to see La Boheme, once for dinner. But they were awkward, and I never could understand much of what he said, so we went back to being friendly neighbours.
In later years Jim got 'strange'. He stayed in more and more, stayed up all night, ate nothing but delivered pizza, and never put out his trash. I'd catch glimpses of mounds of black bags when he answered the door - which he did less and less.
I offered to shop for him, but he turned me down. He wouldn't discuss his obviously failing health, but he ordered box after box of alternative remedies, from companies with names which looked worryingly quack-adjacent.
I hardly saw him any more, but I still heard him - sometimes he seemed to be moving furniture around, which was odd since he looked so thin and weak by then. But there was no more music.

One day in 2006, I heard a thump from upstairs. I ignored it. I was dressing for work, I'd heard plenty of noise from Jim before.
Three days later, I had a friend over for supper. We kept hearing tapping, but we thought it was a neighbour puting up pictures or some other DIY project. (In my block you can hear everything the neighbours do, but it's often hard to tell where the sound is coming from.)
We carried on drinking and talking. The tapping carried on too. Finally I realised that it had been going on TOO long. And it might be Jim.
I went up to ring his bell. No answer. I called through the letterbox, and heard a weak voice. Jim had fallen and couldn't get up.
I called an ambulance and they brought the police to take his door down. They took him to hospital. I visited him as soon as I could get off work, and found him horribly thin and weak. He couldn't speak. I was told he'd had cancer for months, was terminal, and had refused treatment (the nurse shouldn't have told a non-relative, but she took pity on me). He'd been on the floor for three days - that had been the thump I ignored. A few more hours, and he'd have been dead.
Jim lingered a couple of months in a hospice. I visited him, as did our downstairs neighbour. He had no family. When he died, I was out of the country. I came back to a note from the downstairs neighbour telling me Jim had gone, and that he'd told her I had 'always been very kind to him'.

Again and again, I've wished I'd gone upstairs when I heard that thud.

You might say this story, my moment in time, has little of the life-changing about it. True. But if I'd delayed going to work and checked on Jim that morning, he would not have had to spend three days suffering. He might even have lived longer. I (and health professionals) would have told him his fall was a wake-up call, and perhaps we could have convinced him to have treatment and get some nursing help in. And as for me, well, I wouldn't be carrying this guilt around.