Know what actually makes you go into labor? Manual labor. I spend an hour on my hands and knees chipping old kitchen tiles off my floor, baby born less than 24 hours later.  Any good doula will tell you the same. Labor not progressing fast enough? Go clean your kitchen floor on your hands and knees. 

Can Uber identify immediately who the driver was on their ride? That seems like it should be a big deterrent to rape - police would know very quickly who the perpetrator was.

Yep. The other night I had to take quite a long uber ride from my job to house late at night. Luckily the guy was super nice but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a backup plan and made sure my phone was charged. 

The Oatmeal used to have a calculator for this very question about how many 6 year olds could you take in a fight. He later changed it to Justin Biebers for obvious reasons.

This terrifies me. I don’t usually think about the fact that when I use Uber or Lyft, I’m getting into a car with a complete stranger, almost always a man, almost always at night. I just want to be able to go about my business safely as a woman in the world and not have to weigh the risks of mundane activities like…

A lot of times when I see a person who’s much shorter than me, I think, “I wonder how many of that person I could take on in a fight and hold my own.” This is usually something I think about at my 6-year old’s soccer games.

This is a true story that is scary on... well, levels, ha. I’ve obscured some details so as not to give away any too identifying information, although the details are part of what makes the story.

I told a very condensed version of this in a comment to one of the Jez horror story posts maybe about five? years ago, so I’m officially submitting this now. Now with bonus pics. 

Hi Frida,

Follow up: just now, thinking about this story, I went to look at the registry of deeds for the town I grew up in. They’ve got everything digitized now, so I was able to look up the closing paperwork for the house. There, my parents both signed, as did a notary, but the witness section?

Ok, I’ve been a reader of this thread for a few years now, every year I both love and loathe this thread because my morbid curiosity and inability to stop reading inevitably leaves me scared shitless for several days, and then I start the cycle all over again. This year, I want to submit my own.

This one isn’t mine, but my mom’s. She told it to me a few years ago, when my husband and I bought our house; it’s the story of how my parents got my childhood home.

I’m a liberal-leaning person writing for a newspaper in small-town, gun-slinging, highly conservative Missouri. My editor and I have a constant, background worry about printing something that makes someone mad enough they waltz into our basically security-free office and mow us all down. Our building is over 100 years…

Senior year of high school-in the eighties. My parents had moved our family to this godforsaken desert city from the Midwest the middle of my junior year. I was a fish out of water; often quite literally. Left my boyfriend in the Midwest; my first true love. We spent a few months with feverish phone calls, long love…

My story is more curious & unsettling than it is truly frightening.

Alright, been debating writing this down because I’ve been trying to get it out of my mind. This story has a few different facets and I have no idea what to make of all of it.

I never post so I don’t know if anyone will see this but, a few weeks ago, I came home to this. That is not my hand.

Not nearly as scary as some of your absolutely horrifying stories, but here’s mine. I remember it vividly and get chills every time I think about it.

The girl scout troop I lead has met in the same church since kindergarten, they’re now in 4th grade. Its built on the side of a hill, and we meet in the “basement” which is really a large, well lit room full of windows. At the back of the room is a hall with the bathrooms, and stairs to the main floor. The girls call…

This is not my story, but my best friend’s, and I’m sharing with his blessing. (Re-post from last year.)