I can get hair dye for that, but you will always look like shit
My workplace is riddled to death with Nepotism. The worst example being the managers daugther who think she has ideas above her station, when, theoretically, isn't any more important or higher than me.

Anyhoo, while she was floating around the photocopier and fax machine doing something or other, she starts looking at me.

VN: "Oh, you've got a grey hair. Your getting a couple of grey hairs" (sniggers)

Me: "Now, I can get hair dye for that, but you will always look like shit".

Cue office pissing themselves laughing at my silently agressive reply. Given with a completely straight face and sharp, rapier wit.

One of the others in the office chirps up over the laughter "Who, what? who looks like shit now?"

VN: "Oh me, apparently. I look like shit accoring to (my actual name here). Don't I"?

Me: "Yep, got that straight!"

Utter, utter class.
(Panteneman Isn't entirely sure why he bothered on, Tue 18 Oct 2005, 20:32, Reply)

Fathers... I think they can mess you up
My Dad was first class at the guilt trip thing. He'd cheerfully leave me with strangers I'd never met, to be bullied, harassed and terrorised once he'd left for a six month jaunt as a holiday rep. Eventually I persuaded my nan to take custody of me, got it all through the courts, and told him. Was 11 at the time.

In spite of this...

At 18 my nan died. Thankfully I'd just got my first job so I soon had a paycheck. Dad left it up to me to deal with the funeral arrangements and so on, and two days before the funeral of his mother he buggered off on his annual jaunt to South America.

Still, I just carried on. The good old National Abbey (name made into a tough anagram to protect the innocent) cheerfully refused to let me buy the house my nan had lived in, so it got repossesed and they could make a huge profit on selling it on.

At this point, I'd scraped together what I could and bought a flat. And a car, because I needed it for work. I was, quite frankly, skint.

Now, sorry for all the pre-amble, but it's important to set the scene as to what a cunt my father could be.

A few months into my new flat I was getting by ok. Then it started. I got a letter. He'd been robbed in Ecuador (IIRC) and needed money to get by. About £1500 was needed RIGHT AWAY or he'd be in deep trouble. This was 1988, I was 19 then, and so it was quite a lot of money for me. So right away I telexed over what I could manage - about £100.

So the guilt trips, mostly by post, then started. Often written on scraps of mismatching paper.

"Is that all you could send me son? Don't you know you're the most important to me... the only one of my children who talks to me. It's very lonely being out here, all alone. No, I didn't take out travel insurance, it's too expensive. You need to help me son."

I had another £50. Sent that. I was trying to arrange a loan, but that was taking time as my credit rating was shot to hell by all the money I'd had to borrow anyway.

Next letter was along the lines of:

"Son, you're my only hope. The latest money you sent is barely enough to keep me alive. Every day I check to see if something's arrived, but I see nothing. I tell me friends here what a wonderful son you are, that you'll come through for me. But when they see I've yet to get any help from you they just shake their heads and tell me all kids are the same - they don't care about their parents. But son, I know you're different."

Bollocks. Thing is, I fucking hated him at the time. I knew what he was doing, but I wanted to help. I sent another little bit along, in spite of realising that he'd always been exceptionally vague about what he actually did in South America.

"Son, I'm really struggling now. I'm ill and really need more money in order to pay for health care. My sight has been failing me. I'm working illegally now with a travelling circus so it's very difficult for me to know what to do. I'll be at this phone number on the nth."

Panicking now about his health problems I started doing all sorts of things to try and solve his problem. I was severely bollocked for ringing Ecuador from work, but thankfully the boss started giving me contacts in the foreign office. The £600 loan came through, so I sent that off.

After a couple of days I'd got an agreement to get him flown home, paid for by the foreign office (as a loan to him, but with open-ended repayment terms), due to his ill health. I rang him with the good news.

To which point he asked me why he should come back to the UK where he'd still be ill, poor and no better off. He then said "And you've only sent me £600! What use is that? I told you I needed £1500! Don't you have a good job? Have you just pissed away your money?!"

That's when I gave up, silently hung up on the ungrateful bastard, and haven't spoken to him since. I had to sell the flat anyway coz I was skint, the car had to go and be replaced by a banger, and so on.

I'm going to Peru soon for a wedding. If I bump into him I'll forgive him for being a twat. But if he ever asks me for anything, ever, I'll want to kill him. Of course instead I'll probably just feel horribly guilty and cry myself to sleep - my heart keeps being convinced that I was a horrible and cold person for giving up on him, while my head keeps saying I was doing the right thing.

Length?! I could write a book about the guy.
(clopinettes, Tue 18 Oct 2005, 19:56, Reply)

Funerial Guilt Trip
Dad passed away last year. That's not very funny. Backstory is after a big family row we hadn't seen his side of the family for over a decade. When I finally met my Aunty at the reception afterwards all she said was "you must be XXXX. So sorry about your Dad. His father died of the same thing you know, and so did his uncle a few years ago."

Not quite what I was expecting from a new-found long-lost relative.

My response?

"Well if I'm next there's every chance we'll see you again then."

OWCH. I am not proud of this.
(Error 404 - Username Unknown, Tue 18 Oct 2005, 16:18, Reply)

Coping with Passive Agressive
I've had a few P/A expert girlfriends but as a result I've become adept at deflecting their P/A tendancies. Here's a couple of examples

Example 1
gf: Come on, you promised to cook dinner, I'm hungwry
Me: yeah, in a minute, I'm busy
gf: Tell you what, why don't you stay staring at that fucking computer screen while I just order in a pizza or burger and become big and fat?? eh?
Me: Oh you don't need to do that honey, I've already got your personality & horrid friends as reasons for dumping you when the time comes.
gf: fuck you (storms out)
Me: I'm only kidding, I'll cook it now
gf: don't bother, i'm not fucking hungry now
Me: ok sweetness (back to warcraft)

Example 2
(on a night out with workmates, mobile rings)
gf: You having a good time?
Me: Yeah, not bad what you up to
gf: Awh good. Me? Doing nothing really, just flopping on the sofa watching the box
(Just then a bargirl chatting to a guy next to me starts laughing)
gf: Who's that?
Me: Just a bargirl laughing with someone next to me
gf: Yeah fucking right....
I then get a good 2 minute earful of shouting and ranting which finishes with her screaming full volume at me 'well why don't you just go and fuck her then, it's obvious you want to'
(I'm thouroughly fucked off at this point and decided to retort with a put-down I'd once heard chubby brown use...)
Me: Yeah, maybe I will and hopefully she, unlike you, doesn't have a cunt as big as her mouth

They're both ex's now. Shame about the 2nd one especially, she had a really cute sister...
( sneep used to date Freddie Starr's hamster, Tue 18 Oct 2005, 15:34, Reply)

The old man
My dad was killed in a freak accident two days before Christmas last year. He'd been living in Thailand for a few years but all the family were in Australia - apart from me, I live in London. So I get the shocking news and in less than 24 hours I'm on a plane home to Perth to meet my family. Get to customs and it's quite obvious that I've pretty much been crying the entire flight - swollen, red eyes, completely shattered look about me - it clearly wasn't obvious enough for the stupid customs lady who thought it quite ok to ask me a series of inane questions regarding sweet fuck all in the grand scheme of things. So while she's being a trumped up customs beast with her grubby mits on my passport I unfortunately had to turn around and say to her "Look lady, my father was electrocuted to death yesterday and I'm here to bury him. So if you don't mind I'd like my passport back so I can go meet my family". Horrible thing to do, but what can I say, grief does strange things to a person....oh, and did I mention that it happened to be Christmas day? Utter cnut.
(firesnake, Tue 18 Oct 2005, 13:02, Reply)

My mum
once told me that she'd commit suicide if I developed mental illness. This strikes me as a multi-loaded statement. And only respondable by 'Riiiight'.
So I won't tell her then...
(Disclaimer: not usual behaviour for my mother ;)
(spida, Tue 18 Oct 2005, 10:18, Reply)

Why I don't go out for meals with my parents. Ever.
Picture the scene, a nice pub in the countryside, myself, the then grrlfiend, my parents, my sister and my brother in law and my little niece.

We're sat at the table waiting for the food to arrive. My sister's driving so the brother in law can have a drink. they've arrived after the rest of us, join us and sit down. I've just finished a glass of coke (not drinking as I'd been for a set of innoculations that morning in preparation for a trip abroad). So I get up and offer to get a round in. Cue my mother in an extremely loud whisper
"Stu, I think you should slow down a bit. You've already had one drink"
Me "Huh? I'm drinking coke for christ's sake!"
Her "Go ahead and ruin the meal for all of us then."
( stuj (^(^;;^)^) GO TEAM SPIDERS!(^(^;;^)^), Tue 18 Oct 2005, 9:15, Reply)

3rd form Social Studies class
We were a rowdy bunch and often wouldn't shut up when asked. The teacher, Ms Wood, was a fragile sort and would yell at us to get our attention and give up when we didn't listen. One typical day we weren't taking much notice in class and after over half an hour of trying to teach us unruly bunch, Ms Wood had enough and yelled, 'My mother died last week, I don't need this!" and ran out of the class crying. Mouths dropped and the whole class looked round at each other in shock. Ms Wood fetched the vice principal who then gave us a right bollocking. We all felt so bad we made a card saying how sorry we were and we would be good in future. The card didn't work though. Ms Wood ended up having a week off and we got a new Social Studies teacher after that. So, in essence if one of our teachers hadn't already had a breakdown then they were due one pretty smartly.
(ThoughtsInsideADream, Tue 18 Oct 2005, 6:18, Reply)

my 18th birthday
me- i think i'l go out clubbing with my mates
mum - dont you think you should spend it with your family? it would mean a lot to them and your nan might die soon you know (my nan is the healthiest 75 yr old in the world, and blatantly hates me anyway)
hmmph
(skankgirl, Tue 18 Oct 2005, 4:33, Reply)

Ex Mother-In-Law
My ex-wife (of 10 years) has a horror of a Guilt Tripper Mother. I could, and generally do, go on for ages, but will keep it short.

Went to lunch at some cafe in Glebe for then-wifes birthday (prolly 23rd or 24th, something in that range). Now, her mum and dad had split up when she was 21, and her mum is also a major control freak, couldn't stand the thought of any of her kids having a relationship with their dad. So, birthday lunch, all about the birthday girl, I believe. Well not according to mum. Sat there with a face like an Easter Island statue, looking like she would rather be having her finger-nails pulled out whilst rest of family tried to have good time, Dad included (although lighter side is that she hardly said a thing throughtout the whole lunch).

Now, maybe there was stuff in the break up that I didn't know about, BUT WHO'S FUCKING BIRTHDAY WAS IT? Not fucking hers, that's who's.

That is seriously only one of thousands of possible stories to relate. An absolute horror, who is also (egad) an Anglican Priest (that's C of E over here in land of Aus).

Mole.
(Pleiades, Tue 18 Oct 2005, 3:54, Reply)

.
Drive me to the shop will you?
Me: I'm watching a film, and I have already put the car away.
Fine! I'll go on my own and get raped.

Didn't know they did that at the local Day and Nite.
(Xybex, Mon 17 Oct 2005, 22:14, Reply)

A mature student of my close acquaintance
was graduating.

She went to collect her hired robes and the woman behind the counter asked for the form with her details, which she didn't have.

'Why haven't you brought it, as you were TOLD to?' sneered Mrs Counter, in a loud voice full of contempt, obviously used to bullying students.


'My son committed suicide a week ago so I think I've done pretty well to turn up at all' replied, truthfully, our mature student.

While Mrs Counter and the entire horrified counter staff tried to stammer apologies, the student collected her clobber and reeled away in tears, her fragile composure shattered for the day.

Nice work, Mrs C. I don't expect you get much sleep these autumn nights.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Mon 17 Oct 2005, 18:04, Reply)

My step gran
When my ma married Roger my stepfather, her new husband's mum (who was 90 at the time, now pushing up daisies) was not impressed at having to share her son with another woman again.

So on the day of the wedding she stood a couple of feet away from Roger in the registry office.

And shat herself just as the vows started.

She was wearing tights so she managed to shake it down her leg until it bunched up around an ankle, and piped up with 'Roger I've had an accident. You need to help me clean it up.'

And then proceded to mutter loudly 'No not you dear. HE has to help me.' as various relatives tried to bundle her off for a wipe down.

Funny thing is, she never lost the use of her arse at any other time before or after the wedding.
( sm.pl.crt.rs I don't fucking know, do I?, Mon 17 Oct 2005, 17:05, Reply)

If its not one thing, its your mother!!
After telling my mum that I'll cut the grass later cause it looked like it was gonna rain, there is nothing worse that cutting wet grass, she says "No no, dont bother. I'll do it after I iron your clothes and make the dinner, don't worry about it". Guilty? Me? Nope. "OK, suit yourself" I find myself saying.

Later I go and sit down to watch Grandstand and and I can see out of the corner of my eye Mumsy pushing, with all her might, a lawnmower twice the size of her up and down the garden. Fuck sake. Start to feel a bit guilty so I close the blinds to block out the view.

Eventually go out and explain to her it was a self drive mower so she didn't have to push it, just pull a lever and it would drive itself. Felt so much better.

And yes it did start raining, good job I was inside. Held back a HUGE "Told you so" when she finished. Ha

Size, girth, circumference etc.
(Have_you_seen_my_donkey?, Mon 17 Oct 2005, 16:27, Reply)

She is an ex-Weasel. She has ceased to be...
...any of my problem!

Earlier this year I foolishly met an ex for a drink and something to eat. When I failed to laugh at one of her crap jokes and then laughed at something dumb she did I got a tearful angry reaction. It's worth pointing out that she had some genuinely bad things in her life that were troubling her at that time (some serious, some trivial from my p.o.v. but affecting to her none the less).

I realised then for the first time that she would *always* have some issue that would give her an excuse to act hurt, would always have some issue that she felt would give her some moral upper hand and would always claim some sort of victimhood-superiority-complex because of this. She had in the past claimed "That she felt things more than other people" and that "Other people could not understand the depth of her pain". My reaction that my friend Jenny at work with Bowel Cancer probably had a clear idea about pain and suffering was not well received...

I was just tired of all this and wanted it to stop and just not be part of this "more depressed than thou" cycle of recriminations - I told her this and I got the response "That makes me really uncomfortable, etc, etc"

I responded with a not very eloquent but extremely satisfyingly loud "GET FUCKED!" and got up to leave.

She said "You can't leave, you have to stay here and work through these issues and then apologise"

I said "GET FUCKED!" again even louder. Boy that felt good.

The current Ms Weasel (who won't like the term "the current" and therefore may not click 'I like this', so please click it for her) can reduce both of us to helpless laughter by saying "...that makes me really uncomfortable etc, etc" to which I always heartily respond "GET FUCKED! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

I may now write a self-help book on this subject: "I'm OK, You're All Right, She's Fucked Up! - The art of telling overly needy ex-loved ones to go and fuck themselves"


PS Lannes - about being happy, to badly quote from The Princess Bride: "Life is pain Princess, anyone who tells you differently is lying or selling you something"
(Wascally Weasel now with 100% fewer jokes., Mon 17 Oct 2005, 14:53, Reply)

Oh I see.
One year I've been a member of B3ta, one year, and was there a present? Hmm? A "thank-you" for joining? Hmmm?

50 QOTWs and not once have you stopped to ask me how am I? Is everything alright?

I bet you're not even going to click "I like this". One little click, and even that's too much for you. Sometimes I wonder if you'd be happier if I were dead…
(Scoobs, Mon 17 Oct 2005, 14:21, Reply)

Have half of you dated my ex?
Looking through most of these stories, I see so much that involved my ex. Somehow I put up with her for four years, but had so much off her I could have exploded more than once. Some of her classic guilt trips are as follows:
Constantly ringing/texting me when I was out with my mates to "Check I was having a good time, I think I'll have an early night, there's nothing on TV and I'm bored. But don't worry, you have a good time." Which translated as, "If you don't come home now, I'll sulk for the rest of the weekend, only answering questions with 'no' or 'fine'."
Cooking really badly so when I said I was too tired to cook I'd get, "Well I'd cook, but I know you don't like my cooking." Classic
Saying it was "fine" (always a bad word) when I said I was going to do some work on the PC next door, leaving her to watch the god-awful interior design shows on TV, within five minutes, I'd have her coming in and going "I'm bored" before sitting behind me and annoying me until I paid her attention. The same would go if I went in the other room to read, listen to the radio, or anything that meant I was out her sight.
She hated sport in all its forms, so if I asked to watch something on TV, she would be fine about it. This meant she could watch whatever she wanted for the remainder of the time, as if I mentioned I didn't like it, the reply of "Well I don't like football, but I let you watch it last week." was always looming.
She would moan about having to pay half for food, inspite the fact she ate more than half of it. She thought it wasn't fair as I earned more than her, so I should pay for everything and keep her sweet.
Oh, the final, wonderful, culmination of this came one dark night around two years ago:
We'd both gone out into Newcastle with our separate groups of friends. Within an hour, I get a text saying "I'm not feeling well, I'm going home." I reply with "Ok, are you going to bed, I'll be quiet when I get in, shouldn't be too late". I don't hear anything else all night, so presume she's gone home, taken some Night Nurse and crashed out. One thing leads to another as the night goes on and I end up out until around half 1. As I'm walking home, I note the bedroom light is on, she's fallen asleep with the lights on more than once, so not a problem. I get in and she's lying awake in bed. "What time do you call this?" I get. Being slightly drunk, I foolishly reply with "Around half 1. Why are you still up?", "I thought you weren't going to be late." "Sorry, I was out and lost track of time, then had to walk home. I thought you were ill and had gone to bed." "I had, but I couldn't sleep because I'm afraid of burglars." The conversation went downhill from there and generally ended up in me telling her she was a deranged, OCD suffering, spiteful evil person who I couldn't see myself being with any more.
Sorry this strays off-topic more than once, I'm just having a bit of a vent.
Length, Diameter, Surface Area, Etc...
(James_Doc, Mon 17 Oct 2005, 13:51, Reply)