The German Invasion
Well, hardly an invasion, as there was only one of him. But what he lacked in numbers, he made up in... well, annoyingnesslessness thing.

Three of us moved into a shared house. Two chaps who a friend of mine assured me were good guys, and me. Those two were mostly OK, but we needed a fourth person. We managed to get the landlord to only charge three-quarters of the rent while we advertised. Had I been able to see into the future, I'd have left it there. But no, we went for it.

And we got M--r-ce the German. He was doing a module in the UK, and he came to our Uni. And ended up sharing with us.

Where to begin? Oh yeah, with the watermeloning washing up. Which he never did, having servants back home or something. He mainly lived off Pepsi and takeaway pizza, or sometimes just bread with tomato ketchup on it. No, really. But he'd never wash up, or clean up. We made sculptures with the pizza boxes and cans... then gave up and binned them ourselves when we reached the ceiling. Twice.

One weekend, the three of us all went away. M managed to use every last moleste pot, pan, plate, knife, fork, spoon, the lot. He even made Angel Delight in my cafetiere. The git. We dumped it all in his bed. Then, three days later, we got it all out again and sorted it out because we were hungry, dammit!

Then there was the drinking. OK, we were students, so drinking enough to poison a small county was expected. But we're mainly nice drunks. Me, for instance, I tend to slowly melt into a small giggling heap on the floor, before falling asleep (and snoring hideously, according to Mrs. God). Not our M, oh no. He almost broke my arm the once, he threw glasses at people, and once bodily chucked someone out of a window. A car window. Luckily we were parked at some traffic lights...

Then, luckily, he went home for a holiday. "Yaay!" we thought, and relaxed...

Then he came back. Apparently, he'd gone round to his fiancee's place, to surprise her. And he had. And the bloke she'd been in bed with. There'd probably been some kind of altercation.

He turns up, heartbroken. He still ate like a tramp and smashed stuff, but his heart wasn't in it. Such a shame. So he did what any normal man would do (apparently) and invited some hideously ugly blonde slapper from home to stay for a week. She looked as if she'd been seriously worked over with the ugly stick. And the mental stick. She stayed in the living room 24/7, and wouldn't let anyone except M in there. Great. Two moleste months later, her week's holiday finished, and she pissed off back to Germany. "Yaay!", we thought. "Only one mental German to deal with!"

Luckily, dear reader, term ended, and after the brief unpleasantness of exams, we were good.

(And I threw the cafetiere away. I mean, there was simply no need for that at all, was there?)

No apologies for length. Mrs. God's quite glad of it.
(purplegod counting down for Christmas!, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 21:16, Reply)

Ack
Crazy obsessive-compulsive bitch with a cleaning obsession. Hoovered three times a day, especially if there were any signs of walking on the carpet. You couldn't leave a shampoo bottle on the side of the bath, no, it had to go in the cupboard, and there was an order in which towels had to be hung up to dry. Of course, you never knew about thousands of little rules until you actually broke them and she was ready to throw you out. She kept spying on me and declared my room to be something out of Grime Scene Investigation because I hadn't made the bed and had some books lying on a table. I had to start locking the fucking room, but after that she tried to peer through the curtains. Problem was, her dad owned the flat so she even invited him over to look at the horrible messy bastard. And she had at least three mates in every fucking night, playing shite music right outside my room and smoking weed until 4AM. And then had the gall to bitch to me about sleeping late and missing classes, when even earplugs didn't help with the noise outside (of course, she didn't even have a job or go to uni, but this didn't matter because obviously she was a Much Better Person than the filthy quiet geek she'd been forced to share accommodation with). You pretty much couldn't go to the kitchen or loo or bathroom for fear of doing *something* wrong. The amount of psychological terrorising was just ridiculous, I ended up having a nervous breakdown and getting thrown out of uni because the bitch did my head in. Why didn't I move out immediately? It was in a small-but-ridiculously-popular city with no chance of finding a place to live in, even the psycho hut took me months to find. Argh.
(Auntie Dalek molester extraordinaire, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 21:04, Reply)

Roasted pea, anyone?
I'd like to draw your attention to this: www.b3ta.com/questions/reallyscared/post73044/
(purplegod counting down for Christmas!, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 21:01, Reply)

Three words
The ex-wife.

(Oh, OK, that may technically be two words. Whatever.)
(purplegod counting down for Christmas!, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 20:59, Reply)

Restraining order
I have lived with over 50 people in my time and a good 30% of the population have serious personality disorders in my opinion.

The spunky bed sheet guy (see previous post). Bob the Bullshitter (his given nickname) who never told a true word and never batted an eyelid when confronted on his great fat bilious fib. The chap who was mugged while cruising for prostitutes and when the cops turned up explained in front of us he had just 'gone for a walk' in the red light district we lived in at 4am. The serious porn addict who collected 50 magazines and 30 movies in the 4 months I lived with him - despite his girlfriend being raped the year before he watched them constantly in front of her. The posh, fit, girl who lost her job and within a month called the police (who woke me up by shining a torch in my face) due to intruders rattling at her door (she had the tiniest lock in the world on her door; cause intruders would be foiled by that little puppy, given they've just beaten the dead locks and the alarm). She neglected to make the mental leap of recognition that the cat flap had been removed two days before - 3 cats bored at 3am leads to exploration for alternate places to pee.

But the best was a girl (let's call her Mad Devil Psycho Loon Hag for short) I lived with in Boston in the good old US of A when I lived there for a year. We were skint so my girlfriend, myself and a good girlfriend of ours shared one room (sadly no threesomes were to develop but I did cop a sneaky peak now and then... well it would be rude not to!). We advertised and found a 35 year old lovely lass (never trust drunken girls to approve your new flatmate) to move into the other room. She preceded to walk around the flat in only a t-shirt and no pants, to never clean up after herself when cooking, bring back random mental shags whom we found half naked wandering the flat in the morning, she'd fall asleep most nights in the living room with the TV loud as she passed out on 3 bottles of wine and enough tranquilizers to satify the silver haired matriacs of the Kennedy clan, then began stealing our things and trying to show naked pictures of herself to everyone who entered the flat.

We met one of her 'boyfriends' who was a psychologist (don't ask) who informed us she was totally tonto (no shit!) and to throw her out. When we asked her to leave she went mental and refused. After a day or two we were advised to go to the police station and ask for a restraining order to get her to leave. Unfortunately, when we got there we were informed there was already an order on the three of us that she had placed (she was experienced as she had had several placed on her before). Police turn up at the flat two hours later and state my girlfriend has a warrant in her name for an unpaid fine. Being the British gent I am I protested. I withdrew my opposition when looking down the barrel of a semi automatic pistol.

It all turned out fine after 3000 dollars of legal bills proving that the warrant was a 'adminastrative' mistake and she had indeed paid the fine the warrant was for - the judge wanted to put my Mrs in jail for a few more nights to make a point! The point being he was a twunt!

Basically we weren't allowed near the apartment without a police exscort, which took a week to organise. The three of us and our cat slept on the floor of our friends bedsit roughly 20 feet by 10 (we measured)... did I neglect to mention he had a fully grown Rottweiler! Fortunately my cat (Dune.. fab cat) and the rottweiler (Madison.. tried to protect me by attempting to attack any passer by when I took him for walks) got on like a house on fire.. often at 3 in the morning and I still have a long scar on my arm where Dune used me as a spring board to escape Madisons slavering jaws...

The hiatous from the flat also allowed Pyscho Hag to break into our room and steal everything valuable we owned...

Thankfully she left and an alcholic moved in just before I fled the country when myself and my girlfriend broke up (still close to her 12 years later on an entirely separate continant) which was actually an uncomplicated relief...

The only high point was when we found out she got fired shortly after from the printing and fax business she worked at... for faxing naked pictures of herself to 'friends' at the other branches... Natch!

Length... I feel better for it...
(Pachen9, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 20:29, Reply)

Drug abuse
Second year at Uni, shared a house in Bristol. Bloke on my floor was this Welsh mate, skinny and pale but a right laugh and also a professional pisshead. Penniless, too, mind, as were we all.

This guy (I know he's in IT, so I won't name him) did like his "substances". So occasionally we'd come back to find him in some state of derangement from attempting to smoke anything from tea bags (too smoky, no high) to banana skins (massive headache) or sniffing WD-40, etc etc. But this was mainly borne from desperation and being skint.

One day, I'd managed to score a decent lump of dope and refused to share it with him (I had the g/f coming over and had mucky plans). Because I'm not a smoker, I decided to make hash brownies, instead. So I took this lump (almost a full ounce) and broke it up; made some delicious chocolate brownies and put them in the oven. Then I walked down to the local store to get munchies, booze and so on.

When I got back to the house, I noticed a familiar-looking car in the street. Uh-oh, thought I - that looks like the parents' car. Wafting from the kitchen window was a delicious smell of baking. In I went, to find a giggling Welshman on the stairs who then fucked off at high speed.

When I got into the kitchen I found out why. The little cnut had fed ALL the FUCKING brownies to my FUCKING parents. Every FUCKING crumb. They were slumped either side of the kitchen table, giggling helplessly at one another. My dad then said - "ooh - what's that? Food? Yum!" And fell over. To more giggles.

Obviously I couldn't let them drive back, so I had to cancel the planned night of shagging and hash brownies and let them sleep in my room, while I slept in the FUCKING bath. To be woken at 3am by the FUCKING Welshman giggling as he poked his scrawny little cock in my ear. Cnut.

The next day my somewhat subdued parents breakfasted and left, with nothing said about the previous day. At all, ever. It's one of those things that we never talk about.
(lustfish, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 20:12, Reply)

Crotch wad
Quickie for you.

Second year at uni, I lived in a big room in a shared house in Bristol, with my girlfriend. Downstairs was the Polish landlord and wife, on our floor were the kitchen, bathroom and one other bedroom, and upstairs was a small, garret-like room.

A mate took the other bedroom on our floor (a story about HIM to follow), while upstairs was some random HND Building student. He kept himself pretty much to himself, and eventually ended up with a girlfriend of his own.

Anyhoo, one night me and my g/f had been, er, "at it", and being the gentleman I am, I scurried out to the bathroom to fetch loo roll and have a slash. Because it was 2am, I didn't bother putting any clothes on (as you do).

As I emerged from the bathroom, post-piss and with a wad of bogroll in my hand, I came face to face with the builder's girlfriend's crotch (she was - ahem - coming down the stairs).

Apparently, we weren't the only ones "at it" that night, because this lass was also stark naked, also on her way to the bog, but - and this is the image that will stay with me forever - she had a massive wodge of bogpaper stuffed into her crotch. But the disturbing part was that this otherwise normal lass had such an abundant and luxuriant bush that the bogpaper was almost invisible.

Jet black and huge, it was, and denser than Tony Blair. Right at my eye level. True 70's style topiary, from thighs to belly button. We nodded to one another, and never ever mentioned the incident again. Thenceforth, however, she was known as "Amazon" to us all.
(lustfish, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 20:00, Reply)

Georgian couple i won't forget any soon..
lil bit long but hell, it's my first post :)

few years back i was sharing a house with Georgian married couple. quite soon it turned out that the lad had been cheating on his wife, and hardly staying there at all, which as a result pissed off his hairy ogre wife to say the least.
that wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't for me taking all the crap that was the mood she was normally at. the hell broke loose when one day she went berserk on my girlfriend, and realizing there's physical violence on the horizon i snapped out and tried to kick the beast out of the house. bad move. bad bad move.
within 5 min my cell rings and her husband is screaming at me that he's coming to beat the crap out of me, just as a warm up for what there is to come. i nearly went cardiac.
oh, did i mention he was involved with the mob ? well he was..

the solution to saving up my poor shat all over life ACTUALLY involved managing to get a representative goon from a rival mob gang(via Very long chain of people) into apartment within couple hours to stand up for my poor soul and resolve our bloody issues, which surprisingly did resolve without anyone getting killed.

i left that place soon after, and never shared a house with anyone ever again.

edit:back then i was still a computer geek, and for the past couple years i've been slowly working up the ladder of extreme sports career. click "I like this" this if you agree that encounters with housemates from hell make us stronger :)
(spiderboy, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 19:56, Reply)

Kindap.
My friends housemate had a certain taste for class As.

Now my mate and the rest of the housemates went out leaving X on his own as he didnt feel up to going out shopping or whatever.

Mates come back to find the house trashed, everything everywhere. They find X in his room sat, curled up infront of his cubboard which is all taped up and what have you.

they ask him what happened and if hes allright, X replies that he was feeling real down so he took a load of class As and trashed the place then he went for a walk and that the gremlins wouldnt leave him alone.

my mates were like.. "look X there were no gremlins...." and of course he had prepared for this and replied "i knew you wouldnt believe me so i caught one and locked it in the cupboard"

they opened the cupboard and out popped a little down-syndrome child..... of course this walk X went on had taken him past a Local special needs school and he kidnapped this child thinking it was a gremlin!

it got into the paper and everything!
(Jetpac, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 19:23, Reply)

Quite a tame one really
Had a flatmate last year who didn't understand the idea that when a guy has his bedroom door closed (when it is usually open during the day) that he may well be up to something - quality time so to speak.

He would always knock once on the door and before i could yell something about studying, the door would swing open and he'd come bounding in. Needless to say I always had my bathrobe on and cursor over the minimise button after the first incident.

There was some slight vindication in the fact he was rather tall and every time he came in he would clock himself on the ceiling light fitting.

No other problems, he was a sound guy and we're still mates.


Another story I remember, relating to my Aunty who rents property. Used to let out a flat to Alvin Stardust's son, who apparently was a right shit tenant. Refused to pay rent or keep the flat in a decent state, which eventually led to bailiffs getting involved. Night before he was going to be forced out he had a big party and wrecked the boiler. Aunt never did get the money she was owed.
(ElZog, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 19:18, Reply)

On a school trip...
We're in a hotel in St. Petersburg. I'm 16 and I'm sharing the room with a slightly crazy and very annoying 13-year-old. A couple samples:

She decides she's enamoured with the boy who's staying in the room directly above ours. She sits outside the window on the one-foot-wide windowsill, talking to him through the windows for hours. Needless to say, they both have "significant others" back home.

When it begins to rain, she gets an umbrella and sits on the windowsill with it. She practically blows away. I am quite concerned.

And the best bit: the beds are positioned in the room such that the headboards are next to end-to-end. If someone is lying in one bed, they can't see the person in the other bed. I'm lying on my bed, watching the World Cup, for this was last July. Aforementioned roommate and boy from upstairs are on her bed, going at it in their chaste way (in other words, they've got their clothes on). But... I suddenly hear slapping sounds coming from behind my. They are barely discernible at first, but grow louder and more insistent. I am imagining all sorts of possible scenarios on the bed behind me, and am much caught between whether to turn around and look or be left in blissful ignorance.

When suddenly... a rubber band goes flying across the room. She'd been snapping it against the bed for the past several minutes. Then she starts snapping it at me. I decide now would be a really good time to go to the toilet.
(echomikeromeo, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 18:40, Reply)

My uni flatmates were not the best
Various annoyances ranged from raping the 512Kbps bandwidth we shared, putting so much in the washing machine at once that the clothes in the centre didn't actually get wet, walking in on my boyfriend and I in bed together, not once, but twice.

The best thing about the place was that I had my own private bathroom, so I never needed to venture into the other one, which the 3 boys used.

When it came to moving out in July 2003, I went in there expecting it to be filty dirty, which it was. I thought I would clean it so we would have some hope of getting our deposit back. I enquired as to what the orange gunk was down the side of the shower, which I was told was from when Stephen had been sick after the Law ball. In October 2001. Ewww.
( Rubymurray is disdainful of your hateful, ill-formed opinions, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 18:13, Reply)

Housemates from hell
I too lived with a couple of porn stars, they were a lovely couple, but when the home movies started to include the use of gas masks, restraints and plastic bags, we tended not to watch them! The best part though was going to a porn trade show with them. Hmm, wheel chair porn stars...

I was either a great or terrible house mate depending on your attitude. Being a goth at uni meant that I had the usual Glen Benton (he of Deicide) posters and Black Bible and inverted crosses (and I am such a nice girl too!). This meant that my house mates were either scared witless of me, or used to send me to answer the door when the religious loonies came round. The Mormons loved me and always promised to call back...

Recently I was able to share a house near work, with a group of really nice people, mainly Polish immigrants. Things went wrong when an English guy in his mid fifties moved in. He was an utter cunt who left the house in a filthy mess, was pissed by 11am having got up at 10 and played very loud French jazz at 3AM. When I asked him to turn it down one night, he got violent with me. This was eight weeks after I was steralised, so you can imagine how poorly I was. Five days later I moved house and had to get my rather burly Dad to pack and move my stuff for me. Dad was itching for a fight!
( Rev. Jayneflakes Buy my book, I need the cash for drugs and hookers, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 17:52, Reply)

Little annoyances
You know the way that you can be subjected to many things that individually aren't that bad, but taken together add up to become one gigantic anger-inducing hell? That's what it's like for me.

Bit of background, I was originally supposed to be moving into my current house with four other friends, all nice and happy, but for various reasons which I shalln't go into they all decided they didn't want to live there within a week of moving in.* My landlord hurrily found the first four people he could to fill the spaces and as a result the house is inhabited by five people who don't really know each other, and are too disimilar to really be more than just aquaintances.

Of my housemates, I get on reasonably well with the two other lads, who are usually prompt and trustworthy about sorting out bills, etc. The two girls however, are a rather different matter. One alternates between being at the house all the time, and never being there at all (usually when bills need paying or there is a huge pile of washing up to do.) The other is the bane of my life. Among her various annoying habits is:

- Playing appalling rnb at needless volumes. I hate rnb at the best of times.
- Having one of those loud and deep voices that reverberates around thin-walled houses such as ours. To be fair she can't help this, but it's still annoying.
- Leaving the taps running in the bathroom/kitchen.
- Leaving the lights on when they don't need to be on at all, i.e. during the day, or all through the night, or when nobody's in the room. It surely can't be that difficult to turn a light off as you leave the room, but she doesn't seem to have mastered it. As already mentioned, she contributes nothing to the electric bill.
- Bringing her boyfriend over, and the two of them going into the kitchen, shutting the door, and making dinner in the most noisy way possible. My room is, of course, right next to the kitchen, so all I hear for an hour is the clattering of pans.
- Never ever washing anything up, including leaving pans half full of food sitting on top of the cooker. She does however complain about nobody else doing the washing up.
- Managed to get herself into debt with some dodgy loan company, who are either phoning or coming round for her at least twice a day. Since my room is closest to the phone and door, I am inevitably the one who ends up answering them almost all the time. I once experimentally left it ringing for ages when I knew two of my housemates were in the kitchen, to see if either of them would pick it up. They didn't.

I could go on for ever, but I won't. Suffice to say, I'm glad I'm off to a new house in a couple of months.

*Two of them were a couple and decided to move into a smaller house, for just the two of them. Before Christmas they broke up, yet can't get out of their lease agreement until June, and have been forced to share the one bedroom flat since. I still hear tales from both of them about how unbearable the other is to live with, which I of course find hilarious.
(Uncle Comrade, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 17:40, Reply)

Not really a housemate
more a roommate, at my old boarding school (fun, but sucked as well) we shared rooms between two of us. I had a room with a guy who was quite a good friend of mine, which was good, because some people had rooms with people they hated. But that's not the wierd bit.

One night I woke up wanting a drink, and turned the light on to find him standing, stark naked, staring out of the window at the playing fields. He quickly explained that he was just 'getting his dressing gown' (which was on a hook on the other side of the room) and hastily did so. I made sure never to turn the light on at night after that.

But that's not the whole story

For also, I was technically one from hell. I used to never tidy my desk, and just let folders and assorted papers sit in piles until i needed them next to the desk on the floor. After a while, my roommate (different one, different year) complained, and I got moved to a room on my own. With a sink. Yes, I annoyed them so much that I got a better room all to myself. Which just goes to show that there isn't always justice, i suppose.

I'm not apologising for length because he never apologised for the mind-scarring display.
(Pavlov'sDog is all out of pavlova, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 17:15, Reply)

I lived with a pornstar.
That was really fun.
(abignumber, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 17:01, Reply)

Low grade but perpetual oddness
led to to the rest of us getting somewhat "big brother" and kicking the twat out when it came to lease renewal.

He was known amongest classmates at uni, and even beyond, as "Odd ******". Odd moments include:
Us discovering that he used a steak knife to pin his timetable up in his room.
He got a job from Farmfoods, and thereafter lived almost entirely off produce from that store. He often offered us his leftovers. No-one ever accepted. The worst of the ready meals has to have been the ready made mash potato-with-gravy- grim smelling stuff.

He'd leave the left overs in the fridge. For weeks.

One of his non-ready meal creations was a bag of small frozen pork chops. He boiled these. And had them plain.

He took up smoking (in a non-smoking flat). Rather than ciggies or roll-ups, he went straight to a pipe. He was quite insistant his parents were not to know.

We had a fairly small hot water tank, that only heated over night (unless we used the expensive boost). He's empty this with 4am scalding hot (we'd see the setting he left it on) showers that would ensure the other three of us couldn't get a decent shower at half seven when we got up. This really was the main thing that caused us to kick him out. I think we had even resorted to violence to try and get our unhappiness across. Certainly, he was regularly woken with extreme anger.

As far as we know, he moved back with his deeply christian parents for third year. Thanks to hios massively increased commute, he turned up for lectures even less. I think he dropped out.

We replaced him with the son of the guy who owns Farmfoods. He never ate their produce (prefering instead the computer-geek staple of pizzas delivered to the door).
(Al__S is constantly suprised, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 16:56, Reply)

It burns when i pee
Female flatmate decides that because we both have ovaries its okay to share information like every time she gets cystitis - I don't like you and quite frankly I’m glad it burns when you pee think of it as reverse karma for telling me!

I also don't need to know about your smear test. Ever.

Oh and you having dyslexia is nothing like the kid in the documentary having autism.

And one flatmate managed to have feet that not only smelled of feet but had a salt and vinegar whiff about them that managed to stink out the entire house. He also had a fear of showers.
(DryGoldfish, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 16:56, Reply)

In Manchester I shared a house with 4 other lads
one of them was a scally from salford, studying criminology and breaking a multitude of laws most days. There was a guy who 'didn't like veg.' He had a receding hairline at age 21, and serious anger management issues. They were both dickheads who wrecked a party i took them to. The other two were from nottingham and played really loud, antisocial drum and bass from 9 in the morning til 2 in the morning. One of them was a bit christian, i loved winding him up and watching him try to justify how class As were compatible with catholicism. I didn't know any of them before i moved in, I only took the room in desperation because i had left it too late to find an alternative. Kids: Don't do this.
( Malaka omdz, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 16:05, Reply)

Sorry, this is WAY bloody long.
Still recovering slightly from my last housemate ... thanks to that experience, she definitely WILL be my last housemate.
She wasn't as bad as some of the nutters others have posted about, but still terrible to live with.
I lived and worked with her for 2 years, seven months, and nine days (but, who was counting?), due to the fact it was company accommodation and I didn't know enough Japanese to get my own place.
If she's reading this, she'll know it's about her. Finally, she'll have something tangible to cry and whinge about!

EXTREMELY FUCKING LONG list of highlights included (and this isn't even all of it!):
Pissing in the shower. You could SMELL it, I didn't need to see her doing it!
Never cleaning the shower, but bitching me out for leaving hair in the drain.
Picking the hair out of the drain, separating her hair from mine, throwing HER hair away and leaving MINE sitting on the edge of the bath.
Turning the kitchen tap on EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. I had a shower, so I got scalded. Kitchen was on the other side of the wall from the shower, so it's not like she didn't know I was in there.
NEVER attempting to be quiet when I was sleeping. I've lived with so many shift-workers, I'm automatically quiet whenever someone else is home, sleeping or not, so I found this irritating.
Cooking natto (fermented soy bean crap), which smells like homeless people's feet, thus making everything in our apartment, including my hair and clothes, smell like homeless people's feet.
Eating natto, as well as other nastiness, and stinking up the toilet with a lingering stench that defies description.
Never cleaning the toilet. Stuff from her cursed innards would be splashed onto the floor, too.
Having an aroma that was equal parts natto/feet, cheap scent, unwashed underwear, and the desperation of someone who will bang anything, anywhere, but still can't get anyone (apart from her toothless, pervy-looking boyfriend). Even after she moved out, her smell lingered in her room. Incense, airings, Febreeze and smoking wouldn't budge that stench.
Being an alcoholic, leaving empty wine bottles and beer cans in the kitchen, then bitching me out for not taking them out on bin night.
Being the most self-centred, obnoxious, immature, unintelligent, emotionally unstable person ever in existence.
Causing trouble at our job with accusations that I was shagging a co-worker.
Bringing home her toothless, pervy-looking boyfriend, letting him jizz on the couch, on MY couch cover, not cleaning it up, and not telling me about it until after I'd sat on it countless times.
Walking into the house and talking non-stop, for hours, about her petty bullshit, no matter what I was doing (on the phone, watching TV, sleeping...)
Telling a very upset me that my niece dying was EXACTLY as bad as when her parents divorced (when she was 22...), then spending ages crapping on about that, when I was trying to phone my family to GRIEVE.
Turning all my problems into an excuse for her to bitch about HER problems. Her comfortable, trouble-free background was SO much worse than ANYTHING anyone else has ever gone through. Boo fucking hoo.
Never washed her dishes in the whole time I lived there. Just rinsed them quickly with water, then left them on the draining board. Then bitching about me leaving, like, a fork in the sink.
Doing shit like cutting herself with a beer can, because I went drinking with my friend, and she didn't like people being happier than her or some shit.
Crying for attention, usually when I'd been out doing/was planning to go out to do something more interesting than being a self-absorbed, whiney cow like her.
Taking up 90% of the fridge with her nasty-smelling food and booze, taking up all the dining table with her crap,leaving just CRAP everywhere, then bitching if I left something small, like a lighter, somewhere.
Stressing me out so much, I would dread going home, and usually end-up going boozing. Even after she moved out, I'd start having a mini-panic attack around the time that she would normally come home.
Suddenly being my best friend and buying me cakes, chocolate etc whenever I lost weight.
Telling my friend that *I* was grotty to live with.
Moving out whilst I was at work, and leaving the apartment covered in her crap that she didn't want to take with her (not just possessions, but boxes, garbage, bubble wrap etc).
Being so horrible, my mate made a special countdown calendar, so that we could both cross off the days until she moved out.
Being so horrible, it's 12 days away from being a year since she moved out, I live in another country, and I still fucking hate the bitch!
If you share with someone who sounds like this ... and you live in Hokkaido ... and teach English ... yes. It's her. Move NOW! Don't end-up writing Una-bomber-length diatribes about her long after the bitch has left your life ... like me ...
(Celerydemon, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 15:56, Reply)

Not a "housemate" but my roomate in college
Military college doesn’t allow for off-campus housing. So I report to school and my new roommate is this somewhat chubby cadet from Hartsville, South Carolina with prematurely graying hair and the thickest southern drawl I have ever encountered. Now, being southern myself, I normally like a drawl, but this kid was unintelligible. Literally. It took him telling me 8 times to understand where he was from. He kept saying it and it sounded like “HARTSFORD.” Eventually he wrote it down for me.

So our room has bunk beds, two desks, two full-presses and two locking dressers or as we called them 'half presses'. And a sink. Pretty Spartan, but then, it WAS military college.

The sink was your normal sink. Day three, I walk into the room after a harrowing walk down the hallway outside my room (hazing, insane upperclassmen, etc) returning from the bathroom. My roomate is standing at our sink having a lash.

Standing at the sink, peeing into the sink. I asked him why and his response was "Dookie Bo! You been out dar! I ain't ta goooin' out dar in da halllllway to go to da bafroom! Dar is crazy upperclassmen out dar!"

Two entire semesters of my roommate pissing in my sink. Every day. At least twice a day.

At least he had the decency to rinse it out though. Ugh
( Citadel Because the world needs less morons, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 14:48, Reply)

Have shared with lots of slobs
But the most irritating housemate I ever had was a primary schoolteacher called Cathy who didn't understand that on arriving home from work, she should stop acting as though everyone around her was 7 years old. Aged 28, her fave programmes seemed to be Hollyoaks and Blue Peter (which I hated even as a kid), and she would sing S Club 7 songs in the shower. She was unable to distinguish between sexist remarks and personal remarks, and took any criticism of her as an attack on womankind, although she, of course, had the right to say whatever she liked about "men" (a word she was unable to articulate without screwing her nose up and spitting it out like an obscenity).

She married some poor bugger and moved to the States (yaay!).
(lolwhites, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 14:48, Reply)

where to start?
like many others here i could go on for ages but ill just pick one choice anecdote.

the last place i lived in manchester i shared with 6 other people (it was a big house). this was fine as we all got on and (mostly) pulled our respective weights. one of my housemates, bob, had some decidedly dodgy mates. they'd get up to things like turning up loudly at 3am on a tuesday morning trying to buy weed, or coming round on a sunday afternoon to get trollyed whilst we were trying to watch a film or something.

a couple of years back on new years eve most of us decided to stay in to save on money and hassle. all went well until at about 2am two of bobs mates turned up. for a bit it was all good and we were all full of festive cheer until the two guys stared arguing. in seconds (and i mean seconds), one of them pulled a kitchen knife and slashed the other one across the hand. after much fuss we managed to get them out of the house. i spent the rest of the night with my mate gaura mopping up blood a la pulp fiction. you'd be amazed at how much a human hand will bleed.
happy new year eh...

edit: i now live on my own. its great. you can actually invite girls back without fear...
(russianroulette23 Nastrowya towarichi!, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 14:18, Reply)

For some bloody stupid reason best known to myself
I took the advice of one of my former house mates that i should stay in Portsmouth over the summer - he managed to get a good job and said he'd get me one too. Fast forward a few months and i'd moved into this tiny 3 bedroom flat in Fratton living with the former housemate and his twat of a friend. The job i had been promised vanished the first day i went to work (they had decided - whithout telling me - that they didnt need me now, but they did need a general dogs body to do the grunt work) - so i ended up working for £60 a week instead of the £300 i was promised....anyway back to the dickhead!!

He was a fat, ginger, Irish wannabe, wanker, he spent all evening on the internet (on dial up) downloading pictures of female pop stars to wank over. his favs were when you could see the nipples/nipple outlines. When he wasnt tossing he would go on about how wonderful the IRA were and play D&D with his other idiot friends...!

But what really got me was that both him and former house mate had good jobs while i was struggling to make ends meet. we would split the bills three ways (fair enough) but the phone bill was always the largest bills (down to ginger wanker boy). But as we spilt the unitemised part 3 ways - he figured out that if he hung up after 50 mins it wouldnt be itemised. so i was ending up paying for him to get off on softcore porn!! i wouldnt have minded if it was hardcore and he shared :oD

I still see him walking around portsmouth - he now wears this long Neo (matrix bloke) style leather coat. I guess he thinks he looks good - but take it from me - he doesnt!

/length - tiny and shrivelled, wish i hadnt walked on him in the shower - arrrrrg my eyes my eyes!!
( Rev. Jesse. broke his ankle, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 14:15, Reply)

Murder
I lived with a bizarre Irish tart. One night I woke up to hear her screaming and crying. "I told you! He's done it! He's fucking killed someone! There's blood all up the stairs!"

It WAS me but I hadn't killed anyone, just dropped a big bottle of ketchup.
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 14:01, Reply)

My mother
spent a week living with a man in her second year at university. The reason she only lived there a week was that she was altogehter too freaked out by the dude to stay there. There are a number of tales about him, but my favourite is little more than a quick fact: In order to save on washing up he ate all of his meals out of newspaper, despite having bowls and plates aplenty. She never got to find out if this extended to soup, but I like to believe that it did.
(Dromedary, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 14:00, Reply)

Sex, drugs, extramarital affairs, lost wealth, rancid meat, and used jamrags
Fuck me! I really could go to town on the batshit loons I've had to live with over the years. Here's the highlights.

One couple moved into a room in the house I shared, they seemed nice but it was obvious they were looking for somewhere to live in a hurry. We thought they were fairly nice people compared to the other nutjobs who'd applied so we decided to give them the room.

A week or two passed and he'd been through three jobs as a security guard, while his wife was hard at work as a human rights lawyer.
By now it was obvious that he was keeping stuff from her, like the time he ran out back to smoke "hash", or so we thought at the time.
Turns out he was smoking heroin, crack, and pretty much everything else he could get his hands on.
He'd get the elbow from another job he'd lost after scoffing down a few disco biscuits and leaving his post without even telling anyone, then come home to switch on the gas hob, blow out the flame for some reason, and fuck off again to see his dealer for the afternoon.
We'd come home and smell the reek of gas filling the house and be able to get no sense out of him whatsoever.
One day the local paper had pictures of some crack den busts in the city, and forgot to pixel out the face of one female detainee. So, fresh from having just denied outright to us that he was ripped to the tits on Class A substances, two minutes later he pointed the female dealer out in the paper and said: "You know, she's such a bitch. She gets all huffy if you don't have enough cash for the crack. It's so fucking rude!"
He really didn't have a clue why this statement would seem so odd to us.
He'd rest lit cigarettes on the livingroom carpet before going for a kip. The amount of times he nearly burned the house down was astonishing.

As usual, his wife would come home, and see his eyes rolling in his head like a fruit machine and leave for a few days. Turns out he'd taken £800 of her hard-earned cash out of her account to pay for the stuff too. He'd speak like a baby on the phone to her, call her "Bunny", she'd forgive him, and believe him when the unemployed waster told her he'd never touch it again.
This happened around every two weeks for the six months they were there. Each time she took him back, claiming he was done with the drugs.
She used to be a drug counsellor, so she claimed she'd be able to tell if he was an addict. Truth be told, she was the only one who couldn't tell. Or refused to believe it for the 15th time.
Shame. She was pretty nice, but she's dug her own grave. He's found his goldmine - a rich woman who is blinded by his charms, poor though they may be. Thanks to some seriously bad parenting he's never had to face up to anything in his life. They've always just swept it under the carpet.
They only left because the landlord threatened to bring in the police after asking him outright: "Have you used drugs on my property?"
His reply was astounding: "No, I haven't used drugs on your property. I just smoked crack in the garden, and had some herion round the back where no one would see."

When they left, some young girl moved in, about 17, who seemed ok, but was a bit shy. She brought a cat with her, despite not mentioning it when asked earlier. She used emotional blackmail in a phonecall ten minutes before she was due to move in to get her way.
"Hey, sorry, I forgot to mention. I have a young cat. Can I bring her with me? If it's not ok, I can 'get rid of it'."
What are we supposed to do?
Not only was she paying no rent, letting her cat soil the place, and refusing to clean up after it or herself, but she didn't even give money for bills. She worked at an army base on the catering staff, and was shagging one of the married soldiers whose wife had a baby on the way. She didn't realise that he was using her cause the wife couldn't perform: "No, it's not like that or nuffink! He loves me! We're going to get custody of the baby when it's born, innit!"
Silly hoor was dumped the minute the wife shat out the sprog.
She also got our address banned from using several taxi firms because she'd jump out and run off after refusing to pay.
To avoid paying any cash for bills or rent whatsoever, she just up and left one day while we were at work, taking some of our stuff with her without any warning.
Thank fuck. I couldn't bare to hear her get loudly violated again. Hence, I never asked for my airbed back.

Finally, there's SmEllah (nickname given due to her personal hygiene.) After she'd finished using Dracula's Teabags, she'd just lob them out her window. She rarely flushed.
Her room stank to high heavens. She'd leave rancid meat of questionable origin out to thaw for days, till the blood was running down the worktop and all over the floor, and worst of all, would put food on the hob and just leave the house for hours, forgetting it was there. It was a daily occurrence. If she couldn't be arsed to finish the corn on the cob she had in her hand she'd just put lay it down on the hallway carpet and refuse to pick it up.
She also managed to run up a £420 phonebill in my name one month because she couldn't be arsed to use the discount phonecard she had when calling Kenya. She still owed me £120 for the previous month.
One weeknight I was awaoken harshly when she came rolling in at 2am, the stereo from some guy's car pounding as it parked directly outside my window.
She got in, shouting all the way, then went into her room and turned the stero up loud as she could. I was about to get up, knock on her door, and tel her to keep it down, when I heard the first moan.
She wasn't alone.
Suddenly, the music wasn't loud enough for my liking.
The thought of that skanky bitch getting nailed turned my stomach.
Hope it was worth it though. Judging by the moans, he gave her the best 4 minutes he had in him.

Oh, and I suppose I could also mention the ex who moved in without asking. I've mentioned her before somewhere. She had a hair-trigger temper and started arguments at the drop of a hat. Never paid her share of the rent or bills, and even got me to help with her car insurance.
Once when we came home from work she went apesshit at the state of the house (it was all her mess).
The conversation then went exactly thus:

Me: "Don't worry about it. I'll sort this out. It's Friday night, sit down, put your feet up, I'll go get you a glass of wine, while I sort out this mess."

Her: "You insensative BASTARD! How dare you!"

I better go. I'll be here all day if I mention any more.

If you too have struggled to rid yourself of social parasites and misfits in your home, click, "I like this"
(Barry Subchimp, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 13:51, Reply)

Jammy Bastard
When at Uni in Leeds I had a cheapskate housemate who would not respect the ownership of food in the fridge. He'd never take one of your pasties as his own, but he would not think twice about taking a little bit of what he thought you might not notice. I had no real proof that the guy I suspected was the actual culprit so I decided to test him out with a jar of jam from safeway that cost 19p.

The jam was left unopened in the fridge and after a couple of weeks there was only about a third left. I had had none of the jam and I was ready to set the trap.

I squirted a good amount of washing-up liquid into the jam jar and gave it a quick stir. Low and behold, the next morning my prime suspect came into the lounge with his breakfast toast smeared with delicious-looking jam. After one bite he began smacking his lips and gulping at his cup of tea. "This is really dry" he complained, "Whose jam is that in the fridge? I think it's gone off."

"I thought it was yours." I replied while keeping a stoney-straight face.
(the viking A bit yellowy., Fri 6 Apr 2007, 13:51, Reply)