Lad I worked with
Way back when I was 18, I worked in a department where 18 was about the average age. All of us were employed for the first time and living at home, so the £540 a month takehome pay we got was a fortune to us. Because of this, there was a group of about 10 of us who would go the pub just about every might. There would be ten rounds of beers which made it easier - everyone got a round in, everyone got a pint each round.

one lad though, was not happy with this. Most people drank lager, but two of us drank bitter. At that time, the lager was £1.10 (told you it was a while ago) but bitter was £1.30. This was not fair, according to this lad. his beer was cheaper and he didn't see why he should have to pay more for someone elses. Fuck off, says everyone else and the grumbling stopped.

Then, he commited the cardinal sin. Eight of us were out one night. Seven rounds had been bought and drunk "Mark, says we, for that was his name "get the fucking ale in will yer, softlad?". "Can't", says he "I've only got 2p on me". At no point during the night had he mentioned this, but we thought we'd let it go. Instead we all chipped in a quid and a bit and got another on in, plus some crisps.

The next night, he did it again.

Soon after he started bitching and moaning that 1) we would never invite him out and 2) when he did end up in the same pub as us, we left him out of the round. Fuck off, says everyone else, you're a tight-arsed fucker and should sit elsewhere. I don't think he spoke to any of us after that.

I think we were right.
(ScousersPet, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 15:58, 1 reply)

Just been reminded of something some friends and I discussed a little while ago
as a lot of people, when we were growing up we went through a few hard times, and the parents had to come up with cheap dinner options to keep us going.

these are things that are generally very personal to a family, and are much loved, yet remain slightly embarassing.

This particular one comes from Mrs V's mum, who was aghast to find that we still eat it with gusto.

take one tin of corned beef and mash with one tin of baked beans.

roll out ready-made puff pastry and put the beef and bean mixture onto one side of it.

roll the other half of pastry over the top, slash the top and bake until golden brown.

Devour.

incredibly cheap, fine dining :-)
( Vipros. clever got me this far, then tricky got me in, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 15:47, 19 replies)

My pal
...is a generous sort of chap. The kind of fella that lent me a huge amount of cash and said "pay it back when you can" (I still owe him a wedge). The kind of bloke that said to his mate "Money troubles? Come and stay at mine for free, after all I've got an empty spare room..."

So in he moved. The months started rolling by, and gradually, the piss started being taken. Food disappeared. Beer was greedily consumed, yet replacements were not forthcoming. All the weed was mysteriously 'lost'. Excuses were aplenty, but all were poor.

So one evening when the two of them were sat in the warmth of my pal's house, watching my pal's TV, He turned to his mate and asked "mind if I nick one of your beers buddy?" his friend replied: "Nah, I've only got one more left after this one".

Apparently he still can't grasp how that lit the fuse which managed to earn him a 3am antiquing, followed by a smack in the mouth, followed by him being thrown, spunk-sodden inflatable mattress in tow, onto the cold hard streets of Norwich.

Serve him right. The cnut.
(toomanydecibels has bleeding ears on, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 15:42, 7 replies)

Not in so many words.
Since the day she was conceived, my little loin-fruit has cost me.

Pregnancy tests - £6 for two (£5 for two more to be certain)

Folic acid supplements - £4 per week for 38 weeks. Apparently this provides essential nutrients for health foetal development. I was under the impression that the human race had been doing reasonably well without this for the last FOUR THOUSAND FUCKING YEARS.

A bigger house - £85k for one extra bedroom. At least I may be able to pick up a bargain if there's a 'next time', except this one would be worth fuck-all as well.

Nursery - £1000 for furniture, paint, lights, bedding, curtains and 'theme' teddy bears.

Nappies - £8 per week + £4 for baby wipes

Utilities - The heating was never turned off from Oct '06 until May '08 I'm currently paying £150 per month and still have a large debt with Npower.

Transport - Estimated £10 per week in petrol for her appointments, £120 for the second car seat £470 on 3 prams / push chairs. £70 for a bicycle 'piggyback' seat.

Food - extra £30 per week. My formerly-junk-food-scoffing spouse decided that our cherub should only have fresh organic foodstuffs.

Toys - 2x xmas @ £150ish 2x birthdays @ £100ish and generally £10 - £15 per week generally. Our house rivals fucking Toys 'r' Us.

Childcare - £40 per day, 5 days per week for the 'privilege' of going to work.

Clothes - I wouldn't even be able to put a number on this. We should have a disposable income of around £10k per year. I spend very little generally and buy clothes from my favourite boutique Mat-Alan only when essential. The rest all goes on her.





We called into the newsagent on the way home yesterday, so I could get the jobs paper (redundant end of November) and I let her choose some sweeties. She selected Jelly Babies (good choice!) and continued to pick up everything else within reach. When I dared to restrict her to a single packet of sugary goodness, she gave me 'the look'. There were no words forthcoming, but the eyes said, without a shred of doubt.....



"You fucking tight-arsed old cunt."

There's gratitude for you.
(Greencloud Wanted to go fishing on, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 15:38, 15 replies)

since the big move to Canada
I've noticed one glorious thing: all bills are included in rent over here. We use our tumble drier all day. Our heat is on all winter and our AC on all summer. Cable TV is free. I hooked up a phone service that was leasing the line from someone else, then cancelled it, and they have been totally unable to disconnect me. I pay my neighbours a measly sum of money for their unlimited high speed internet. Oh, and rent is about 40% that of London prices too.

In short, anyone who values beer tokens over ones that top up the gas meter will do pretty well to move here.
( the brass moustache putting the ass moust in brache since, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 15:37, 5 replies)

poverty pancakes!
We've been very skint for various reasons which i won't bore you with. It's no fun with three large children and not enough money for food.

Necessity being the mother of invention and all that, I came up with 'poverty pancakes' which contain flour, a bit of oil, some kind of sugar/syrup etc and whatever else you have that goes - milk if you have it or water if you don't and cocoa powder for a yummy chocolate version if you're lucky. They're strangely nice.

My kids love 'em, and we often crank them out even when we're flush. I get some funny looks from other people when the kids/wife ask for them though.
(teasus likes tea, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 15:37, 2 replies)

Much fruit and veg is labled as class 1
You may think that this means it is the best quality, the tastiest and and the crunchiest.

Bollocks, class 1 one means it looks the best, it's the snobbish do you know who I am d list celebrity that you wouldn't mind a go on but wouldn't want to chat to over breakfast. It's dead inside.

Value lumpy, bumpy and frankly a little odd looking vegetables will/can taste a whole lot better than their botoxed, BMW X5 driving talentless scum bretheren.

In other words don't pay more just because a carrot is straighter.


Reading this back I'm not sure how much sense it makes *shrugs*
( Naked Ape call me Caitlyn, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 15:28, 9 replies)

Tesco bananas
Mrs Tugnut2 thinks I am a tightwad for getting Tesco Value bananas (and such like).

Seriously - what is the difference? I don't get it. On things like the digestive biscuits the ingredients are the same as the 'normal' ones so why pay more. Sure there are items that are inferior but many are equal to the more expensive counterparts.

(On the other hand never buy their own label 'white rum' Bacardi substitute, it will give you a twat of a headache.)
(Tugnut Ex of this parish, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 15:15, 7 replies)

How we defeated the tightwad
Blah blah, office of four, every friday pub for drinks, one sod never bought his round.

So far so dull. We did, however, manage to defeat the problem by inventing the fax machine sweepstake.

Our office fax machine was frequently spammed with air conditioning/car/computer/other sales faxes, so we instituted a sweepstake with one category each, and the person who received the most faxes having to buy the first round on friday.

It took him over 3 months to realise we were sending faxes expressing interest to air conditioning companies.
( prince-igor si tacuisses, philosophus mansisses, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 15:15, 1 reply)

Effing students (funkyseaweed reminded me of this)
In 2nd year at uni I moved into a massive flat with a bunch of other folk from halls. One of our flatmates was notoriously tight and a bit of a moaner so everyone would know she was short of cash.

With more space comes more stuff and various parents arrived over the first weekend we were there. I'll never forget the stunned silence in our living room when her Dad commented that having one light bulb in a fitting that accommodated three was "a bit Jewish". Or the time she was caught leaving the library with an industrial sized loo roll wedged into her bag and forced to leave it at the front desk.

The worst thing she did in terms of tightness takes the cake. The flat was large and a bit run down. The shower only worked sometimes (and involved a complex system of turning on taps before hot water would come out) and the place was a nightmare to heat. Our landlord was massively unreliable but as a first flat it was pretty nice and a good size for the kind of parties you want to have aged 19. The moaning flatmate moaned a lot about all the tiny problems while the rest of us just got on with it. Eventually, without telling anyone, she decided to stop paying rent until the problems were fixed. I say anyone - she told our landlord just not any of the folk she lived with. He was still coining in rent from 5 other tenants and in as much rush as he'd been before to fix the problems.

It still makes me fucking angry that she lived there rent free for about five months AND moaned like fuck about being skint. The rest of us managed to shell out for rent, booze, food and managed not to be boring fucking cunts.
(cannonfodder fodder for cannons on, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 15:07, Reply)

Fluff
One of the wifes friends is single and in her thirties. She was telling us that she never seems to keep a bloke for more than a couple of weeks after which they just want "to be friends".

She came on holiday with us for a couple of days.

I'm used to paying for all of our meals and drinks as we have always had a joint account. After a day I realised I had been paying for everything including her friend.

I then started to take note of what was happening. She has mastered the art of completing ignoring the fact the bill has turned up as though the waiter is a ghost that only I can see. My wife the next day made the point of splitting the bill three ways and getting her cash out. Fluff had to be shown the bill and then added to the penny exactly her share. But no more was said about it.

A month or so later she mentioned that her latest chap on the third date had suggested she go halves on the bill in a posh chinese restaurant, she was outraged and was discussing with my wife whether to dump him.

The next time we went out and met her my wife was discussing this and I mentioned that perhaps paying now and again might be a good idea.

"Why should I" was her reply.

"Well, me and the wife have always split the bill and we've been married for fifteen years, yet your still single".

"Mmmm".

Apparantly she got the message and she's still with the bloke.
(Yellow Car is now red, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 15:07, 4 replies)

all right, fine.
I wasn't going to post a picture of a kitten, but you whinged so much I got this one.

It was on special for some reason.

(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 14:59, 2 replies)

My Da
has an arrangement with me Ma where he pays the mortgage and bills and she looks after the chislers (childrens) stuff.

In short, my Da has never bought me anything in my entire life as that's me Ma's responsibility.

He's effectively a landlord who put a roof over my head for 18 years in exchange for labour.

Whenever my brothers come upon a bonus in their jobs where a bit of kit is for the having or they bring back gear from the holidays or in duty-free from foreign climes etc, they bring the fucker back stuff and me Ma gets nothing.

One of them woks in phones and gave the old man a Blackberry for nothing the other week and when t'other was home from France earlier in the year, he brought him a bottle of Chivas Regal as he usually does.

At Xmas he gets the best of stuff and me Ma gets tokens (literally, tokens - she's a skinflint and all - more of which in a moment)

The old man is the meanest human being alive. Me Ma is a cauld cratur (cold creature). She wears puffa jackets indoors all the time over her wooly geansai (jumper) and generally has a hat, scarf and gloves handy just for looking out the window.

She literally humps firesplaces, radiators, boilers - anywhere she can get a bit of heat. The old man turns everything off at every opportunity.

She's mean and all, mind. We were stony when we were chislers and she has told and recanted tales of living on one old Irish punt (pound) a day to feed the three boys and me Da. It was the eighties. There was an actual recession then.

She can't cook to save her life and is now so used to me cooking dinner when I come to visit that she has friends and family round to sample the delights. I have even cooked twice as much food for her to freeze and pass off as her own later.

She asks me what food i want to cook when I come over and if I tell her, she'll go shopping in Lidl/Aldi, Tesco, (insert cheap shit discount store here) etc and we end up with scrawny, half-brown ugly tasteless ingredients which need an ounce of salt just to give them flavour so I do the shopping in Superquinn (Irish supermarket chain, possible equivalent of a Sainsburys), or if there's a market and craft butcher available, I'm there - reason being - quality ingredients makes tastier, more attractive, generally more pleasant scran.

Then we halve the bill which is obviously totally unfair on me. I usually even quote her less than she owes me as I simply can't stand to see her heart break from parting with so much cash.

When she holds notes, she clutches them in both hands. Her Ma, my recently deceased Nana used to fold notes into quarter size and keep them concealed about her person - a trick I have assimilated myself lest I should get mugged, at least I can still afford to go for a few drinks :)

I am easily parted from my cash. Having grown up around these skinflints, I put no stock in wealth. As long as I have enough to enjoy this garden of earthly delights then I'm a happy camper.

Sin e.

rafter
baz
(bazmorningstar efil4nat3b, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 14:54, 10 replies)

Fall From Gracies...
I was 12 and living rough in London. Most nights I dossed down with the large group of homeless guys by Waterloo Station; there is safety in numbers and it helps to keep warm if there are more of you. I got particularly friendly with this one guy who called himself Maggot. No one ever got a clear reason why he was called Maggot, but the rumour was it was because his willy was unusually small. Either way, it didn't matter to me, I'm not homosexual and neither was he. What I liked about him was he didn't drink. He was one person I could talk to sensibly. He kept me as grounded as was possible under the circumstances.
After a couple of months of pretty much only talking to each other we had best part of each other's life stories off each other. At sixteen, he'd had quite an interesting life so far. What captured my imagine the most were his tales of the orient. He used to tell me about Tibet an awful lot and, with his youthful exagerations, it sounded magical; this whole flat country up a mountain. A beautiful mystical kingdom in the sky. Eventually he got bored of me asking him to tell me the same stories night after night. He decided, he told me, that we would go there. Homeless and broke I asked him exactly how we would manage it and he proposed being stowaways. It seemed stupid at first. No one gets away with being a stowaway these days, surely. Well, when you have nothing to lose and are too young to get in any real legal bother, it is surprising how cocky you can be. Furthermore, if you are cocky enough, it is surprising what you can get away with.
The train ride was easy enough. We travelled mid day, and back then guards mostly only worked during rush hour. It was the boat that presented a problem.
We had chosen to bum around on boats until we got that far because, well, it was the only option; airports are far too secure to stowaway on planes. We went to Portsmouth dockyard first. It was a shockingly easy journey to France, but nowhere near as pleasant as the stowaway stories you read as kid make it seem. We hid in a container, it was as simple as that. We found an unlocked one and hid in it. We didn't know exactly where we'd end up, but we figured if we could get to Europe it's all landmass until the Orient so it had to be easy.
Well, between rat infested cargo containers, jumping on and off trains that were moving and not being able to beg for not knowinig the languages, it was not easy, but it was possible.
We got beaten up by xenophobic local homeless a few times and a few times we got accepted by them and given food and shelter. I turned thirteen in Turkey. I fell in love with a girl for the first time in Russia and I couldn't even talk to her. I travelled accross Kazakhstan without washing once. Which, frankly, seemed to be the way to do things there as a foreigner. Every white person I met there smelt of sweat and shit and had the lines in their faces brought out by the ground in dirt.
We'd had trouble eating in Kazakhstan due to food poisoning and things only got worse in China. There simply wasn't enough food for the people who lived there, let alone a couple of foreign homeless beggars. Maggot got sick. We were kids and we were scared and we didn't know what to do. We figured if we asked for help we'd get in trouble as we'd heard all sorts of horror stories about what happens to the homeless in China. Thinking he was dehydrated, we made sure he drank a lot, but the water was puddle water and, looking back, probably only made him sicker. He died in China. I had to leave his body where he died; an alley in China. I couldn't find the alley now if i wanted, I'm not even sure what town we were in. I've never known what happened to him. Frankly, the only interesting thing about him to whoever found him would have been that he was white. People died on the streets a lot there.
Suddenly, the adventure became very real. Up until then it had been a game. It had felt like I could wake up and it would all turn out to have been a dream. But not anymore. I was in China, with no means of getting home and no one to even talk to.
That was when I bumped into Bill Owen. I was asking anyone who looked vaguely English if they knew how to get to Tibet. The only person who talked to me, the only person who made eye-contact with me, even, turned out to be Bill Owen (Last Of The Summer Wine's Compo). It was freaky when I realised who he was. By then he was buying me breakfast in an English theme café. He got a cagey version of my story so far (I wasn't ready to tell ANYONE about Maggot, for example) and decided he'd take me to Tibet.
He was there on holiday in a camper van, essentially bumming about, so the trip to Tibet was no skin of his nose. Tibet, to my young eyes, did seem as magical as I'd imagined. In the gift shop on the way out, I asked Bill for a chocolate bar shaped like a roulette wheel that had "I went to bet in Tibet!" on the wrapper. They were reduced to 25p as they were short dated. He said "No", the tight arsed cunt.
( baldmonkey a frothy foul-smelling vaginal discharge, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 14:52, 13 replies)

I was going to post a cute kitten picture


but they wear out my bandwidth.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 14:49, 1 reply)

CARPE DIEM !!!!!
Personally I despise tightwads - maybe as I am a Lord of profligacy.

Ive earnt a 6 figure salary for the last 8 years.

I rent my home

I have no pension

I have no savings

I owe the taxman quite a bit (5 figures or so)

but

I have no loans or credit cards

I spend 6 weeks of every year on holiday (recents were skiing in aspen and diving in the maldives)

Ive been to over 60 countries round the world

I eat at michelin starred restaurants on a regular basis, and cook to that kind of standard myself - as I know quite a bit about it now

I have a porsche 911 turbo and a yamaha R1 both of which regularly go on track days

My PC is watercooled and cost over 6k to build, I loove playing games on it

I have a state of the art HD cinema room with 2100 or so DVDs, Blurays, etc

I could keep going, but Im sure you get the idea.

Whats better ?

Money in the bank and living like a monk, no experiences other than your own self imposed frugality ? And somehow feeling you are the better person for it (these muppets do actually believe this) ????

or

Letting it rip and doing everything you want, having the experience of working out what the best of everything is that you can afford - and then using/doing it properly and to the max ?

who has the best life ? Who has the best memories ?

Who is the winner ?
( pregnantfridge, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 14:37, 75 replies)

Look...
...there's nothing "tight" about going to the dump with a load of hedge cuttings and coming home with a garden table. Missed that film at the cinema? Just wait roughly 18 months and the very same film will be available in the bargain box at Tesco for just £3.00. Why buy vegetables in a bag, when the very same vegetables cost less loose and you get to choose each one? We have an armchair at home that was found on a skip outside a pub in Hounslow, about a mile from home, in 1987. I carried that fucker home and we got it upholstered - that's a bargain. Like the other posters of, I imagine, a similar age, we put on jumpers and dressing gowns rather than spend silly money heating the great outdoors via the drafty windows and doors.

I may have mentioned once or twice that when I was a teenager, I was a punk. I did all my clothes shopping in charity shops or the Army surplus shop. Also, I used to hitch-hike - not just free, but you'd usually get stuff like coffee or food bought for you, and you got to meet interesting and nice people. Kids today, don't know they're born, and don't know the value of hard-earned money. Without us, the planet would have died years ago.

The only real tight-wads I came across (stop it), apart from myself, were a load of arrogant underwriters at Lloyds. I used to work at a luncheon club exclusively for Lloyds underwriters. As a members club, everything was on the tab - no cash, therefore no tips. At Christmas, the manageress put up a list for the members' Christmas boxes - bear in mind this was their 'tip' for a whole year of expensive lunches, sometimes three or four times a week, to be shared amongst about a dozen staff - kitchen, bar, waiting staff etc. Some of these (millionaire) members put £10.00 down, some £15.00, the highest tip was £25.00 - tight bastards.

See you all next week.

Apologies for crapness.
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 14:33, 5 replies)

Well...
I find it difficult to pay for something that I know I could either do myself, or barter for. I am a tightwad, I will take delight in pinching loo rolls, anything and everything from hotel rooms - infact, if I am unlikely to be jailed for it, and it serves an honest purpose regarding my bum then I will have it away.

I think I am quite typical in the posts previous to me... However, when I have got a few quid, I find no problem in tipping more than I should - often to regret it later, but I like that little smile a tenner can bring.

Anyway, many moons ago I was living in the delightful suburbs of North London. Amidst the gun toting, machetey wielding chicken bar owners was a lovely bright orange family owned store known locally as Sainsbury's.

I had the honour of a family visit one weekend where, with nothing a much to do, I decided a full filling afternoon - and use of a car was not complete without a jumbo shop.

I'd made it clear that I didn't need any help financially, but the use of the car rather than bus with many bags would be help it's self.

At the meat counter was where it happend. Stood with my mother in line waiting our turn I spotted some lovely looking angus steak - and I wanted some. This is where many years of embarasment turned the tables, and my mother learnt how tight I had become.

I selected the joint, requested a slice just over an inch thick, the chap weighed said half a cow - but before he could wrap, I requested he trim off the fat... and re-weigh, a saving of 70 odd pence, thank you very much... but of course, I like the fat... so I asked him to include it in the parcel... my mother actually said outloud I couldn't do such a thing...

poppy cock.

Twas lovely.
(feedingtimeatthezoo day 1 of his bikini diet started, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 14:22, Reply)

Student housemates
I'm a student and I lived with some proper cheapskates last year, they'd do anything they could to avoid buying more bread or toilet paper. One of them went to extreme lengths in his cheapskateness.

One morning I was in the kitchen fixing myself some cereal for breakfast when Cheapskate Boy was about to go to a lecture. He decided he wanted to take some water with him to drink during the day but was unable to find a water bottle lying around. Rather than just paying 40p to buy a bottle of water from the Student Union shop to re-use, he decided to use an empty Sainsburys vegetable oil bottle that was sitting waiting to be rinsed and recycled.

As you'll probably know, oil doesn't easily come out of the bottle, and oil bottles don't exactly seal well. He rinsed the bottle, filled it with water, and took it to campus. He then claimed that it hadn't tasted too bad although he did admit it had opened in his bag and spilled a watery oily mess.

I encountered another housemate attempting to make a sandwich one morning from 2 very green crumpets because he was too much of a cheapskate/selfish git to go across the road and buy some bread.

Luckily for my sanity, I no longer live with these weirdos.
( lrjlo, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 14:21, Reply)

This one's a bit of an asshole tale
Well a bit over a week ago I blew out a tire on my car. When this happened, the rim slammed the ground and bent. When i went to get a new tire, i found out that i needed four and a new rim, since the dinged up one wouldnt hold air.

the problem is, wheels themselves are fuckin expensive!

so a friend of mine and i decided we should drive about until we find someone with an auto the same as mine. The plan was then to grab their tire in the middle of the night and put my shit one in place so that they would assume they hit a curb.

Well i've come to find out that my wheels are custom and i therefor need to order four new ones.


Karma really bent me over and had its way with me on that one
(Argentum, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 14:20, 8 replies)

I have a great story for this question.







Um, my internet access isn't free you know.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 14:09, Reply)

my grandfather
was an avid cyclist and made his mudguards by slitting tesco value cider bottles in half and strapping them to his bike with cellotape.wierd.

on a related note,did you know that the japanese translation of the film title 'Pretty Woman' is ... 'i will marry a prostitute to save money'
...
thanks,i'm here all week,try the fish!
(Fuckpig "That's not even a pound a midget.", Fri 24 Oct 2008, 14:09, Reply)

My girlfriend likes reusing condoms.
I wouldn't mind, but she forgot to wash it out a little while ago and now we have Ginger and Indian twins.

Thanks, you've been a great audience...
(MrOli is ugly, but in the morning you will be sober, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 14:06, Reply)

Charity doesn't begin.
I shared a house with two girls, one of whom was tighter than the PVC trousers of wellgroomedwookiee’s emo days.

The two of them went off to the shops together, and when they returned, the other housemate came to see me; she was looking rather drawn. Turns out they’d popped into Oxfam and Miss Spendthrift had seen a book she wanted.

Oh, but it was £1. Far too much for such a thin book, so she’d haggled with the ancient woman sitting on the till and got her to sell it to her for 50p.

Fuck you, poor people.
( thealternativefact, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 14:04, Reply)

Ah yes, the heating.
I never, ever, EVER put it on. Despite living in a big old house which gets freezing pretty bloody quickly.

Instead I wear a wooly jumper and a hat indoors, and when it gets too cold, I drink.
(Half of Stephen Fry's right buttock pissed on your dog on, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 14:00, 1 reply)

bit of both...
I've had to be "careful" off and on for a long time now, and I'm used to getting all my food from Aldi and the local (albeit fantastic) market in the nearest city. We do eat pretty well as its mostly ingredients that I buy. I am also a Charity Shop devotee, apart from bras, pants, stockings etc, and we have low energy lightbulbs and I yell at my kids when they leave the house "lit up like Blackpool".

What this means is that I can get all of the people I care about nice, thoughtful pressies for christmas and birthdays, and I love having people over and cooking for them. I go out and get hammered/have convivial social occasions every now and again, too, and its all because I'm careful where it matters and even in affluent times I cannot physically pass a skip without having a right old look within. I have acquired mirrors, pictures and my favourite necklace this way!

Just don't get me started on my legendary ex-boyfriend though, he asked for "his" bottle of wine back upon leaving a family gathering. Took me out for dinner many times, but always expected me to pay half, and that's just off the top of my head..
(Beer Elf Thought this was like a campfire, anyhow, on, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 13:58, Reply)

My fault. I'm too soft.
This makes me think…

Once, during student days, I’d agreed to go ‘halves’ on a pizza with a (then) mate during a night of video games and weed. The pizza gets delivered – I pay. We continue with the games and the weed and we start eating.

He throws a whitey.

The following day, I suggest he owes me three quid for half the large pizza, which, given it cost six quid in total seemed fair to me.

He’s having none of it. Because he’d only eaten 3 slices (of the 4 he was allocated) he claimed he needed to think about what was fair. I pointed out – quite rightly – that his last slice was still in the box it was delivered in and happened to be in the same place in the living room where we’d left it. I also pointed out that in addition to the reasonably requested three quid, he’d also vommed on the carpet and muggins here had to clean it up AND I’d provided the green we consumed.

He mulled this over – and lets be honest, someone clearing up YOUR sick is surely worth 3 quid – he said, ‘tell ya what, why don’t we call it two quid and you can have that last slice’

Turns out, he wasn’t a ‘poor’ student at all, in fact, mummy and daddy game him a generous allowance every month – and they paid for his accommodation.

What he stood to gain from this sort of behaviour was lost on me. Looking back, in addition to being a tightwad, he was also a cunt. I remember when I was trying to get closer to a girl I’d be fawning over for months and generally trying to impress and he thought it would be a great-laugh to tell her all manners of fibs to put her off, claiming that if she really liked me, she’d still go out with me anyway. Despite the fact that no one we knew thought he was being funny.

I think I’m destined to be one of life’s victims.
( JeffTheDogFucker Can you dig it?, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 13:56, 4 replies)

Coworker Tightwadage
A former coworker once drove 300 miles with a broken air conditioner, refusing to let his passengers roll down the windows because his 'gas mileage would be reduced'.
He was going on vacation and wanted someone to mail in his mortgage close to the due date, so as to earn a few more cents interest in his checking accounts.
There are more, just to cheap to type them out now...
(greggen, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 13:56, Reply)