Wow. I’m 22 and I live at home, but I know exactly how freakin’ good I’ve got it. I went flatting for a couple of years, and I enjoyed it immensely, but I’ve moved back to save money for the Big OE. It’s not all roses and kittens being back with Mum and Dad, but I’m paying minimal rent and channeling money into my savings. Sheesh, smack her upside the head! Or maybe suggest that you wish you had her problems- if she’s always lived at home, she might not have realised that she’s pretty lucky.
My kids (3 left) (and a nephew, and a friend of a kid) are going to realise BIG TIME just how bloody good they’ve had it when I terminate our lease and move out, BY MYSELF, in early July.
Heh, we’ve been trying, but there’s no keeping her down. Another co-worker (that’s not cow-orker) just said to her face that she was a spoilt brat and it kept her quiet for a while. We expect her to start again later today :rolleyes:
I’ve had “real” Ramen, done with that too, methinks. 
Care to share some tips?
Step 1: Shoot spoilt bratty co-worker.
Step 2: ???
Step 3: Profit!
Is she a Yankee? Then I could kill two birds with one stone.
Scarlett Mika!
Has this drone ever had it really hard? Could it be that she’s undergone a disasterous childhood, and is now just thinking that it’s about time a little slack was cut for her?
Or is it simply that she’s a big bucketful of festering ego with Wah! Wah! Wah! sounds coming out of her noisehole?
I’d go with festering ego, she’s had it easy all her life. Her parents earn enough from what we’ve gleaned to keep themselves and this only child quite comfortable.
Mama brand ramen from Thailand (you can get it in most Asian grocery stores) is outstanding and no more expensive than the shitty ramen most Americans eat.
Funny, I thought escorts made pretty good money. 
I generally agree that cow-worker is getting a sweet deal, but if my parents charged me that I’d appalled. You see, they have some sort of fantasy that I can’t take care of myself, and about once every two or three years, they beg me to move in with them. If they wanted to charge me ~$250US per month, I’d be pretty insulted.
And don’t get me wrong – I love my parents, and they are great people, and we have possibly one of the least dysfunctional families in the history of all familia. But I swear, if I had to live with them for more than a week, I’d be counting the days until I could make my escape.
In that case, I’m going to go with featherlou’s thinking. Instead of placing the body in the copy room, however, add a touch of local color that will have the headlines screaming HORROR AT GIANT’S CAUSEWAY!
Unless you’re a character in a Frederick Forsyth novel, in which case we need some KGB guys and a misplaced Atomic Bomb in there somewhere too.
I left home at 18 with my now-fiancee (not kicked out, but not really voluntarily, either… it’s complicated), and I constantly have to deal with the whining of spoilt twenty-somethings who still live at home with Mummy and Daddy, work full time, and spent the weekend in Melbourne because their friend Sarah was going and they needed some new shoes to go with their latest outfit.
There’s a whole culture now devoted to getting drunk/high, partying all the time, looking good, and being seen in the right places with the right people.
I’d despair for the future of humanity, except I’m too busy working and paying the bills… 
That should be Scarlet **O’**Mika.
Well, you don’t just place the body in the copy room, although that does suggest macabre ideas for posing the corpse (up against the wall with feet and arms crossed, as though waiting for a print job - crouched in front of the copier with the doors open, as if trying to find the paper jam…)
KGB guys and misplaced a-bomb, eh? I think we can work something out.
Martini, I must sheepishly admit that that doesn’t sound a lot different from the young adults from the eighties. I think the big difference is that our parents were such hard-asses that they wouldn’t let us get away with stuff, so we had to move out. Plus, there was a lot more stigma attached to being in your twenties and still living at home, which seems to have mostly disappeared now.
I’ve noticed that, too- I read somewhere vaguely reliable (The Bulletin/Newsweek? Time? something like that) the majority of 18-30 year olds in Australia DON’T live out of home- apparently my fiancee and I are statistical freaks.
I know it’s expensive to live out of home, but even if my parents said “Hey, move back in with us!”, I wouldn’t do it.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my parents (who, like tdn’s, are probably the textbook example for “How to be excellent parents”) but I doubt I could be in the same house as them for more than a couple of days without completely losing my sanity…
It is hard for me to whine about living at home because, despite all their faults, my parents are very good at treating me like an adult. The only real drawback is that I cannot bring girls home for sniff and tickle slumber parties. That does not matter much though since there are no girls for me to bring around. I could not stay here forever but I can definitely understand my friends who live at home temporarily until they make enough money to move out and away. Some of my friends asked me why I decided to live at home during my 6 month internship and I explained that it makes no sense to pay rent when I know that I will be returning to school in the fall.
I have no complaints here though; I know how much better I eat now than I do when I am at school. There is always something delicious leftover in the fridge and as much as I enjoy no-frills bag cereal, it is nice to see something with a recognizable name on the front. The main thing that I will miss when I graduate is the insanely thorough healthcare that I get courtesy of the Newark Board of Education. As much nonsense as teachers deal with, my mom gets great medical coverage.
Most of my friends need to suck it up though because they live in apartments that happen to be part of their house. If you can go weeks without seeing your parents and you live it home, then you need to shut your mouth.
The local colour is a nice touch, but another member of staff was suspected of drowning just a few miles down the coast from the Causeway, in one of those incidents where enough suspicion was raised that it was as much suicide or a contrived disappearance as accidental death. And the river Lagan has been spewing forth far too many bodies in the past few months to make it novel (3 in about 9 months IIRC).
Something involving the cranes at the Harland and Wolff shipyards?
That’s right. The copy room’s too busy. That’s what the janitor closet’s for.
No. I’d probably be deported.