I’ve been thinking…there have been a couple of minor things I have done in my life that nobody (especially my parents) will ever let me forget about…that I just wish they could forgive me for…but NO…they have to bring it up CONSTANTLY. I guess I should have gotten into more trouble so that there will be REAL things I can be nagged about. These are some of the things that I am STILL hearing about to this day that should have been dropped YEARS ago:
Back when I was like 9 years old I was at my uncle’s house and I went into his fridge and got myself some lunch. 14 years later, every time we go visit them my mom has to say “remember, it’s rude to go into other people’s fridges without asking first”
When I was in 8th grade I borrowed one of my friend’s portable TV’s. Somehow the antenna fell off of it and we got stuck with the bill for it. To this day my parents go APESHIT if I have ANYTHING that has once belonged to my friend within our home…even if it’s something he gave me to keep.
Back when I was 17 I accidentially backed into my aunt’s car, which she decided to park right outside the garage door. It caused a little dent that cost maybe $150 to fix. To this day EVERY SINGLE FUCKING TIME I SEE HER, she has to remind me about it…and she got rid of that car over 5 years ago.
My freshman year of college I wanted to brighten up my dorm a bit…the local supermarket had their own generic brands of cereal with really interesting box art, so I started collecting them and hanging them up. Lo and behold…I also decided to bring them home as memories of that year. They never made it back up on the wall, instead ended up in a pile in the basement. Now, every single time I move back into my home, my mom has to nag me with “don’t bring home any more empty cereal boxes!!”
Over fall break a little over a year ago, my girlfriend and I decided to go to Boston for the evening. While we were at south station, we decided on the whim to buy acela tickets to Washington DC for a little vacation. The two days we were there just happened to be the two days that my parents decided that they desparately wanted to talk to me…oh god, since then I’m not allowed to leave the HOUSE (or in this case, my apartment) without calling one of them first to tell them where I’m going. I still won’t get a cell phone though.
At the beginning of my senior year in college, my mom noticed that I had some Red Bull in my fridge (she didn’t even blink an eye at the alcohol) … she interpreted it as an alternative to my ADHD medication, and even though I make sure I never drink or possess Red Bull within 100 miles of her anymore, I still gotta hear about the horrible crime I committed in drinking it when I’m feeling drowsy every couple of days.
I have many other things that I am never going to stop hearing about…especially from my early teenage years…but I guess I haven’t had the chance to violate them in a while, so I’m starting to forget about them. In the MPSIMS tradition…everyone post your horror stories now…
14 years ago, my then-girlfriend-now-wife and I had a long-distance relationship (she=Boston, me=DC). She took out a personal ad in the Boston paper, saying hi to me, then she called me and told me about it.
Then she said she would bring it down when she came to see me. I said, “why would you do that? You just read it to me.”
OK, that was dumb of me - she obviously was excited about it and I should have been moreso. But she still brings it up, and she still gets really mad about it when she does.
A friend of the family, when he was about 1.5 years of age, sat down buck-nekkid in a birthday cake. Let’s see, he’s about 25 now… yeah, I’d say he’s sick of that story!
When he was about 11 or so, he used a miniature axe to try to cut down a small tree in our backyard. The tree died. My dad had a shit fit when it happened, and still gets worked up whenever the story is told. My poor brother is 25 now and I’ll bet that story gets told no fewer than 5 times a year.
With my father it is everthing he perceives that I did wrong, whether true or imagined. The biggest one is from when he had a car trailer stolen. He brought the police to the race track I competed at looking for the trailer. I owned my own trailer at the time (a much nicer one too) but he said nothing when the cop started scraping paint off of it to see if it was repainted. That is among the many many reasons I have chosen not to talk to him again.
And to my little brother that called me a scumbag when my wife and I were forced to file bankruptcy after my MIL got cancer and died: Back at ya, scumbag. He just filed for bankruptcy himself because he could not afford the house he is living in.
I have 5 siblings, so we have plenty of stories to tell.
One of my older sisters has a story she is sick of hearing about. The family went to the fair or something in the station wagon, and while at the fair she got a balloon animal, an octopus. And she named it Oscar. Now to get it to fit in the car with all the people and stuff, they tied his legs up over his head. On the ride home she suddenly had a fit of hysterics, and when she finally managed to explain what she was laughing about. She told the joke. “Why’s Oscar mad? … Because he’s all tied up!” And she hasn’t heard the end of that yet.
When my family first moved to Orlando we moved into a house with an in-ground pool in the backyard. Well my dad was out there and our cat was back there, examining this odd thing in our backyard. And Dad was afraid she would fall in - so, being behind her, he decided to make a sudden LOUD noise expecting the cat to jump away from the water. Well she JUMPED into the water. Now, I witnessed this with my own eyes. She didn’t hit the water, she ran on it. She hit the water and proceeded to run on top of it so only a small bit of her got wet. But to this day we joke with dad about his “great idea.”
My sister Jessica is just plain weird, and we don’t let her live that down either.
I have my share of stories, being a child nudist there are plenty of blackmail photos floating around that I will never enter public office.
Last year, I agreed to stay with my friend P’s mom when P was going to be gone for a night. (Her mom is scared to stay by herself at night.) I had already told P that I might try to help her out with the considerable mess in their house (they are clutterers and hoarders), and she said that it would make her have a nervous breakdown if I touched any of her crap.
So what did I do? I touched it. Okay, more than touched it. I threw out the gross expired stuff from the fridge, including hundreds of split-open condiment packets. Then I gathered up seven pounds of hotel toiletries from a dirty, filthy carpet that hadn’t been vacuumed in nearly 3 years–toiletries that were buried, mind you, beneath a pile of stuff in a room full of junk. I donated said toiletries to charities. I left quite a few there.
P didn’t speak to me for a month because I had taken away some of her “collection” which she was saving for “a vacation she might take some day.”
Sheesh. If I’d made off with the family heirlooms, she never would have noticed.
I’ll never stay in that filthy house again–not that I’d be welcome in another hundred years.
For me it will always be the “Jello Incident” as it is called in my family.
Whenever we went to visit my grandparents we would always end up going to this Mexican Buffet restuarant called Ole Frijole. The first time we went there I was about six years old. It being my first visit a buffet, I was in awe at the selection. They main thing that caught my fancy was a huge pile of red white and green Jello. Now, I am the child of a health nut, and I had never had Jello before and took this amazing oppertunity to pile tons of it on my plate. When we went to sit down, I took one bite of the Jello and hated it. I ate everything else on my plate and got up to go get some ice cream for dessert like my other siblings had. My grandmother stops me and tells me that I can’t go get dessert. Why? Becuase I didn’t finish my food. I looked down at my plate which was still holding the massive pile of Jello. Being six years old, I decided the most rational argument for this situation would be to throw a tantrum. In the restuarant. In front of many people. This turned out to be a bad idea. Not only did I get into really big trouble, but I didn’t get to have dessert. To make things even better, my family still brings it up to this very day.
I was 17 in 1974 and Rico was 16. We’d met at a church dance and saw each other throughout the year. We had a date for New Years Eve.
My grandmother died on December 29th. I was so worried he wouldn’t call me again but my mom wouldn’t let me go out with him. I had to go to San Bernadino instead so I called him and cancelled our date.
His teenaged insecurity kicked in and he was just sure I had a * better date* and was dumping him for the other guy.
I didn’t hear from Rico again until 2000. He still believed I had dumped him for another guy.
I’ve shown him the death certificate and social security death index online and he says he believes me but as recently as this New Years Eve when we were snuggled up on the couch watching a movie, he ‘reminded’ me I had dumped him.
When I was about seven, trying to explain the kind of piano at my friend’s house to my parents, I said it was a “Twin Zinger.”
It was a Wurlitzer.
This is brought up, literally, at least five times every time I visit my family. To this day. It wasn’t even funny then.sigh
When I was about five, I rolled down the window of the family car. My brother, to tease me, said, “Hey, you can’t do that! Did you know that wastes gas by slowing down the car?”
And I turned to him and said haughtily, “Only a couple of gallons. God!”
I personally think it’s impressive that I knew that gas came in gallons…but the only thing my family remembers is that I thought rolling the window down would really burn an extra two gallons’ worth of gas. And they fondly recall this episode so often it makes me sad.
Maybe it shouldn’t – my mum’s got a few stories about my brother’s birth that he’s probably sick to death of hearing. Like how he started crying the second his head was out. And then immediatly latched onto her thigh so the rest of him couldn’t be born.
One of mine is that when I was two I attempted to breastfeed off some woman sunbathing topless at the beach.
For some reason my parents love to tell my children stories of my childhood. So after a vist with Grandma and Grandpa I hear from my kids, " tell us about the time you got your knee stuck in a tree that you were trying to climb and you needed the fire department to help get you down" and also"Tell us about the time that you got your mouth stuck trying to lick the mixer beater ( mom was making a cake and there is nothing better than cake batter) and grandma had to take you to the hospital and they cut it off". Each time the kids visit they load them up on stories of my misadventures.
When I was 13 - 26 years ago - my dad had my sister and I make the Thanksgiving turkey. Well, large turkeys have packets of guts in two places I guess and we left one packet in. Trust me when I say there was no harm done, but he still brings it up at least once a year.
Amen. I went to visit my mother this past weekend, and was told that I’ll never get married/settle down/have kids because I (and I am quoting) “have NOTHING to offer anyone; financially, emotionally, or physically.”
On behalf of everyone who had a nice childhood, I would like to state, *this is so wrong * and I just know that you do have something to offer. Stay away from this caustic person, your mom did not deserve you. {{{{Superdude}}}}
and because I can’t resist a Chris Farley type {{{{{NoClueBoy}}}
Thanks, Shirley Ujest. In a recent thread (which I’m too lazy to link to), I mention her growing problems concerning washing down painkillers, muscle relaxers, sleeping pills and such with rum. I’m considering the source on this one.
You know, now that I think of it, she always DID like Elvis. Maybe she wants to go out the same way.
I hope you’re only joking, 'cause that post makes me sad.