Tell me a story!

Help out a Goob.

I need to ask a favor.

I am doing a project for my Folklore and Culture course, and I have to collect some narrative stories. I thought, "Wow, what better place to get people to tell me stories?"

A narrative tale doesn't have to be long- just long enough to tell your story start to finish, in a sequence of events. Just tell me like it is. If it's long, that's okay, too. Sorry, mine is really long. I know I can be wordy. And it's okay if you leave out stuff, or rearrange it- just tell it as if you're just telling me what happened.

The topic:

Tell me about moving out of your parents' house for the first time. Did you move away to college and live in a dorm? Did you get in a fight and storm out? Did you meet someone online and drive to Texas to live with them? I thought this would be an interesting bunch of stories. I'll post mine first so you get an idea.

EDIT: Hey this is supposed to be for a specific topic so I can compare, but if you wanna just tell an unrelated tale, go for it. That can be fun, too.


[Edited on Oct 11, 2004 by Goob]

A few years ago, I was living with my family, going to school full time, and working at a new job that seemed very promising. They were paying me well and had designs for my career. I felt I was in the right place in my life to start thinking of finding my own place.

It didn't work out that smoothly. My boss got fired, her boss got fired, and suddenly I found myself laid off. Now, as far as cash flow, that wasn't good, but it wasn't terrible right away. I had borrowed some cash from my dad to buy my latest car, and still owed him about a thousand dollars. So I put aside the moving idea and got a part time job delivering pizza. Delivering pizza is a lot of fun, by the way. That's probably the most fun job I ever had. But that wasn't enough support me, so I went back to my old job that I'd left the year before. There is nothing worse than going back to a job that you left saying you'd never go back. It was not a happy thing. But they were paying me, and it was flexible. So I continued with two jobs and full time school, but it was getting stressful. The few hours I had to spend at home were wearing on me. We had five people living in a tiny house with one bathroom. My mom worked part time, my dad worked too many hours at home, and my sisters were out of school and unemployed. The house was a constant stream of people at all hours of the day, with everyone scrambling for their space. The computer and the bathroom were the two things always in demand.

My mother takes two-hour showers. No lie. I had to get up an hour early just to shower ahead of her. If I missed my slot, I'd be late for class. I was late for class a lot. That was a problem.

My sister spends all day online. Even now, this is true. Back when we lived in the same house, it was a problem. I would come home from work and try to make time to get schoolwork done before sleeping, but she would be chatting and playing RPGs all night. "In a minute," was her answer, over and over. I appealed to my father for help, and he would "stay out of it."

One day it got to be too much for me. I flipped out. Yes, I was screaming. At my dad, at my sister, at my mom, at my whole situation. I was done. I was out. It was time.

Over the next few weeks, I scanned the paper, asked around, and kept my eyes open for signs "For Rent". I took different routes to cover more ground, and it paid off. After looking at a few places, I settled on my current apartment. I love it here! It's been three and a half years since I moved here. Sure, I have to work two jobs to pay the rent, but it's worth it. I live alone, with nobody else. And I like it this way.

"The First Time I Moved (Got Thrown Out) of My House"

I was a freshman in college, home on break after the year ended. My folk's house was big and spacious, we had a foosball table and Super Nintendo. Problem was, I didn't have a car but I did have a habit of smoking cigarettes. I was practically stranded at my folk's house- the nearest corner store was three miles away. This circumstance, along with the boredom of being stuck somewhere, eventually led to me going slowly insane. There was nowhere to go, and nothing to do.. I was 19 and this wasn't for me. After another fight to get me to go to Catholic church (you live under our roof you go by our rules), I called my Dad 'Adolf Hitler' and gave him the Nazi salute. See, he was a lifelong military man and was well versed in the practice of 'tough love' lol. He gave me black eye and sent my ass packing. At first I got to stay with some friends, but they soon tired of the guy on the couch. I couldn't work because I had no transportation, no steady place to sleep, no way to wash my clothes, basically nothing. I started staying in people's cars at night. I'd wake up to little kids saying, "look, there's a dead guy in there". Sometimes I'd just go to the city park and sleep on a bench, hoping bums wouldn't fuck with me.

BTW, I'm alright now.. that was ten years ago.. only lasting damage is my austin power's teeth lol

Well, like a significant percentage of America's youth, I moved off to college after high school. I picked a school close enough to home that I could go if I wanted, but not so close that my parents visited on a regular basis (about an hour and a half away.) I was home for Christmas Break when I received my first semester grades. Two B's, a C and two D's. Not the grades my parents were used to seeing (straight A's.) So they flipped. They accused me of doing drugs, of being pregnant, of sleeping with the male population of my town. They forced me to have pregnancy tests, STD tests, and drugs tests. I was still a virgin, though, and the worst drug I had ever done was pot. I was just struggling in school. Well, we got in a huge fight on New Year's Eve. I wanted to sleep over at a friend's house for the night, but HEAVENS no, he was a boy, that wasn't ok. Big fight ensues, I tell her I'm going no matter what she says, she tells me that if I leave I shouldn't come back. I went. I stayed at that boy's house for three days (we were just friends, nothing went on.) Eventually I sulked back because I had only taken one set of clothes. We made up. I'm still pretty dependent on my parents even though I haven't lived at my house in almost 3 years.

I got expelled from high school my senior year about 2 months before graduation. It was for selling a bag of pot to a "friend" of mine, he got caught showing it to a friend in class, he spit out my name, so they kicked me out. I spent that summer and fall working and taking classes, but failing them. I had a felony drug charge I had to deal with. Come January, the cops told me that if I worked with them for 6 months, they would drop the charges. At first, I was all "hell no, that goes against street code" and then it was "If I get charged with a felony, I'll never go anywhere in life." So I agreed. Six months worth of buying pot from the big dealers around my town, had 2 guns pulled on me at the same time cuz the tape recorder fell out of my sock, and getting sucked back into the drug scene was the result of that. I had to live that life again so people wouldn't think I was shady. Anyways, this leads to me moving out. After the six months, the cops spent about 3 weeks busting them all at once. After that happened, there was, shall I say, a lot of hostility towards myself anytime I left the house. I figure it would be a smart idea to saddle up and move out of town. So I did. The moral of the story is if you are going to do drugs, just do drugs. Never sell drugs, to anybody. You can't trust anybody.

From the time I was 16 at least once every 2 months would have me getting kicked out of the house. It was really odd considering that I was a good kid. My parents (My father) were strict. He was a strict hippie. Before I was allowed to go out I had to exercise because I was to chubby to his liking. If my room was a mess he would go into it and tear it apart then kick me out. If he caught me eating a candy bar I would get yelled at, even worse if I was caught smoking. It always ended with my mom pleading me to come home. Since I can't say no to my mom I would. So about 8 months after I turned 18 I moved in with a friend up in Philly. I had fun I stayed out all night, went out drinking, got my first piercing, got my heart broken. It wasn't the best living situation though I shared the 3 bedroom apartment with 4 other people, I slept on a 2 inch thick 5' long foam matteress, shared a room with a sex crazed girl and it only lasted 4 months. So I was forced to move back home. I was 19 and I lived on my own for 4 months and my curfew was 11. So after a week of living there I found a small apartment in the UD college area of Newark. Being responable for all the bills and rent I had to have 4 jobs and I went to college part time. Basically I found out in this apartment not to trust people. My friends varied in age some of them were still in high school. They found out that my one window didn't lock so when I would be at work they would sneak in and party in my little crappy apartment. But I was young and stupid and would let people stay with me that had no where else to go. Usually the people that most people would shy away from were the best roommates (this was a one room apartment by the way). They would clean and take care of my ferrets go to the store get me things. The people (or boy) that parents had money and supported them completely and well appeared to be normal were the worse. He stole from me and didn't help with the bills and turned my best friend againest me.
I know now at 29 I could never move back with my parents no matter what happens. I also know that I don't like living with anyone but my pets. Since my first apartment I have lived in 9 apartments. I hope to settle down soon and I hope it is at my current place.

Short story.
The first time I move out of the homestead. Ok so it was the suburbs of Newark, De, not at hotbed of activity let me tell ya. I moved into downtown Newark which is a college town, very large when school is in session. Anyway I moved in with someone that was a fiend of a friend of a friend. I did all the work had all the stuff and in a nutshell the whole place was esentially mine. Not cause of all that stuff. The weirdo locked himself in his bedroom (which by the way always had a funny smell and there was crap eveywhere). What he did in there I dont know but what did I care. I had the place to myself and had over who I wanted when I wanted and he could just kiss my ass. Cause the way I look at it is if you have a problem with all that shit tell me dont whine to other people. Sorry side track there. Anyway, lived there for a year then moved out to a very very small room in a house that had squirrls in the attic and woke my ass up at like 5 every day. I am better at telling this stuff verbaly than here. My mind moves too fast and my hands want to wave about when talking so this is the short version.

TITLE: When I was 16 I got "thrown out" of my house for about half an hour.

BACKGROUND: I was never physically reprimanded as a child.

STORY: 16. Living with my mother and step-father. Generally angsty. You see, my mother used to be free-wheeling and fun-loving. The older she gets, the more conservative and religious she gets. Funny how that happens. One day I get into a row with her about something unimportant and I am able to back her into a corner where her only comeback is "because I said so." We've always been a family that was into a healthy debate, and I was quick to point out that I had obviously won the argument. In the heat of the moment, she slapped me across the face. I was totally shocked. The fact that she struck me over a verbal argument was unprecedented. So I slapped her back. Yeah. Keep in mind that I had never gotten hit before. Anyway, my step-dad goes fucking ballistic, throws me up against the refridgerator, blah blah blah, you're out of the house, drama drama, fine. I call my good friend's mother [wealthy] and tell her the situation. She says she'll come and pick me up right away and that I can stay with her as long as I like and that I don't have to worry about money or anything. We decide that I'll pack first and call her when I'm ready to leave. I head upstairs to get my things together. Mom pops in the bedroom and says, "Where do you think you're going?" "Uhh... you threw me out. What the fuck difference does it make to you?" "You have to go live with your father." "You fucking threw me out. You have absolutely no say where I go. I'm going to live with Angelina's mom. I'm sure she won't fucking hit me." [insert smartass grin] "You're not allowed to leave." "Ok, wait. First you throw me out and now you're not letting me leave? Make up your fucking mind."

To cut an already long story short, I didn't actually move out then, my mom ended up apologizing to me and I was basically left alone after that. A little more interesting than "I went to college and never looked back."

MORAL: There are better ways to discipline children than physical violence.

I was in high school and my boyfriend at the time had just moved in with my family (his family was kind of mean, of course mine wasn't much better). About a month later, my mom said "Hey I found you guys an apartment. You're moving out. The rent is pretty cheap. Good luck." That's it. It was pretty fun being one of the only high school kids living on my own, but it was pretty stressful for two kids to try to make it on their own.

When I was 19 I fell head over heals in love with a woman I was working with at Toys R Us. She had two kids in a bad relationship and I wanted to take her away from all of that. I knew I couldn't support her on a boxboy's wages so I joined the Army. Well, I signed the papers before I asked her to marry me and she said no which was a smart move on her part. Anyway, I was really heart sick and glad to be away from home and by myself. I left home for Europe. It was the first time I'd been anywhere but Canada.

hmm well i left for college two years ago. i went to a school in oakland which was 3000 miles away from where i grew up (philadelphia) and had no support system. i wasn't ready for it. so i managed to get kicked out of my dorm and failed out. so i went home again. needless to say, my parents weren't too pleased with me at that point. so i spent about a month being called a fuckup and such pretty much every day. and then my mum found out about a couple of umm 'indescretions' from the time i was in college. (read: modeling for a softcore internet porn site) and spent another month being called a fuckup and a whore. then my great grandma turned 95 and there was a huge party back east and so everybody else in my family (who live on the west coast) flew back for that. my aunt and uncle (who are wonderful people and i owe them so much for this) saw that i was pretty thoroughly miserable and probably wouldn't do anything ever again if i stayed with my parents and invited me to go live with them and get back on my feet and such. so in the space of about a week, i was on a plane back to the west coast. eventually i started cosmetology school and moved out of my aunt and uncle's house. so now i just take my parents' money so i can eat and pay my rent and stuff.

ha, shoulda finished reading the post


I had a typical moving out... very much dropped off by my whole family b4 they went back to the dominican republic... we unloaded all my stuff (just clothes and bed sheets computer and kitchen stuff etc.) in one trip up to my room and then went for a final lunch together at a cuban resturaunt nearby... the whole time things were very much the same... but then when they dropped me off for real, everything changed... i saw pride in my dads eyes seeing me in college.. tears in my moms eyes because her first born will not be at the dinner table for the first time ever... i was weirded out and spent the weekend with the dilema we all face when we move out... With all my new unlimited freedom, what do i do now?

[Edited on Oct 12, 2004 by daveglss]

So, burstandbloom and I decided to pick a lyric and both write something around it so here’s mine. I’m in a weird ass mood.

Lyric: Cursivc, “Lament of Pretty Baby”
“don’t want to be seen as a pretty thing. Cause it’s the pretty things that we’re always breaking”




Delusions of Grandeur


I walked right by you today, but you hardly bothered to notice. You twisted your spine to avoid me & smoothed past with apologetic gestures, remember? It was nice of you to make sure that our bodies didn’t touch.

You probably don’t remember, but, we stood, side by side. In a narrow aisle, ignoring each other – like polite Americans do. We both contemplated the glossy rows of King Size & Big Grab & Big Gulp. You were gentile when we first met, allowing me to keep the pale folds of my swollen flesh a secret kept under my coat.

I thought you might have been a man of Scripture.

I inhaled fluorescent lights & the 24 hour convenience of sweaty hot dogs, rolling under heat lamps. They cooked from the inside out, straining and plumping, threatening to burst through their skin casings.I wasn’t watching you as I scooped spoonfuls of pickle relish onto my sizzling hot dog. My pants chafed the skin that was already rubbed raw. The loose mound of belly hanging over my waistband screamed red.

Couldn’t you understand? I stepped back without looking, into a chaotic tangle of limbs and knees and humiliating collision.

“Fuck!”, you screamed and I was disappointed in you.

Your countenance was sheathed with disgust as you stepped around my spilled snack. Rage flickered across your controlled, handsome features as you picked square blobs of pickle off of your suit.

I offered you a grainy napkin from the dispenser.

You laughed. It was a cruel, patronizing noise shoved through your nostrils. Remember how you did it to ridicule me?

“This is Armani, buddy. It’ll take more than that to get the vinegar stench out.”

Time and space froze as you glared at me, letting your designer label sense of entitlement swallow me. The lazy sprawl of my humid balls was constrained by stiff denim Levi’s. The irritation of discomfort trickled up my spine and spread icily through my quiet places.

I watched you offer your Mastercard to the keeper and releaser of your Camel Wides and Evian. Didn’t you think you had it all when your credit card wore that metallic hue?

I drove behind you, heaving shallow breaths, mentally preparing to deliver the word of Yahweh. You hovered over your cell phone, eyes shifting with paranoia, snapping back and forth between the road and the rearview mirror. I saw you berate me.

“Crazy fat fucker.”

You imagined my fat face throbbing and growing until it split open like the skin casing of a sweaty hot dog. You forgot, “Judge not, lest ye be judged.” It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t want to do it, can’t you see the tears of blood you make me cry for you?

I just wanted to teach you a lesson. Remember how you kept your hands at 10 and 2 as I nudged you off the road?

You were so ungrateful, I was trying to expiate you of the sins that you committed. I could have delivered you from the condemnation of your blasphemy. You didn’t want to listen. All I wanted was to teach you, now see what you made me do?

The Lord says “Get on thy face and humble thyself before me”. I stripped you of that golden calf that you revered. Naked and sobbing and begging, the musclature of your stomach was neatly segmented like a perforated chocolate bar.

I’m sorry about your face and the way that you spit out bloody bubbles. I’m sorry that you vomited up your teeth. Can’t you see that you needed to be punished?

I heard the way you whispered, “filthy pig”. I knew that you flexed your stomach to double my humiliation. You probably planted that gym bag there on your passenger seat to mock me in my sloth. The Bible says, “Pride cometh before a fall”. I don’t want to be pretty things. Pretty things are what we’re always breaking.I’m sorry about the way you gagged and choked when I stuffed your gym socks in your mouth. You wouldn’t listen.

Did you even pray to Him while you screamed and inhaled dry fibers? You didn’t listen, I told you not to say that again.

Your trembling thumb jutted toward the baby seat in the back of your car.
“P-Please I h-have a family”
I warned you. It’s your fault. I rest my heavy face on my palms. You are cruel and boastful. I tried to lead you to atonement and this is how you repay me? The Lord strikes down the loved and the pretty and the rich and the obese.

You have a wife. I bet she’s pretty. You have a daughter. I bet she needs you.
(Nobody loves you. Fat fuck.) I know you thought it.

I had to.

We take communion under the cleansing wash of your spilt blood. I make a joyful noise unto the Lord. Sirens scream louder as they approach, their whooping urgent calls lift to meet my giddy shouts. I can see their badges reflecting in the afternoon haze. You’re curled up, fetal, sniffing and naked. See what you are doing? Do you know what they will think?

His power pulsates in my anointed fingertips. At my feet you twitch and tremble. In a desperate last attempt, you push your wallet toward me like a sacrificial offering.
I smile serenely through regretful tears. Your platinum savior can’t die for you this time.

I can see the down the barrel of the rifle, the police sniper crucifies me on her crosshairs. We fire at the same time.

“Father, forgive them. They know not what they do.”

"Tell me about moving out of your parents' house for the first time"

I moved in with my first major ex in Sept/Oct 2000 with him and his dad. It was bliss to be able to come and go as I pleased. The relationship went really well. The shopping increased, I cleaned (when I felt like it), had sex all the time, used lots of loo roll (got told off for that) and was able to listen to music loud!
I moved out when the father got a hideous gf (they're still together now). I used to hear them have sex at 4am. I couldn't sleep so I moved out after 18 months.
The relationship went downhill from there...

the second time was to uni. mum cried, father cried, i cried. moved back after 4 months when i found the major ex was turning into a dickhead and i didnt like my course.

still at home today.

I still live at home actually, when i finished my accounting school i decided i should go to america or australia and trek around for a year working in various places.
totally unexpectedly i passed a rather hard set of admittance exams and interviews for a art and design school here in town so i decided to stay and go to school instead to get my bachelors of arts title.

i stayed with my parents to since they live about 10 minutes away from school, student housing would cost a ton of money for a room smaller than a jailcell outside of town about a hour away from school.

(You asked for it.)

I graduated in May 1994 and spent that summer preparing to move to Marquette, MI, as I'd been accepted to Northern Michigan University. Mum and I made trips to K-Mart and WalMart every weekend to stock up on sheets, towels, laundry items, storage bins, and other dorm room necessities. Every time she'd put something in the cart, she'd go on about the proper way to use it, how often, when, and so on, even if it was something as mundane as a bundle of garbage bags. "I know, Mum," became the phrase of the summer. Now, of course, I realize she was just trying to get over her fear of letting her baby girl go.

For me, the day could not come quickly enough. My parents were strict Catholics and had me on a short leash throughout high school. For them, the day came too soon. I was their eldest child, and they weren't prepared to let go. They valued my independence, and they were proud I was the first in my family to get an education, but they struggled with the loss. They had no idea what to say or do.

The day arrived, finally. Adam, my brother, and I drove up in my car, and my parents followed us. This gave me a chance to tell him to be extra-nice to Mum on the way back so that she wouldn't feel so alone. We listened to the radio on the way up, and I clearly remember Pink Floyd's "Learning to Fly" playing as we crossed the Mackinac Bridge to the upper peninsula of Michigan.

Adam and I arrived far in advance of my parents, so I checked in, got my key, and started unloading my car. I'd moved up a week early since I was in the color guard and had practices all week, so the dorm was fairly empty. Adam put some music on to chase away the quiet and kept the conversation upbeat. He knew I was nervous, excited, sad, and happy all at once, so he tried to keep me talking.

My parents arrived, and more unloading ensued. To this day, I have no idea why I brought so much stuff. I ended up sending most of it back with them.

Once the cars were unloaded and my car was parked in the proper university lot (roughly eight miles from my dorm), my parents took us to dinner at Vango's. I was drinking Snapple like a fiend, so my dad asked if I was nervous. "No," I replied, and tried to smile.

"Well, this will be a great adventure, kiddo. You'll make lots of new friends, but make sure you keep up with your schoolwork. This will be harder than high school. You can't just skate by."

My mum was silent throughout the meal. I could tell she'd start crying if she said anything, so I didn't ask her any questions. I wanted to hug her, but I knew that would be worse than talking to her.

My parents dropped me off after dinner, and I started to wave and turn away. My dad said, "Hey, kiddo. This is a lot harder on us than it is on you."

"I know," I mumbled, and felt a bit guilty. "I guess I'm in a hurry to unpack. I didn't mean to look like I was rushing off." I gave them both another kiss and hugged my brother.

My R.A. stopped by as I was unpacking and asked, "How are you doing? Is the quiet bothering you?"

"No, it's fine."

"Well, if you get too weirded out, let me know. There are a couple other band members and color guard members in the dorm, and you guys can room together this week if you want. Just let me know, though, so I know not to look for you if there's a fire drill."

"Okay. Oh! Hey! I don't have tape with me, and I want to put my posters up. How do I get to the nearest store?"

He drew a rough map of Marquette with my colored pencils -- pointing out stores and restaurants -- while we talked about our majors and hometowns, and then he left the map on my desk. Since I never feel at home until my posters and artwork are up, I went to the store immediately.

As I drove there, I realized I was, officially, on my own. Mum and Dad weren't paying for school. I was. My books were going onto my credit card. My groceries came out of the money I'd saved over the summer. Any entertainment costs had to come from that same savings account. I still had to pay my car insurance. It all hit me in a violent punch to the gut. I was seventeen and living in a strange town four hours away from everybody I knew. I was about to share living quarters with a girl I didn't know, and the classes I'd signed up for were nothing like I'd had during high school. What had I gotten myself into?

These questions were answered over the next month. I made several million new friends, figured out how to budget my savings and credit card balance, and learned that -- no -- you cannot miss classes and expect to get an A on the test. It was the scariest and most wonderful time of my life, and I cherished every minute of it.

I didn't move out of the house until I was 23. I'm not embarassed about that. I was an emotional train wreck up till that point.

My mom was in the middle of her first bout with colon cancer, I was unemployed and miserable, and we did nothing but get on each others nerves. I had just started to date my boyfriend, so I was constantly driving to and from Philadelphia. He was the boy, that lived a town over from me that I never knew. He was the best friend I never had and he understood everything that was going on in my beaten mind. I was finally thinking about something other then hospitals, cancer, money, and how much i had screwed up my life. I finally had a horizon line ahead of me. I had to spend everyday with him.

Philadelphia was the last place I wanted to end up. I grew up running around New York, and always thought of Philadelphia as this second-hand city. That it got all the hand-me-downs New York didn't want. So, it was ironic I would end up falling in love with a boy here, and moving in. I needed to get away from my mom, cancer, my dad and the life that was making me absolutely miserable. It wasn't until later that I realized there's no running away from that.

I'm here, with him still. My mom still has cancer, but we finally get along. My misery followed me, but I am working on that, from the inside out. I only wish I had a more exciting story to tell. This seems to simple. There seems to be some sort of excitement missing. Maybe it will be included in my next moving adventure. I'll have to cross an entire country for that one!

Wow, you guys are really cool. I am learning all this personal stuff... I feel like I know you better.

I think I'll have plenty of material for my project. But don't stop! I'm enjoying reading these.

Moving out of the house. Longish, rambling story. Apologies in advance.

When I was 17, my mom and stepdad got a job running one of those mini-warehouse locations; it had an attached apartment for the landlords, so they moved out and left me the house. I began making the mortgage and utility payments, and kept up house repairs and such. The mortgage was put into my name, and the utilities transferred over.

The mini-warehouse company was sold, and they jumped ship to manage an apartment complex; again, they lived on-site. After about 6 months, the apartment complex was purchased by an overseas real-estate congolmerate, and they were summarily fired and given three days to vacate the premises. I got a telephone call from my mom- they needed to come back. Okay.

Moved my crap out of the main bedroom and such, basically putting the house back into the setup it had had when we'd all lived together to begin with. They moved back in, and we tried to get along. My stepdad had personality disorders before (I got a good stretch of mental and physical abuse for a couple of years as a young teen thanks to his problems), and his self-imposed shame of being fired and having to move in with his stepson got to him. He began yelling at me when my alarm clock would go off (worked 3rd shift), when I'd cook food, etc. Stressed-out and took it out on me.

I had prior plans to meet some friends in Chicago, so I left for the weekend. When I came back home, my mom met me at the door and said that I'd have to find someplace else to live soon. My stepdad had spent the weekend going off, apparently, angry that I had "taken" their home, angry that I had a job, etc. I was tired, though, and crashed to sleep for a few hours.

I woke up to hear my stepdad yelling off in the living room... walked out into the hallway, and heard him threatening to kill me and himself, burning down the house so my mom could have the insurance money, blaming everything that had befallen him on me. I walked in, told them I was leaving, and told them I'd never see them again. I grabbed my cat and a clothes basket full of clothes and moved into my 1979 Impala; it was the midst of winter, the first week of December.

The cat and I lived in the car for a week, until my work week was over; I then found an apartment and moved in. I rented a van, lurked near the house until I saw my parents leave, then broke in and moved everything I owned out. I later transferred the mortgage to my mom, shut off the utilities, and transferred the telephone number to my new apartment. After that, I didn't speak to my mom for two years, and never again spoke to my stepdad. He passed away a few years ago.

(The cat's still doing fine, none the worse for wear from her stay in my car. She just turned 22...)

i still live at home.

it kinda sucks, but i have a loft room, as much privacy as i need (except when the downstairs computer dies and everyone is checking emails in my room), and not enough money to get a place of my own.

my brother and i were gonna get a place a few months back, but then he quit his job.

my girlf and i were thinking about moving in together a few months before that, but, umm, she refused to tell her ex/roommate/father-of-her-child that i exist, so we broke up.

that is all

I ran away at 15 when my parents found my weed. They flipped and gave me a huge list of unreasonable anguish I was going to have to endure as a result. So I bounced. I stayed in a string of cheap motel rooms until I got sold out by a 'friend' who thought I had beat him out of $10. My mother and I reconciled in the hotel room. The punishments were never levied.

one time me and my friends got some Absinth and Bacadie 151 and...


*blank space*

....dunno how igot there but i had a nacked man next to me and i was a lot further north with no money

good times

A man born in ZigaZig, Egypt had a two sons and three daughters, all raised in Iraq.

A man in Scotland had a son, who joined the Army. He met a woman, who fled to London when King Faisal II was killed in Iraq.

A woman in America asked for stories and a man in England, who has a Scottish father, replied.

[Edited on Oct 12, 2004 by MetaTag]

Does it have to be a true story? My imagination over-rules anything I try to post about real life!

i have come to the conclusion that i need to move back to philly. i miss it. a lot. a whole whole whole lot.